Chapter 9: The Shadow Debt
The aftermath of the encounter at the fountain left Bloom of Misery in a state of suffocating tension. The sky was no longer emerald or crimson but a bruised shade of charcoal that smelled of stagnant magic and ozone. Cassian Fleur walked through the fog of the Lower District his body aching from the psychic strain of touching the girl in the starlight. The tattoo of the quill on his hand felt like a living coal pulsing whenever he caught a scent of anything supernatural.
He knew the Guild of Fragrance would not remain silent. The Elder Brother had lost his prize and he would burn the city to find the man who had stolen the moment of ascension. Cassian was no longer just a rogue perfumer he was a target for every power in the city. He needed more than just his chemicals and his mask. He needed a team of those who lived in the cracks of the machine.
His first stop was a hidden sub-level beneath the meat-packing plants of the Iron Fang District. This was the territory of the Silent Paws a group of werewolves who had been rejected by the Syndicates because they refused to use the Guilds stabilizing mists. Their leader was a scarred female named Rhane whose scent was a mixture of old iron wet fur and a surprisingly delicate note of wild mint.
The Mad Jester entered the subterranean chamber without stealth letting the bells on his belt announce his presence with a series of dull hollow thuds.
The werewolves emerged from the shadows their eyes reflecting the dim orange light of the grease fires. Rhane stood at the center her claws partially extended.
You have a lot of nerve showing your mask here Mad Jester she growled her voice a low vibration that rattled the pipes above. The Syndicates are offering a mountain of gold for your head.
Gold cannot buy the air you breathe Rhane the Mad Jester replied his head tilting at a manic angle. The Guild is planning to turn your kind into mindless husks to power their filters. I have seen the girl in the starlight and she is tired of the game.
Rhane sniffed the air her nose twitching as she caught the scent of the quill tattoo. You smell of the void. What did you do at the fountain.
I gave her a reason to wait the Mad Jester giggled skipping closer. But the Guild is coming for the harvest. I need eyes in the shadows and claws that dont answer to a masters scent. I am collecting a debt for the future of this city.
Rhane looked at her pack then back at the Jester. She could smell the truth in his chaos. The werewolves were tired of being the Guilds muscle. They wanted their own scent back. We will follow the Wind of Souls for now Jester. But if you lead us into a trap I will tear that porcelain mask from your face myself.
With the werewolves secured Cassian moved to his next recruit. He needed a mind that understood the deep architecture of the city. He returned to the Obsidian Tower but not to see Victor. He went to the basement where the Cog-Wraiths lived. These were humans who had enhanced their bodies with clockwork and steam-tech to survive the toxic fumes of the factories.
He found Silas the master of the Cog-Wraiths leaning over a massive brass map of the citys sewer system. Silas smelled of oil brass shavings and the bitter aroma of chicory coffee.
The Mad Jester dropped a small vial of the Primeval Blood essence onto the map.
I need a way into the Guilds lowest vaults Silas the Jester whispered. A way that doesnt involve the front doors.
Silas looked at the violet vapor inside the vial then at the Mad Jester. You are asking for a suicide mission. The vaults are protected by olfactory locks that can detect a single hair from an intruder.
Not if the intruder smells like the atmosphere itself the Jester replied. I have the Wind of Souls. I can mask our scents with the smell of the void. You provide the gears and I will provide the ghost.
Silas touched the brass map his mechanical eye clicking as it zoomed in on the Guilds foundations. If you can get us past the filters we can dismantle their distillation machines from the inside. But we will need a distraction. A big one.
The Mad Jester felt a surge of manic joy. The war between Lilith and Morgana is still smoldering. I will give it a final spark. While the witches and the vampires are busy fighting over the shadows we will strike at the heart of the perfume.
As the dawn approached the Mad Jester stood on a rooftop looking out over his small army of outcasts. A pack of rogue werewolves and a handful of clockwork saboteurs. It was a joke of a team but in a world built on lies a joke was the only thing that was truly dangerous.
Cassian pulled the mask off and looked at the quill tattoo on his hand. The girl in the starlight was silent but he could feel her curiosity. She wanted to see how the play would end.
The Shadow Debt has been called in he muttered his human voice cold and determined. And the Elder Brother is about to find out that some scents can never be bottled.
He disappeared into the gray light of the morning preparing for the final infiltration. The Guild thought they owned the air of Bloom of Misery but the Mad Jester was about to show them that the wind belonged to no one.