Iron in Shadows

Lady Nightingale

Looking over the wooden bannister, my chipped nails digging into the varnished wood, I spot him. Archibald Graham. The orchestra comes alive, strings whining, horns grumbling as I tug on the black mask that's latched it's claws into my face. A rainbow of gowns caress the floor, delicate fingers clutch at the ends of the fabric. Chandeliers hang lucidly, the light targeting the diamonds on fingers, necks, gowns. A set of doors remain closed by the windows with the faces of roaring lions painstakingly etched into the wood.

I sip out of my champagne flute as I stare at Archibald. His red hair, greying, is combed back to reveal a face held together by wrinkles and the golden eagle mask resting atop his nose. He laughs as his guests repeat some distasteful joke they heard at a tavern, fingers stroking his rounded belly. Five thousand gold pieces. I tug at my collar before making my way down the stairs.

Once I reach the bottom a servant briskly replaces my empty flute with a fresh one. Sliding my hand into my pocket I grasp the bag inside, feeling it's contents reassuringly. I edge my way through the crowd of dancers, their hands meeting in unison as they bow to one another. Archibald sits on the centre chair of the raised table, a roasted pig laying before him, fellows chirping at his side. He bangs on the table and what I can only assume is a particularly funny joke. Probably the last one he'll ever hear.

Jack glances over the banister at me, his copper hair stark against the green bird mask that covers half of his face. I nod at him. He disappears. Dashes of piano join the concoction of music that rests on the stage a few feet away from the dancing crowd.

A set of doors open at the banister. A pair of heels can be heard, clinking against the marble floor, descending down the steps on lengthy leg at a time. A trail of red follows behind her, the fabric sloping with each stair. The red crawls up her body, pooling into every curve. A slit has been slashed by her thigh, exposing the pale skin to the overbearing light. The fabric drips in between her breasts before slithering over her broad shoulders. Whips of silver hair tickle her neck before rolling over one another, pinned to her head. A mask in the shape of a Phoenix rests on her pert nose, orange feathers flying diagonally out from the masks. Ivy Cromwell. A Phoenix indeed.

I curse under my breath before resorting the leaning against a corner wall tucked away by shadows. Ivy cruises down the stairs as men openly stare at her arrival, her audacious outfit. Particular attention is given by Archibald who rises from his chair. She keeps her eyes on him. Another curse slips through my lips. Archibald shifts from foot to foot.

Ivy's crimson lips pull into a smirk as she reaches the floor. She raises a glass to Archibald. His Adam's apple bobs beneath her glance. Her throat is exposed as she sips at the champagne.

My tailored shoes push off from the wall as I move my hand from the pockets. My fingers graze her exposed back. Ivy pauses before shifting her attention to me. Releasing a sigh, she places her champagne flute back into the hands of a waiter. Her scarred hand rests on my shoulder, the other hand slithering it's way between my fingers. I rest one of mine against the curve at her hip. A no doubt violently decorated hip.

"Fox," Ivy says nonchalantly, finding Archibald once more as we waltz across the room. I breathe on her perfumed neck. She stiffens, back arching as she turns her attention to me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my masked face sheltered in her neck.

"Exactly what you're doing apparently," She whispers into my ear. I spin her, a roulette wheel of red across black and white marble.

"Let me rephrase, you can't be here," I say, looking at her. She smiles, hands reaching for the back of my neck, tickling the overgrown hairs there.

"Let me rephrase, you can't stop me," She says, the words sliding out of her serpentine mouth. I grip her hip tighter, crumpling the silk fabric.

Jack catches my eye at the edge of the dance floor, his wolf mask covering his entire face, only his crusted lips and green eyes can be seen. He spots who i'm with and is quick to roll his eyes, making himself comfortable against the chosen wall, folding his boney arms.

"How much is he paying you?" I ask her.

"Plenty," Ivy says shrugging her shoulders.

"I'll double it if you leave now," I say in her ear. She chuckles, pressing her hips against mine.

"Are you scared I'll take your kill before you even get a whiff of it, Fox?" Ivy says.

"I'm scared you'll become the kill," I say bluntly.

"And that was always the problem, wasn't it?" She says before leaving the floor, my arms left hanging mid air.

A disgruntled grumble greets me as I reach Jack. He mutters something under his breath along the lines of 'every time'. I pinch him in the side for his troubles. Ivy reaches Archibald's table in no time. Archibald is quick to rise and take her hand, placing a kiss upon it.

"We have five minutes before hell breaks loose, kill him or kill her," Jack says pushing off the wall. His back hunches over, hands shoved deep into pockets as he swerves through the crowd.

Archibald and Ivy dance, his feet heavy, stumbling whilst her's remain lithe, strategic. I finger the packet in my pocket, watching them. His glass remains on the table. I begin creeping in that direction. All I can feel is Ivy's stare at my back.

She absently chuckles at something Archibald said, her hand covering her mouth. Smearing something- her lipstick? Five steps away. She kisses him delicately on the lips, eyes on me. Cursing, I stop in my tracks, one step from his glass.

As Ivy releases him Archibald blushes before a sickly green creeps into his now bulging veins, stark against his portly pale skin. My fears are confirmed when Ivy takes a damp white cloth from between her breasts and wipes her mouth and hands. Foaming from the mouth, Archibald takes a few steps back before falling to a knee, grabbing at his large throat. Ivy pretends to cry out, reaching for poor Archibald. I make my way to the doors. Which slam open.

The King's guards storm in, swords raised above their heads. Chaos erupts, people flee the floor, shrieking, glasses smashing on the marble. I turn, looking for an exit. A body shoves mine, knocking the air out of me.

"God damn it Ivy," I curse.

She quietly backs away from Archibald after the guards surround him. I storm towards her, fists clenched. Her dress flaps behind her as she rushes away from me, not looking back. Increasing my pace, I reach for her pale arm.

The ground erupts beneath us. She turns, looking towards the glass ceiling before lowering her gaze to mine. A serpentine smile graces her crimson lips before she grips the edge of her silks, black shadows crawling between her fingers. She flips the silks around herself, a visage of black starlight following the crimson. She's gone.

"I forgot how tricky Nightingale's are," Jack says next to me, slightly out of breath. His hair as red as the veins in Archibald's eyes. Wooden beams and glass start to fall from the ceiling, calls of terrors following soon after. I sigh before removing my mask, smoke curling in my nose.

"Let's go," I say, grabbing his arm and following the generally distressed crowd, leaving the burning dance hall and a dead Archibald far behind us.