The 7th of London by Beau Schemery Read Free Book Online Page B

impossibly high, and Sev stretched his neck to take it all in. Rat led Sev up a center aisle that must have separated rows of pews at one time, but those were gone, the areas on both sides now filled with home furnishings. On the left were beautifully stuffed and carved couches, expensive tables, and cozy fireplaces to form a massive sitting room, while on the right was a long line of majestically polished tables, with scores of finely carved chairs beneath amazingly delicate chandeliers in what was obviously a dining room. All the walls were decorated with paintings of beautiful, half-naked, androgynous figures cavorting in twilight woods, like faeries in a children’s story. Sev wondered why Midnight would have such elaborate facilities for entertainment when everything Sev had heard suggested Midnight allowed few access to his inner sanctum. Perhaps he had aspirations to one day rejoin high society, although Sev doubted that very much.
    When Sev managed to tear his eyes away from the decadence, he looked to the front of the room, where an altar for services should reside. Instead there was an elaborate black throne beneath an equally elaborate painting where the image of Christ should hang. In the throne sat a lithe, exquisitely dressed young man. The suit was finely tailored, though the articles fit more snugly than was dictated by and accepted in general society. Sev would guess he was barely twenty. The smiling youth had delicate features and held a glass of dark liquid, but not as dark as the clothes he wore, nor as dark as his shockingly black hair combed forward in a wave that almost concealed his left eye. As Sev approached, he could see the beautiful man wore dark, dusky eye makeup.
    Sev sighed, relieved. He had no idea who this odd creature was, but there was no way this was the infamous, deadly criminal, Jack Midnight. That fact made Sev breathe easier, knowing he’d only have to meet with this liaison and not the man himself. Sev removed his hat, at any rate, as he ascended the steps of the dais behind Rat.
    “This is ’im,” Rat said by way of introduction.
    “Thank you, Rat.” The young man waved the urchin away. “That will be all.” Rat bobbed his head and dashed dutifully away. The man in the throne smirked at Sev but said nothing. The silence stretched, and finally at ease, Sev looked around at all the expensive decoration of the room. He could still almost see the churchy bits, but the religious had been nearly obliterated by the decadent. “So.” The man spoke, drawing Sev’s attention. “The Seventh of London. I have to admit, it is an honor.”
    “Excuse me?” Sev asked.
    “You’re the legendary Seventh of London,” the fancy stranger answered. “The seventh sibling, with the courage to stand up to his slaver.”
    “Well, sir,” Sev answered, shuffling his feet, “I don’t know about that.”
    “I do.” The young man in the throne sat up. “Wine?” He raised his goblet. Sev considered it and shrugged. The stranger poured another goblet of the dark liquid and offered it to Sev, who accepted. Sev sniffed at the glass, wincing. The liquid smelled potent, like chocolate and leather. He sipped it and was surprised at the numerous flavors. Heat filled his limbs at his next gulp. “Well done, Mr. Seven,” the man laughed.
    “Ye seem t’know a great deal about me. Might I have the pleasure of yer introduction, sir?” Sev took another delightful mouthful of the dark liquid.
    “Jonathan Middlenight.” The man held out his hand. “Jack Midnight to my friends… and enemies.” Sev choked on the wine, the liquid crawling up the back of his throat into his nostrils. He coughed and wiped his nose with the hand not holding the goblet. “Are you all right, Mr. Seven?” Midnight asked, leaning forward.
    “Ye’re not what I expected,” Sev answered honestly and cleared his throat.
    “Yes, I get that a lot.” Midnight stood and paced to the edge of the dais.
    “Why’d ye call me