Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Curiosity got the better of her, and she sidled up to the statue, reading the plaque at Coraline’s feet.
Sacrifice reaps the greatest reward.
– Coraline LeMort
So King Louis saw Coraline’s death as a symbol of the new revolution he wanted, a necessary evil, and he’d twisted her words to fit his agenda. Typical.
Kierse gritted her teeth and turned around to find a dark tunnel blocked by elaborate gilded doors traced with wards. She could see a sun image at the heart of the wards just like on the checkpoints. Walter’s wards. On the front of the gate was the Men of Valor logo—angel wings with an arrow shot through.
Giant trolls manned either side of the entrance with a disapproving look at anyone who came too close. Well, this must be the way into King Louis’s residence. He certainly didn’t hide his place. And why should he, here at the height of his power?
Eager to avoid the trolls’ gazes, she moved back into the flow of traffic through the market, getting the lay of the land as Graves had suggested. She blended in well enough. There were plenty of men or monsters in hoods, hiding their faces and keeping to themselves. She silently mapped out her surroundings for Graves.
It was hard to imagine that this had once been a basement level of Grand Central. The place had clearly been gutted and made into this enormous monster market. She could see relics of its past use in the ventilation system, piping air out of the cavern, and old human workspaces now used as stalls.
She passed a meat vendor and tried not to let the shock show on her face. The shifter running the place was serving raw meat, and monsters sat on barstools, feasting on the flesh. She swore she saw something on a plate that looked vaguely human. Which hadn’t been legal since the Monster Treaty, but no one was policing this place.
The next stall held potions and elixirs. There was a full black witch’s cauldron brimming with fog. She wondered if that was to provide the right feel of the shop or if she was actually brewing something. She wondered how Dr. Mafi would feel about the stereotype.
Kierse moved on. She saw severed heads and blood bags and trinkets of all shapes and sizes that promised the wearer any number of magical properties. The next stall caught her eye, and she scanned the weapons with delight. Knives and swords and daggers. Handguns and machine guns and even a grenade launcher.
“You like what you see?” the man working the stall asked.
Kierse startled when she looked up. The man was no man at all. He was a phoenix. A rare breed of monster that could shift into a giant bird and burn to ash. The stories from before the war left out how a phoenix could use that fire to burn others to ash, too.
“Uh, no thank you,” Kierse said quickly. Though her fingers itched to filch something off the table, she didn’t particularly want to be burned to cinders today.
She took in the market, drawing blueprints in her mind. It was bigger than she’d anticipated, and she could have spent days walking around, but she had two main objectives: scope out the place and find a way to sneak Graves inside.
But she couldn’t help having a third reason for being down here. Nate had known when Torra was kidnapped that she’d been brought to Third Floor, but they had never found a way inside. Nate was too much of a human sympathizer. He helped with the Monster Treaty. No one was letting him or his people down here, even if they had known where to start looking. Now it made perfect sense that they never would have been able to get in.
And she knew the bastard who had taken Torra was a monster named Orik Thompson. She’d found that name and a phone number in a scrap of paperwork in Torra’s abandoned apartment. She’d looked into the name and discovered he was a vampire known for trafficking humans into Third Floor.
Maybe the last thing she should do is search out someone like Orik Thompson, but this might be her only opportunity to get answers . . . or to kill the monster who had done this to Torra.
With her hood low over her eyes, she ignored the passing monsters and headed toward the nearest bar—a constant source of information above, and she doubted it would be any different below. A lumbering troll nearly ran into her. A shirtless, muscled mer passed so close that she could smell the ocean on him. A werewolf strode by with a stalking gait. Vampires and werewolves had been on opposing sides of their own war for eons. The treaty must upset a great deal of monsters for a werewolf to be in a vampire’s market.