“Perhaps The Devil Lord might see fit to apologize himself for keeping me waiting out here?” she demanded, and she saw the way the guard behind the man fixed her with an incredulous expression.
Behind his mask, the other gentleman smirked. “You are a lively one. Aren't you? I do believe My Lord was hoping for a little fire tonight.”
Emmaline gulped. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure she had chosen the correct path.
It was too late. The gentleman gestured with a wave of his hand and said, “Please, follow me. I shall take you to our lord.”
When he turned and started down the street, Emmaline was more than a little confused. “I was told he would be here.”
The masked man stopped at the edge of the building and turned back. She could just see the smirk from beneath the edge of the mask. “He is, My Lady. Follow me.”
Emmaline’s throat constricted. What other choice did she have?
On trembling legs, her feet feeling heavy as stone, she clasped her hands before her and walked with her head held high. Though the rain persisted, even in the alleyway, Emmaline forced herself to walk at a dignified pace.
Somehow, she felt every single second of her presence there was being watched and judged, and somehow, she was certain her every action would be reported back to The Devil Lord himself. She could not afford to put even one foot wrong.
Led down the alleyway in total silence, Emmaline was taken further and further into darkness. And just as she was starting to panic that the alleyway would never end, and she would be lost in the blackness forever, a crack of light opened up.
A doorway was pulled back to reveal a candlelit hallway. The masked man gestured her silently in. Slipping past him, the smell of incense met her nostrils, causing her to gag a little. It was thick and heady and clotted in her throat making it difficult to breathe mixed with the scent of tobacco smoke.
As if he sensed her discomfort, her escort chuckled. “Are you well, My Lady?”
“Quite,” she forced out before she added, “Please, take me to your lord.”
“All in good time, My Lady,” the escort responded and gestured once more for her to follow him.
They walked through a parlor filled with men. A bar at one end served a multitude of drinks, all carried by exquisitely dressed young ladies. Their gowns, or rather costumes, were risqué to say the least and Emmaline tried hard not to meet their gaze. In fact, she tried to keep her chin raised so as not to meet anyone's eye.
The men sat off in the corners of the room, their faces hidden by shadow, seeming to watch her with glowing interest as she was led through the room.
Emmaline held her breath, her arms tucked into her sides so as not to brush by anyone.
“Well, aren't you lovely?” A man said, stumbling up from a chair as she passed. He reached for her, his trembling hand barely missing her forearm.
In a flash, her escort turned, grabbed the man's forearm and bent it back behind his back. Emmaline gasped as the man groaned and reeled back into his seat.
“You do not lay hands on The Devil Lord's personal guests,” her escort sneered loudly enough that he could be heard by all over the clamor of the room.
“You have my apologies, My Lady. It won't happen again,” her escort assured her, guiding her on. With every step, Emmaline had to fight the urge to turn and run.
That urge came to an all-time overwhelming high when her escort pulled back a curtain on the far side of the room and gestured her through.
The guards on either side of the entryway suggested this was no open part of the club. It was restricted and that meant only one thing to Emmaline: things were about to get worse.
Still, she reminded herself why she was there, why she was putting herself through this. Her family needed her and so she squared her shoulders and stepped through.
Disappointment hit her when all she found on the other side was a dimly lit hallway.
“This way,” her escort said and when he turned left, beginning to disappear down a dark staircase, Emmaline's disappointment became anxiety once more.
Down and down she went, into the bowels of the earth, feeling as if she might never return topside again. Her heart hammered so hard in her chest she felt as if she had swallowed a frightened bird. Her throat felt thick and swollen When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she knew she had entered the very bowels of hell itself.
Through an open archway was a true den of iniquity. It was like nothing she had ever seen before.
The atmosphere of candlelight set in red holders to dim their brightness could not quite dim the debauchery going on before her very eyes.
Women, bare to the waists, wearing nothing but silken shift skirts and bells around their stomachs, wandered the rooms carrying trays filled with drinks. Men pawed and grabbed at them as if they were animals there for the petting.
