Aidane fastened the ornate gold necklace and smoothed it on her chest. The necklace glittered against the red and orange silk of her form-fitting dress, nestling against her full breasts in a neckline designed to show off her assets. The client tonight was paying gold and promised a home secure from the intrusion of the Crone priests. Aidane’s fingers trembled as she added gold cuffs to her wrists and a small, silver dagger hidden in the folds of her dress. Nargi priests were well known for their hatred of magic, and every client Aidane accepted was one more chance that the priests might catch up with her.
The client was paying gold for an evening with a ghost whore. Aidane did not want to be late.
She snatched her cloak from the peg and wrapped it around herself, concealing her dress. An ample hood hid her face. Her small apartment was comfortable by Nargi standards, with luxuries many could not afford. She did not have to share the room, and in truth, a roommate wasn’t an option. Too great a chance for discovery, should the roommate report on the activities of her serroquette friend. Aidane’s magic enabled her to eat well on a regular basis, to purchase the clothing and jewelry expected for a prosperous whore, and to pay a tight-lipped healer to fix her up when clients turned surly. She’d even been able to put a bit of gold away in a secret stash for hard times. It was as good as she could hope for, since long life wasn’t likely to be an option.
Aidane locked the door behind her and made her way down the narrow stairs to the street. The rooming house smelled of burning meat and overcooked cabbage. The others who shared the building generally ignored Aidane, and she ignored them as well. Better that way. Aidane had clients enough to keep her fed, and more company from the ghosts who begged to be allowed to use her body than she needed. Solitude was the one luxury she couldn’t purchase.
It wouldn’t do to hire a carriage to take her all the way to the client’s home; the driver might remember that he’d dropped off someone from this part of town near the home of a highborn magistrate. That could lead to questions, and in Nargi, questions never had good answers. Instead, Aidane would hire a carriage to take her as far as the marketplace, and from there, another carriage to the client’s home.
“Where are you going?”
Aidane startled at the harsh voice. She looked up to see a man in the red robes of a Crone priest blocking her way. Her heart thudded in her throat. He doesn’t know. He can’t see your clothing. It’s just the usual night patrol.
“Heading for the temple,” she murmured, keeping her face averted. She hoped her voice was suitably respectful.
“Late for you to be out alone,” the priest chided.
“I felt the need to pray,” Aidane said quietly. “Please, I want to make my offering.”
“Next time, go by daylight. Proper women aren’t in the streets alone after dark.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
The priest turned away to shout at another passerby, and Aidane hurried away. After a long while, her heart stopped pounding and she said a prayer to the Dark Lady in gratitude for her safety. The priests despised serroquettes, male or female, and of the few other ghost whores Aidane had known, all but one had disappeared. That made Aidane’s skills even more highly sought after, and enabled her to raise her fees. It also increased the odds that luck would turn against her.
Even at this time, the marketplace was busy. Torches lit the walkways and stalls that sprawled along the Kathkari Market, a tangle of pushcarts and tables covered with whatever goods might be had this week. The ascendance of the Crone priests under King Thaduc had made commerce a dangerous business, since edicts enlarged the list of forbidden items each week. Illicit goods, such as smoked fish from Principality, Tordassian brandy, or luxurious sweets from Dhasson, could still be had, of course, if the buyer had enough money and the right connections. Aidane shouldered her way through the crowd, ignoring the calls of the food vendors, although their bowls of noodles or skewers of chicken and beef smelled delicious.
She chanced a look around to make sure she was not being followed. It was difficult to know for certain in the bustle of the marketplace, but no one looked familiar. At the far end of the market, Aidane hailed another carriage, one with an enclosed passenger compartment, and breathed a sigh of relief as she settled into the cushioned seat.
By moonlight or by daylight, the city of Colsharti looked gray and lifeless. Nargi had always been conservative in its ways, some would say hidebound. But since Thaduc had forged his alliance with the Crone priests, the life had gone out of both the city and its people, who walked with their heads down, and usually with their cloaks up, as if skulking in broad daylight. Conversations had become guarded, and people now chose their words carefully, even among friends. Many public gatherings had been banned, so music and theater had become contraband, performed in cellars and in the caves beneath the city, constantly changing locations. Aidane fingered her necklace. Maybe soon she would have enough gold saved to buy her passage out of Nargi. Maybe soon…
M’lady, is it all arranged?
The voice sounded in Aidane’s mind. The speaker was a ghost, a handsome man with dark hair and midnight-black eyes, the dead lover of Aidane’s client.
It’s arranged, Aidane answered silently.
You’re certain she’ll accept you? There was a hint of nervousness as Nattan, the ghost, replied.
She understood the offer.
Nattan hesitated. Jendrie’s taste didn’t run to women. How…
Aidane sighed. It’s just as we discussed. You said yourself that there are no male serroquettes to be found in Colsharti these days. When I’m alone with her, I’ll give over my body to your control. You can do what you like together; Jendrie paid for two candlemarks’ time.
Nattan seemed embarrassed. But you will know; you will see.
Are you afraid you’ll shock me? I’ve been a ghost whore since my moon days began. I’ve made couplings for ghosts of every taste and interest. You’d have to want something damn acrobatic to surprise me.
And I’ll feel the coupling through your body?
Yes.
Nattan fidgeted. It will be strange, coupling with Jendrie as a woman.
Aidane’s nerves got the better of her, making her patience thin. It’s up to you. If you’d rather, you can talk over tea-
No. It just takes some getting used to. Perhaps there’ll be opportunities for pleasure that are new in this arrangement. That’s a good thing.
Serroquettes were just one more item of contraband in Nargi. Aidane fingered her necklace nervously, as if it were a good-luck charm. Every new appointment ran the risk of discovery by the priests, and with it the threat of torture, imprisonment, and death. Wealthy clients could usually buy their freedom. Poor clients, who had barely scrounged up the ghost whore’s fee for a desperate reunion with a dead spouse or lover, often suffered the same fate as the serroquette should the priests learn of the liaison. And still, business was brisk.
If this goes well, when I can use you again?
Aidane hated the word “use” even as she had to admit it was accurate. I accept one client each night. My nights are all taken for at least a month. Be cautious. You may be a ghost but Jendrie and I aren’t dead yet and we’d like to keep it that way. Meet too often and someone will see, or Jendrie’s husband will find out.
Understood.
To Aidane’s relief, Nattan said nothing more for the rest of the ride. She could still feel his presence dimly in the back of her mind. Silence gave her time to prepare. No matter how long she had been servicing clients, it took preparation to allow the ghost to fully inhabit her body. Usually, Aidane could lock herself away in a corner of her mind, resolutely ignoring what her body was doing until it was time to collect the fee. That worked most of the time, except when pain was part of the foreplay. Or when the lovers got into a quarrel that involved injury. Then, Aidane slammed back into consciousness, sometimes fighting with the ghost to share the body and protest rough treatment. And more than once, a determined ghost had tried to make the possession permanent. Fortunately, Aidane’s magic had been strong enough, so far, to keep that from happening.
“Stop here,” Aidane called out to the carriage driver as they reached the road that led to Jendrie’s home.
“I can take you to the doorstep, m’lady,” the driver said courteously.
“No, thank you. I can walk.” She paused, reaching into a velvet purse for coin enough to pay the man. “Be back at this crossroads in two and a half candlemarks. Mind you don’t stop and wait, just go up and down the road. I’ll need a ride back to the city.”
The carriage driver came around to open her door. Aidane made sure her cowl was covering her face so that he could not identify her. “Yes, m’lady,” the driver said, helping her down. Aidane waited until the carriage had disappeared from sight before she began walking. Discretion was essential for a ghost whore, to protect both whore and client. Lanes to several manor homes led off of this stretch of road, so even if the carriage driver mentioned bringing a fare this way, he would have no idea where his passenger had gone.
Aidane paused at the gate to the large manor house. It wasn’t the custom in Nargi to make an ostentatious show of wealth on the outside of a home. Better not to give the priests any reason to claim higher tribute or to covet one’s property. Nargi’s priests were infamous for bringing charges against even the rich and well-connected whose power or wealth might pose a threat to the iron control of the priesthood.
“Hurry,” a voice called from the other side of the gate, which opened far enough for Aidane to slip through. “The mistress is waiting for you.”
Aidane said nothing as she followed the servant up the long gravel carriageway. She kept her hood up. It was possible that the servant had no idea of the nature of Aidane’s visit. That would be best. The less said, the better.
In Aidane’s mind, she could feel Nattan’s anticipation. He’d reconciled himself to the new arrangement, and the more he thought about it, the more urgent his lust became. Aidane tried not to guess at the nature of her clients’ relationships with their dead lovers. For some, it was obvious that death had severed a deep, genuine love. Many of the others just missed a reliable lay, or found the novelty of sex by proxy to be titillating. Aidane and the other ghost whores promoted the fiction that they suffered memory loss after the ghost left them. While she fervently wished it were true, it wasn’t, although the fiction pacified nervous clients and squeamish spirits. And it gave clients who later had second thoughts about the rendezvous less of a reason to hire one of Nargi’s numerous and inexpensive assassins to eliminate a potential embarrassment.
“M’lady is this way.” The servant led Aidane in through the kitchen door, down a darkened hallway. Perhaps Jendrie had dismissed the other servants for the night; the corridors were empty. They climbed up the servants’ steps from the kitchen, then went through a narrow passageway intended for ladies in waiting and kitchen staff, before stopping at a door. The servant knocked four quick times, and the door opened. A woman stood in silhouette in the doorway.
“That will be all, Priscilla. Mind you say nothing of this to anyone or I’ll have you beaten.”
“As you wish, m’lady.”
The servant fled, and the woman gestured for Aidane to enter. “Take off your cloak. I wish to see you.”
Aidane did as Jendrie bid her, letting the cloak fall to the floor. Jendrie eyed her with a combination of suspicion and lust. “How do I know you can channel Nattan’s spirit? Maybe you’re just a good actress.”
Aidane met Jendrie’s eyes with an insolence the woman did not expect. “You know my reputation or you wouldn’t have sought me out. Once he possesses me, you’ll know. His gestures, his way of speaking, his way of pleasuring you… all will be as they were. Only the body has changed.”
“And you’ll remember nothing?”
“Nothing, m’lady.”
“Very well.” Jendrie stepped closer, and Aidane could smell wine on her breath. Apparently the encounter had unnerved her patron just as it had made Nattan’s ghost fidgety. “Let’s begin.”
“First, my coin, if you please.” Aidane’s gaze did not falter. “Sometimes, my leaving is rushed. Best to handle business first.”
An ironic smile touched the corners of Jendrie’s mouth. As she turned to take a coin from a purse on the desk, Aidane got a good look at her. Jendrie was tall and slender. Her coppery skin showed Nargi blood, while her startlingly blue eyes hinted at a mixed heritage, perhaps Margolense or Dhassonian. Her chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders, and Aidane imagined that Jendrie had let it down for her lover, since the long pins and gem-studded combs that most highborn women used to bind their hair lay discarded on a stand. A black satin robe, another piece of contraband, clung to Jendrie’s curves. Jendrie handed Aidane the coin and then loosed the belt of her robe, letting it fall away. She wore nothing underneath.
“I want Nattan,” she whispered seductively, and reached out to stroke Aidane’s cheek. “Bring him to me.”
Aidane resisted the urge to shy away from Jendrie’s touch as she put the coin safely in her purse. She reached out for her magic, letting it fill her, and called out to Nattan. The transition was always unpleasant as the ghost’s spirit forced its way into her body, crowding out her own being. Aidane trembled as Nattan’s spirit filled her, and she could see in Jendrie’s eyes that Jendrie found it arousing. Aidane scurried to the far corner of her mind, to her hiding place, but not quickly enough to block out the depth of Nattan’s hunger. A voice that was not her own spoke from her lips, as Jendrie began to unfasten the brooch and belt that held Aidane’s dress together and Aidane’s own hands, now Nattan’s, fumbled with the unfamiliar clothing.
Aidane reached her refuge and slammed the mental door. The years had perfected the ability to block out the moans and pleasantries even as it deadened her awareness of pleasure and release. Chanting helped. Aidane chanted a series of long poems from the ancient tales, willing herself to pay no attention to the uses made of her body or the unfamiliar voice that spoke from her lips. On occasion, sudden pain broke her concentration as Jendrie’s sharp fingernails drew blood. For that reason, Aidane preferred serving male clients or women who had lost female lovers. She was likely to sustain less unintentional damage that way.
Finally, it was over. In her mental hiding place, Aidane retained a sense of the passage of time, a necessary survival technique. The two candlemarks were ending, and Aidane needed to regain herself in order to leave before they were discovered. She ventured out of her sanctuary, but still not within Nattan’s awareness. Her body lay entwined with Jendrie’s on the broad bed. It seemed both Nattan and Jendrie had discovered that the novelty of the pairing brought new satisfaction. Nattan was talking, stroking Jendrie’s tousled, dark hair.
“What of Zafon?”
Jendrie’s lip twisted. “He’s gone to court for a fortnight. He suspects nothing.”
Aidane could feel Nattan’s apprehension. “That’s what you said before I died. But somehow, Zafon found out.”
Oh, great, Aidane thought, feeling panic rise. Nattan’s not just her dead lover; he’s her murdered lover. Funny how no one mentioned that. Time to get out of here-now!
Before Aidane could force Nattan out of her consciousness, a door slammed open. She felt Nattan’s terror at the sight of a tall, heavily built man in the doorway, and there was no mistaking the rage in the man’s eyes.
“Zafon, no!” Jendrie screamed. She tried to scurry out of the way, but Zafon moved quickly, grabbing Jendrie by her long, slender neck. She wore nothing but her jewelry, which rang like bells as he shook her, closing his large hand around her throat until Jendrie’s face grew red and she wheezed for air.
“Whore,” Zafon spat, throwing Jendrie to the floor, where she lay sobbing.
Run! Move! Aidane tried to fling Nattan’s consciousness out of the way to take back her own body, but the ghost was frozen with fear. Aidane watched helplessly as Zafon returned his attention to the bed. He took in Aidane’s necklace and the heap of clothing that lay at the foot of the bed, and his face mottled with rage.
“Ghost whore,” he hissed, as if his anger had robbed him of the breath to speak. “It’s that good-for-nothing artist, I wager.”
Aidane gave up on pushing Nattan completely away, but she finally got him to roll from the bed, barely missing Zafon’s grasp.
“Didn’t you learn anything when they killed you? They assured me it was painful. Said you shrieked like a stuck pig when they cut off your balls and that you didn’t stop screaming until they slit your whore-spawned throat.” A gleam came into Zafon’s eyes. “But you came back. So I’ll just have to kill you again.”
Aidane tried to run, but without Nattan out of the way, she was clumsy, tripping over the rug. Zafon grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm behind her. Aidane screamed, and in her mind, Nattan whimpered, nearly beyond sanity with fear. On the floor, Jendrie quivered, still huddled on her knees, face down.
“Look at me, Jendrie!” Zafon roared. “I may not be able to kill you without risking your father’s hired blades, but I can kill your lovers. This time, you get to watch.” He pushed Aidane toward where Jendrie cowered. “Look at me, or I’ll tie you to the bedpost and make you watch.”
Jendrie raised her head. Tears streaked down her cheeks, which were already mottling with the bruises from the choking. Her eyes were no longer confident and lively. They had gone dead, paralyzed with fear. She was crying hard enough that she gasped for air, and sobs racked her body.
Aidane’s heart pounded. Nattan’s ghost fled. He left her suddenly enough that it felt as if he had ripped his spirit free, tearing along her magic and leaving her, for a moment, magically blind. She expected Zafon to draw a blade, thought that he would plunge it into her heart. Instead, Zafon’s huge fist slammed into the side of her face, knocking teeth loose and sending her reeling. Blow after blow fell, and his heavy boots kicked hard into her stomach or slammed their soles down on her fingers. Aidane had felt many ghosts leave her body, but now it was her own soul that seemed to hover, gauzelike, in her mind, its grasp fading. Blood choked her as she tried to scream, but nothing appeased Zafon’s rage.
I’m dying. She could feel her heart slowing. It hurt so much to breathe. Zafon lifted his large foot over her chest and cast a triumphant look at Jendrie, who clung to the bedsheet, gray-faced and terrified. “When I’ve gotten rid of the body, you’d better be waiting for me between those sheets, by damn,” he growled. “I paid enough dowry for you to buy a houseful of whores, and I’ll have value for my coin.”
His boot slammed down, and Aidane was swallowed up by blackness.
Gradually, Aidane became aware of a rocking motion. I must be dead. Perhaps this is what it feels like when a spirit crosses the Gray Sea.
She lay face down on a pile of refuse. As consciousness returned, so did pain. Aidane felt as if she was watching from outside herself, not as she did when she hid during her clients’ couplings, but in an odd way, from a distance. She was still naked, and the cold she felt had less to do with the night air than with the certainty that life was fading. She was in the back of a wagon, and the driver was pushing the horses to a full gallop down a road that made the wagon jostle hard enough that Aidane slipped in and out of awareness.
Finally, the wagon stopped. Zafon came around and grabbed her by the ankles, flinging her to the side of the road with a curse. Too weak to cry out, Aidane lay where she landed as the wagon rattled away. Will I bleed to death before the cold takes me, or will the wild dogs finish what Zafon started? It wouldn’t be long. Dreams and voices came to her, and ghosts pressed all around her, waiting. She had nothing to offer them now, but still, they came. Some of the spirits taunted her, and others tried to force themselves into her dying body for any chance to live again. Still others just watched, sad-eyed and silent, as if her flickering soul were a candle and their gray spirits the moths.
After a while, footsteps sounded along the road. “What have we here?” a man said. His foot nudged her over, and she fell onto her back, too spent to make any effort to cover her nakedness.
“Not much left of her, is there?” his companion replied. Aidane’s vision was blurry, but from what she could make out, the two men were dressed all in black, wearing neither the robes of the Crone priests nor the uniforms of the king’s soldiers.
“Take her. She’ll do,” the first man said.
The second man lifted Aidane gingerly, less to keep from hurting her, she guessed, than to avoid soiling his cloak. He did not put her into a wagon as she expected, but instead, the two men veered from the road down a trail into the darkness of the forest. Branches stung as they slapped against Aidane’s bare skin, and brambles tore at her. She shivered with cold, and the shivering made her injuries hurt more. She lost all sense of time. Even the ghosts fled.
Finally, they slowed. In the moonlight, Aidane could see the entrance to a cave. One of the men lit a torch, and then they began to wind their way down rocky passages. Sharp rocks skinned Aidane’s knees and shoulders. Aidane was beyond fear, sure that death would come soon. Even if her new captors wished to inflict more pain, their amusement would not last long. She knew that. It comforted her. No more pain. No more ghosts. No more clients like Jendrie.
“Put her in there.”
The man set Aidane down in a cage made with iron bars. “She’s not a biter; that’s her own blood. And if she was a shifter, I reckon she’d have made the change and bitten us. Doesn’t look like she’s got fight left in her.”
“Do as I say.”
With a shrug, the man turned a key in the lock. The first man pressed his face against the bars with an unpleasant smile. “Don’t spill any more of that precious blood now, darlin’. We’re going to need it for the Moon Feast.” With that, he turned, and the two men left the chamber.
Aidane managed to shift, just a bit, to look around. It hurt to move much, but she could see other cages, and in them, huddled shapes. In the cage next to her, a man lay with a stake through his chest. He was as pale as a corpse and he did not breathe, but his face was turned in her direction and she could tell that there was consciousness in his eyes.
A groan sounded from another cage. Aidane mustered the energy to move far enough to see. A naked man lay curled in pain, arrows protruding from several places along his body. Aidane’s eyes widened. That many arrows should have killed a mortal. Then she recalled her captor’s comment about “shifters” and “biters.” She knew little of either, but she had heard tell that both vyrkin and vayash moru could withstand injuries beyond a mortal’s endurance.
The naked man seemed to sense her gaze. He turned to look at her and moved his leg to cover himself. His violet eyes seemed to see right through her. “Why are you here?” His voice was tight with pain. “You’re mortal. What do they want from you?”
“Blood,” Aidane managed through swollen lips, barely above a whisper. “My blood.”
It occurred to Aidane that she was naked, and in the next moment, that she was too badly injured to feel shame. The man in the cage drew a labored breath.
“Sacrifice. They want you for a sacrifice. To Shanthadura.”
Shanthadura. A name used to frighten children, spoken only in whispers. The Destroyer. The Great Darkness.
“You’ve heard of Her?” the vyrkin asked.
“She’s not real,” Aidane replied, her voice shaking with the strain of talking.
Those violet eyes locked her gaze. “Oh, yes, She’s real. And we’re all here to feed Her so Her disciples can let Her rise once more.”