In the Shadow of the Goddess (Book 1 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jill arrived at the Nag's Head more quickly than she wanted. It figured; why did the things she dreaded the most happen in no time and the rest took forever?

The driver opened the carriage door and Jill stepped down, feeling bleak. She studied the building warily. Three stories. Smooth, white- gray brick. Front overhang supported by white, marble columns. Elegant sign overhead bearing the establishment's name. It was impressive looking, putting in Jill in mind of a nineteenth century gentlemen's club in her own world. From what she could gather, Geniece selected it because no bodyguards were allowed. If Nikolos had no guards, presumably the others could get close enough to kill him. But what about the magic? Had any of them considered that, or had Geniece simply taken it for granted Jill would neutralize the threat? Had that been Geniece's intent all along—a showdown between her and the sorcerer?

The bruise on Jill's arm pulsed. The closer she came to the Nag's Head, the more it ached. She rubbed the spot absently. Without wards, she'd be able to see the black threads around it. Not that she'd need to; no doubt they lead right into the Nag's Head.

The carriage driver looked at her expectantly. Jill fished some coins out of her pocket.

"A lady like you should be careful," he said, palming the money. "This isn't the place for you and you could come to trouble."

"Unfortunately, this is exactly where I need to be."

"Suit yourself." The driver climbed back into his seat, snapped the reins, and drove away.

People bustled about in all directions as the fair wound down for the evening. They jostled and brushed against her as they danced to music of nearby minstrels and wandered the streets. Once the evening curfew fell, the streets would be emptied with all inside and tucked away for the evening. Vaguely, she wondered where she would be by that time.

Steeling herself, she took a breath and stepped through the sleek white slate door one of the two doormen held open. Their eyes flicked over her, but they let her in without comment. Jill didn't know whether to take that as a good sign. Then, it didn't matter. She was in.

Hm, not quite what I envisioned.

Stepping through a foyer filled with ferns and a smell reminiscent of cigar smoke, Jill studied her surroundings. At worst, she'd expected a slight variation of the Hangman's Rest. At best, a casino-type atmosphere. Instead, she got a mix of both, stirred together with a high dose of saloon and liberal amount strip club.

The ceiling rose high enough to allow for three floors. From the rafters hung enormous tiered chandeliers bearing dozens of dripping candles. Their chains were long enough that the candles hung level with the second-floor balcony railing. Tables were scattered around the room and a long, crowded bar ran the entire length of one wall. Men at the tables played cards. Others sat on stools at the bar. Scantily clad young women flitted about, sitting in their laps or serving drinks. They giggled with artful girlishness as men whispered in their ears or shoved hands under skirts. Some led men upstairs to private rooms to do things Jill preferred not to dwell on. In the background, she heard faint music. The few lyrics she caught sounded ribald. The troupe of six musicians looked unashamedly drunk, but few of the patrons seemed to notice or care.

Jill threaded her way through the tables. Given her dress, she expected some acknowledgment of her presence. Catcalls and whistles, or even a stray grope, but oddly she received none. Not that she wanted the attention, but for everyone to just ignore her? Too weird. What's going on? How can they miss me in my fantastic "Yes, I'm a prostitute" dress?