I woke up to a scream.

It felt like someone had jammed a needle into my ear.

I tumbled out of bed but sprang to my feet instantly, throwing up a shield from my ring, thankfully, I hadn't taken it off for the night, and reached for the pistol in my shoulder holster.

Except… there was no pistol. No holster either. Through the transparent plane of the shield, Ellie's terrified face stared back at me. She had pulled the blanket up to her chin.

"Riiight…" I tried to speak, but the words came out in a raven's croak, my throat dry as dust. I cleared it and coughed once.

Before I could collect my thoughts, another scream rang out from the next room.

"Wait!" someone shouted, and a blast of fire tore straight through the wall.

On reflex, I raised my shield.

"What the hell are you doing, you idiot?!"

"You, you, you!"

"Nothing happened! Why else would I be dressed?!"

Ellie and I simultaneously glanced down at ourselves.

I had lost some of my clothes, but at least my shirt and trousers were still on.

"Then why are we in the same bed?!" came the accusation from next door.

"How the hell should I know, Finny?! Stop yelling! My head is killing me!"

I finally recognised the voices: Finella and Simon.

Now the real question. Where the hell were we? Because this was not the Anvil. And yet… something about the room felt oddly familiar. Especially that curtained window. While the argument raged on next door, I took a look outside, but the street below was covered in grimy snow, and I didn't recognise it.

Meanwhile, Goat was staring intently at whatever lay under her blanket. I was starting to have suspicions, especially after checking the wardrobe and spotting her skirt hanging on one of the hooks.

Ellie hesitated, then finally threw off the blanket. Underneath, she was fully clothed, a white blouse and tight trousers. A shifter lady's standard attire.

From the other room, the argument had dwindled to a one-sided scolding. The baronet didn't even attempt to defend himself.

"Where are my shoes and coat?!"

"Check the wardrobe," I called out, tossing Ellie the skirt. She swiftly wrapped it around her waist.

A single eye peered through the hole where the fire blast had burned through the wall.

"Goat? Duncan? What the hell are you two doing?"

"Probably the same as you!" Ellie snapped, fastening her waistcoat.

In the wardrobe, I found my pistol, satchel with potions, spellbook, jacket, coat, and the Bulldogs tucked into its pockets.

Why the hell had I brought them?

Oh, right, we'd been shooting last night. Back at the Anvil, after the first crate of beer and the sausages.

Speaking of which, those sausages had been the best I'd ever had.I mean, sure, James was a fire sorcerer, and his third eye was open, but how the hell did that blind bastard tell when the meat was perfectly cooked?

I had a third eye myself, I could see magic and sort of navigate space with it, but that was about it.

"So… where are we, exactly?" Finella asked.

"A brothel," Ellie and I answered in unison.

"Oh…" I whispered, memories of the night before rushing back.

"Yeah," Ellie muttered. "Not such a great idea in hindsight."

"What do you mean, a brothel?!" Finella shrieked.

"Thought the place looked familiar," Simon muttered. "Ow! Ow! What was that for?!"

"You!"

"Nothing happened, I'm telling you!"

"It was your idea!" Finella accused him.

"And you were the one who wanted to see how poor prostitutes live," Ailie added, ever so helpfully.

Right. That was how it all started.

We hadn't been turned away from the Golden Tear yet — no, that had come later. The real turning point had been when Sunset and Harry had offered Flower a drink.

James had downed a couple of shots of potent gin and had gone under almost instantly. His alcohol tolerance was about the same as mine, but I had been sipping lager and had taken a few drops of antitoxin, while the sorcerer had been drinking firewater.

At some point, we had both felt… good.

The worries had melted away…

That had been after we'd shot the Bulldogs, of course.

The best marksman had been Logan, who, unsurprisingly, had also been the most sober, despite mixing beer with Grandma McLal's homemade whisky. A shifter's metabolism could handle much worse.

So there we were, James and I, pleasantly drunk, when the beer ran out.

Kettle demanded the party continue, and Spark decided to steer things towards a club. Naturally, she couldn't have picked something less flashy or dangerous. It had to be the Tear.

By that point, James and I had been willing to agree to anything. Harry hadn't wanted to let us go, but my dear brother had stepped in and sworn to keep an eye on us. The wizard had believed him.

Mistake.

At least he had forbidden us from taking a car.

We had taken two cabs to the club: me, Logan, Simon, Finella, Ellie, and Knuckles.

Wait, if I had woken up with Ellie, and Simon with Fin, then where the hell were Knuckles and Logan…?

As we pieced the night together, Goat and I got dressed, grabbed our hats, my coat, and her fur-lined jacket, and were ready to leave.

"Are you two coming, or are you staying?" Ellie called towards the next room.

"I'm staying," Simon said lazily.

"Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me, you crazy woman! … Ow! Ow!"

"Get dressed, or I'll light a fire under you!"

"I could answer with lightning!" the baronet grumbled.

A groan, the creak of a bed, and some shuffling followed.

Ellie and I stepped into a narrow, all-too-familiar hallway and, without a word, decided to wait.

We hadn't been let into the club, but not because we had been drunk. The hulking bouncer at the door had simply announced that our visits caused too much damage, both material and reputational.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Spark and Simon had tried to argue, but Ellie had clapped a hand over her friend's mouth, and I had done the same to Simon.

For some reason, I had felt deeply ashamed at that moment.

Logan, ever the most sober of us, had stepped in to smooth things over, and ten minutes later, we had been sitting in a nearby pub, laughing about how we had wrecked the Tear last time.

One story led to another, we reminisced about the war with the Archmaker and Nina Gratch, then drifted further back, recalling my first encounters with the girls and the Sparrow brothers.

I remember firmly refusing to drink beer that night, switching to soda instead, just to make sure I didn't say too much, and to keep an eye on Knuckles.

There shouldn't have been any memory gaps.

And yet, I had gone on to recount, in full detail, the old rivalry between Harry and the Fairburns — including the particularly amusing moment when I had had to flee a brothel.

That was when a very drunk Finella had suddenly declared that she wanted to see how fallen women lived. Ellie had expressed interest in visiting the brothel I had escaped from.

Simon had suggested we go.

I had been curious to see what the girls would do next.

Knuckles had remained silent, but clearly intrigued.

The only one who had opposed the idea had been my brother, but by then, no one had been listening to him.

"I can't be seen in a brothel!" Logan had protested. "I'm getting married!"

"Oh!" I had said. "Finally decided to make Jenny an honest woman? Congrats. What's the rush, though? Is she pregnant?"

Logan had gone red as a tomato.

"No, of course not! We've been together for over three years, it's about time. The wedding's in spring, we'll set the exact date later. We want it to line up with the apple blossoms."

"That's so romantic," Ellie had mumbled.

Finella had even teared up.

"You still have a stag night ahead of you!" Simon declared. "To the brothel!"

For which he was promptly smacked by both women, a slap from Finella, and a punch to the eye from Ellie.

Ellie apologised profusely afterward.

We went to the brothel anyway.

From that point on, my memory was a little hazy, despite the fact that I hadn't been drinking much.

The noise from the next room finally died down. The door opened, and a haggard, pale Simon Kettle stumbled into the hallway, his clothes wrinkled and a lovely shiner blooming under his eye.

Finella shoved him forward from behind, looking furious, like a rabid cat. She at least looked more put together, though she was just as pale.

"Where are the other two?" she asked.

The wooden staircase creaked, and one of the brothel girls appeared on the landing.

Last time I was here, I hadn't had the chance to examine the establishment's selection, but if this woman was the best they had to offer, I would have gladly remained a virgin for life.

She was gaunt and bony, her face scarred with pockmarks, poorly concealed beneath a thick layer of powder and rouge. More than anything, she looked exhausted. So much so that I felt an urge to slip her a few pounds for food.

"Gentlemen…" she began, hesitated, then added uncertainly, "and lady. Breakfast is waiting downstairs."

"Not sure I want to eat," Finella muttered.

She had meant it because of the hangover, but the brothel worker took it as an insult.

"Don't worry. Your friend did the cooking," she said with sarcasm.

We descended into a familiar parlour, then made our way to the small kitchen, where Logan stood at the stove, flipping pancakes and serving them to the brothel madam.

His satchel of potions hung on his left hip, while his right was occupied by a holstered rod and a sheathed cleaver. The madam was utterly unbothered by the abundance of weaponry. The plump woman sat at the head of the table, generously slathering peach jam onto her pancakes and devouring them with childlike delight, while casting adoring glances at the shifter.

Logan flipped another pancake, threw us a brief glance, and asked:

"Where's Clint?"

We exchanged looks.

The madam gave a small nod to her employee.

"Martha, go wake the young gentleman."

"Sit and eat," Logan said, gesturing toward the table with his spatula. "Cups over there are for the hangover."

I picked one up and sniffed it. The scent was unfamiliar, something new.

"Put it down," Logan ordered, pouring batter onto the pan from a bucket-sized ladle. "Not for you and Ellie."

"Why not?"

"She's a shifter, and you chugged antitoxin last night."

"I had a few drops," I grumbled, but set the cup down anyway.

I glanced at the madam and took a seat beside her. The others deliberately avoided the spot next to her, as if afraid of her presence.

Finella lifted her cup, but Kettle stopped her.

"Is this the same stuff you gave me last time?" he asked, turning to me.

Logan raised a curious eyebrow.

"Our intoxication potion," I confirmed.

"Oof," my cousin grimaced. He knew it all too well.

"Brother, you're cruel. No, this is much milder — you won't puke. You'll even manage breakfast."

Finella knocked her potion back in one go.

Simon hesitated, then reluctantly drank his as well.

Logan handed out plates and forks, then set a teapot on the table.

"You brewed this tea yourself, right?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Because I've had some bad experiences with drinks in this establishment."

"You should have sampled a pastry, my lord," the brothel madam said with a smile. "I assure you, you would have enjoyed it. Instead, you only frightened the poor girl. Speaking of which — you still owe me for the attic window."

"And you owe me for the antidote," I shot back smoothly.

"Twenty pounds, madam."

I had, of course, doubled the price, but at least it wiped the smile off her face.

Not that it was a particularly large sum for her, considering last time I had paid five pounds just to get in.

"Besides," I added, stirring my tea, "I seem to have a few… suspicious memory gaps from last night."

"Don't look at me," the madam said, washing her hands of the situation. "You lot barged in here with your own booze."

Even so, no one touched their tea after my remark.

Logan sighed and finally admitted:

"Oh, just drink the bloody tea already. The memory gaps are because of me."

"What do you mean?" I frowned. "You drugged us?"

"What was I supposed to do?" he shot back. "Ellie beat up the bouncer, Finella suddenly decided she needed to rescue all the poor, unfortunate working girls from their tragic fate—free them from slavery and set them on the righteous path."

"That was a mistake," I told Fin, who had gone scarlet with embarrassment. "Most of them chose this profession willingly. They just whine about it to squeeze more money out of their clients."

My words seemed to impress the madam, she gave me a look of approval, which threw me off completely.

"Exactly!" Logan barked. "Now drink your damn tea!"

We all took a sip in unison, just as Knuckles strolled into the kitchen. He muttered a greeting and immediately attacked the food, as if he hadn't been drinking at all last night.

"How come you're not hungover?" Simon asked, struggling to finish even a quarter of a pancake, despite Logan's potion.

"Logan gave me a hangover cure last night," Knuckles said simply.

"Hold on," I cut in. "Every hangover cure is either an antitoxin or a stimulant. If you drugged us, then a sedative wouldn't have worked on him."

"Why would I have put him to sleep?" Logan countered. "He was the only one behaving himself."

Knuckles visibly flushed and stared at his plate.

"You mean," I corrected, "he was behaving exactly as one is expected to in a brothel?"

Knuckles went even redder.

Logan didn't bother to deny it.

I chewed my pancake, washed it down with tea, and asked:

"Alright, brother, I get why you knocked out the girls. But why us? Me and Kettle?"

"You, specifically, for being a snide little bastard. Him, for trying to pick a girl for me." Logan's tone turned firm. "Jenny would never forgive a betrayal. And I will not lie to the woman I intend to spend my life with."

The girls' eyes turned starry and sentimental. Even the brothel madam gazed at Logan with admiration.

Damn it.

He really had a way with people.

"Idiot," Simon muttered, just before Finella smacked him upside the head, Ellie kicked him under the table, and the madam shot him a look of pure disapproval.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"You brought it on yourself," Finella declared.

Ellie and the madam nodded in solidarity.

"Enough bickering," Logan ordered. "We need to figure out how to get out of here. Vampires have been watching the building all night. They've been parked in a car across the street."

The room fell silent.

Most of us had unfinished business with bloodsuckers, except for the madam. Oddly, she didn't look surprised. She was either already aware or had been warned by Logan. Most likely the latter, considering she hadn't batted an eye at the weapons on his belt.

"Details," I prompted.

"Black Cooper across the road," Logan said. "Two of them. Couldn't gauge their rank. Didn't see any weapons."

"Men or women?" I asked.

Logan frowned, as if questioning my sanity.

"What difference does it make? They're vampires."

"It does matter," Finella said, catching on to my train of thought. She glanced at the madam and asked, "Just answer."

"Women."

Finella visibly relaxed.

"Don't be so sure," I warned Spark, remembering the time I had misread a vampire nest and nearly paid for it.

I turned to the madam.

"Do you have a phone, madam? Mind if I make a call?"

"In the parlour, right in the corner."

The telephone was well hidden from prying eyes, and it took me a moment to find it.

I dialled Kate Lindemann.

The line rang a few times before a pompous butler's voice coolly announced:

"Blair Nest."

I still couldn't get used to it. Lindemann had been one of Lucas's daughters, but the new mother of the nest had taken the surname Blair.

"It's Duncan. Is Kate home?"

"Lady Blair is asleep," the butler replied stiffly.

I knew for a fact the man was human, and his eagerness to serve a bloodsucker irritated me to no end.

"Listen, I've got two bloodthirsty ladies on my doorstep. Should I kill them?"

The butler ignored my jab completely.

"To my knowledge, Miss Alice and Miss Gloria are not on your doorstep but in a car. And not at your residence, but outside an establishment where true gentlemen would never think to visit — let alone spend the night."

"An establishment where true gentlemen would never think to visit is a vampire nest. This is a brothel."

"A rather cheap one, I might add."

"Oh? An expert, are we? Fine. I'll go rip their heads off, then."

"Lady Blair!" the butler hurriedly cut in. "She left instructions in case you called, my lord. She requests that you send the girls home. Miss Gloria still does not handle daylight well."

"Of course, dear sir," I gritted out. "Do send Lady Blair my warmest—"

I hung up before finishing the sentence.

Returning to the kitchen, I announced:

"Stand down. False alarm."

"You sure?" Logan asked.

I rolled my eyes, walked into the parlour, then stepped outside. Spotting the car, I waved at the bloodsuckers and gestured for them to leave. They exchanged glances, started the engine, and drove off. Logan must have heard the door open, he rushed out after me, only to catch the tail end of the show.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

"Ask Evan when you get home!" I grumbled.

The last thing I needed was anyone finding out that my cousin had arranged for me a bloodsucking nanny, who had now become the mother of her nest and was watching over me with her entire family.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.