Page 16 of Chaos Carnival (Cirque de Sanguine #2)

Chapter 15: Unholy Arrangement

Maverick

The red neon sign of “Le Diable Noir” cast a luminous glow over the narrow Parisian street, the crimson light reminding me too much of the demon sector's eternal twilight. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and something more eldritch—that same sulfurous undertone that had clung to my skin for decades after my first deal.

Patrons with unnaturally gleaming eyes watched us pass, their gazes lingering too long on Tess. My hand instinctively found the small of her back, guiding her closer. This was no ordinary bar, and I'd brought her right into the heart of it.

Baphomet led us through a hidden door at the back to a plush VIP lounge. I slid into the circular booth first, positioning myself to watch both exits—old habits from the demon sector. Tess pressed close beside me, her tension evident in the rigid line of her spine. The last time I'd sat across from Baphomet, I'd been alone. Now her warmth against my side was both comfort and curse—a reminder of everything I stood to lose.

When he settled across from us, Baphomet’s massive frame made the furniture seem almost comically small. “Now then,” he said, his voice that same low rumble I remembered from our first deal centuries ago, “let's discuss your situation.” The familiar tone sent ice through my veins—he'd used those exact words before offering the deal that had saved my life but had haunted me ever since.

Tess tensed beside me, her pulse visible at her throat. Any other time, her fear would have been intoxicating, but now it just twisted the knife deeper. “What exactly do you know about our situation?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice neutral despite our history.

Baphomet's calculating smile didn't reach his eyes. “A seraph bound to a mortal, now turned halfling. And that curse...” He inhaled deeply, as if tasting the air. “Ah, yes. The signature is unmistakable—demon work, though crude. Amateur, really, but effective. Someone must have made a deal in a past life.” His gaze fixed on Tess, and I had to resist the urge to crowd in front of her. “Tell me, do you dream of fire and brimstone, little halfling?”

I shifted, unsettled by his insight and the way Tess's fingers dug into my thigh beneath the table. “How exactly do you propose to help us?”

“First, tell me everything.” His eyes glinted with that predatory interest of his. “About the curse, about the wraithshade. I want to hear just how desperate you are this time, seraph.”

I met his gaze, weighing each word while trying to ignore how Tess's fear and anger tasted. “My former lover cursed her soul. Tess's soul—binding us together through lifetimes.” My jaw clenched as Susannah's face flashed through my memory, bewitching and vengeful. “Now there's a man with a wraithshade who won't let her go. Meanwhile, I'm still dodging the seraphim hunters.”

“Oh, this is rich,” Baphomet purred, swirling his wine. The liquid seemed to absorb the light, like a black hole in a crystal glass. “A demon-forged soul curse, a wraithshade, and those persistent hunters.” He leaned forward, his massive frame casting us in the swell a black tide. “When I helped you escape the Seraphim Sector, I knew you'd make things interesting. The way you fought, the price you were willing to pay...” His gaze flickered between Tess and me, lips curving into a knowing smile that made my skin crawl. “But this exceeds even my expectations.”

Tess's pulse quickened against my side, and I fought the urge to phase us both out of there. We'd come too far, risked too much to run now.

Before Baphomet could elaborate, the door to the lounge swung open with enough force to rattle the glasses on our table. A woman strode in, her presence hitting the room like a flash of light that made Tess gasp beside me. She was strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire—a common demon trait. I'd heard whispers about her during our time there, warnings muttered in dark corners. We'd never crossed paths—probably by Baphomet's design.

“Baphomet,” she said, her voice a mixture of irritation and curiosity. “What do you want? I was in the middle of something.”

Baphomet's smile widened. “Lilith. Perfect timing. Please, sit.” His massive hand gestured to the space beside him. “I have a job for you. Remember that delightful little arrangement I made with some seraphim refugees centuries ago?” His eyes locked onto mine. “It's finally bearing fruit.”

Lilith's eyes narrowed as she took in Tess and me, her gaze like acid across my skin. “A job? Involving a seraph and a human?” She did a double take of Tess, nostrils flaring. “Oh, a halfling. This should be amusing.” Her attention shifted to me, and Tess pressed closer, her fear spiking sweet and sharp. “So you're one of the three my brother helped escape. I always wondered what he saw in you that was worth the risk.” She slid into the booth.

Lilith, sister of Baphomet.

A demon of legendary power and cunning. The same demon Baphomet had warned us about as we'd fled through the sector, bleeding and desperate. “Stay away from my sister,” he'd said. “I may enjoy watching you squirm, but Lilith? She'll tear you apart just to see how you're put together.”

What game was Baphomet playing now, bringing her into this? My hand found Tess's under the table, our fingers intertwining. Whatever it was, I had a feeling I wasn't the only one who would pay the price.

“You see, my dear sister,” Baphomet said, leaning forward until the shifting dark seemed to gather around him, “our friends here face quite the predicament. A wraithshade has bonded with their enemy, and there's a curse at play—demonic in nature, if I'm not mistaken. The kind of dark magic that leaves a unique signature.” His eyes glinted like blood in dim light. “Your particular expertise might prove invaluable.”

Lilith's gaze sharpened as she studied us, and Tess shuddered beside me. “A wraithshade? Here?” She turned to her brother, something passing between them that made my combat instincts scream. “You always did have a nose for curious situations.”

“The wraithshade grows stronger daily,” I cut in, forcing steel into my voice despite the ice in my veins. Tess's hand tightened in mine, giving me strength. “And this curse—it binds Tess's soul to mine across lifetimes. If you know something about either...” I let the words hang, hating how close they sounded to begging.

“A soul curse and a wraithshade.” Lilith's predatory smile widened, her teeth gleaming like razors. “Now that is intriguing. Wraithshades are tricky creatures, especially once they've fully bonded with a host. The way they twist mind and soul together...” She trailed off, savoring our discomfort. “And soul magic?” She glanced at her brother, something atrocious passing between them. “That's old arcana. Demon sector old. The kind that leaves scars across lifetimes.”

Baphomet nodded, his massive frame seeming to expand with satisfaction. “Which is precisely why I thought of you, sister. Few understand the intricacies of wraithshade bonds as you do. And as for the curse...” He gestured toward Tess, and I had to fight the urge to pull her behind me. “Well, your expertise in that might prove enlightening.”

Tess leaned forward, her determination pushing through her fear like sunlight through storm clouds. “You know how to deal with wraithshades? How to stop them?” The hope in her voice made my chest ache—I'd been desperate enough to seek help from demons once before. Look how well that had turned out.

“Oh, I know quite a bit about wraithshades, little halfling,” Lilith purred, her voice sweet poison. “Including what happens when they truly bond with their hosts. The way they feed, how they grow stronger...” Her eyes gleamed with an unholy light that transported me back to the demon sector's eternal twilight. “And yes, how to destroy them.”

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. “And why would you help us?” I asked, unable to keep the suspicion from my voice. My scars burned with the memory of our last demonic bargain. “Last time your help came with quite a price tag, Baphomet.”

Baphomet leaned forward, his massive hands clasped on the table. “Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing how this plays out. It's not often one encounters a situation like yours.” His gaze flicked between Tess and me, lingering on our joined hands. “Consider it a restructuring of our original arrangement.”

“A favor from Baphomet and Lilith.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “Something I loathe to accept, especially given our history.” Tess's hand covered mine under the table, her touch both anchor and catalyst. This time, I wasn't deciding alone. The thought both steadied and terrified me. Last time, I'd only had my own soul to bargain with.

“Can you afford to refuse?” Baphomet's smile widened, knowing and cruel. “A wraithshade grows stronger by the day, and that demon curse...” He shrugged, the gesture almost gentle. “You've seen how it binds you. Lilith understands wraithshades better than anyone in any realm. And she'll recognize the signature of whoever dealt with demons to create that curse.” He leaned forward, the umbra stirred, pooling in the hollows of his face. “You were desperate enough to trust me once, Maverick. Are you any less desperate now?”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Tess asked, her voice steady even as her pulse raced against my skin. In that moment, I heard an echo of myself centuries ago, trying to bargain for my brothers' lives.

“Lilith shares her expertise about wraithshades and soul curses. She helps you track the original demonic deal that created this curse.” His eyes glittered like blood diamonds. “And in return, we observe. Your situation is unique—a seraph and a halfling, bound by demon magic, hunted by both wraithshade and seraphim. Consider us interested parties.”

“You want to be entertained?” The memory of his laughter as we'd fled through demon territory rang in my ears—the sound had haunted my nightmares for centuries.

“I want to watch you survive.” He spread his massive hands, the gesture almost paternal. “Again.”

I met Tess's eyes, seeing my own uncertainty reflected there. But beneath it—that same fierce determination that had made me fall for her. Baphomet's help had saved my life once, but now we stood on another precipice, and the fall could break us both.

Tess squeezed my hand, and I felt it then—the pulse of our soul bond, the way our hearts beat in sync despite everything trying to tear us apart. Maybe that was the real danger here. Not what we might lose to the demons, but what we'd sacrifice to stay together.

“We need to discuss this,” I said finally, my voice rough. “Alone.”

Baphomet's smile showed too many teeth. “Of course. Take your time.” His eyes gleamed with ancient hunger. “After all, you have so much more to lose now than just your life.”

As we left the bar, Tess pressed close to my side, her warmth a reminder of everything at stake. The neon sign cast eerie shapes across her face, and I realized with stark clarity that I'd do anything—make any deal, pay any price—to keep her safe.

Above us, clouds parted, revealing a sliver of moon. The celestial poison in my veins pulsed in response, a sharp reminder of our more immediate problem. We needed somewhere secluded for the moonlight ritual, somewhere away from both demons and hunters. But in a city this old, this steeped in supernatural politics, finding true sanctuary would be nearly impossible.

Tess looked up at the moon, then back at me, understanding darkening her eyes. “We should go,” she whispered, tugging my hand. “Before you croak on me.”

The Paris streets stretched out like brushstrokes of gloom and lamplight. Tess kept close, her shoulder grazing mine as we navigated the narrow cobblestone paths. The neon glow faded behind us, but not Baphomet's words.

“We need to get those tattoos done,” Tess said, her voice low but urgent. “Before the hunters catch up to us again. Before Ivan...” She didn't finish the thought.

“The moonlight ritual comes first.” The poison snaked through my veins, a constant reminder of our deadline. “We can see Zara’s contact about permanent solutions after—“

“There won't be an after if we're not prepared.” She stopped, turning to face me. The streetlight caught the determination in her eyes. “The tattoos will strengthen us, help us fight together. We can't keep running from everything at once if we find ourselves in stasis.”

My jaw clenched. She was right. Of course she was right. The hunters would keep coming, and Ivan's wraithshade would continue to grow more and more powerful. We needed every advantage we could get. “Fine. But we need to find someone who can do the work quickly.”

I pulled out my phone, thumbing a quick message to our scattered allies:

Maverick: Need ink done in Paris. Someone discrete who works with our kind. Time sensitive.

The responses trickled in as we descended the Metro stairs. Stone sent coordinates. Lux suggested someone in Belgium. Too far. Then Zara's message popped up:

Zara: Got you covered. La Plume Noire, 3rd arrondissement. Tell Marcel I sent you. Take the abandoned Croix-Rouge station exit.

Tess peered at my screen. “Abandoned station?”

“Typical fae.” I led us down the platform, past the regular commuters, until we reached a maintenance door. The lock clicked open at my touch. “They love their secret passages.”

The service tunnel stretched into oblivion, our footsteps echoing off damp tiles. Emergency lights pulsed a sickly glow every few meters. The shadows made the poison in my veins dance and writhe.

“Left here,” I said, following Zara's directions. The tunnel opened into a station frozen in time—vintage advertisements still lined the walls, covered in decades of dust.

Tess's hand clenched my sleeve. “This is definitely not creepy at all.”

“Says the witch who cursed our souls.”

She looked at me and I watched defensive ire turn to thoughtful surrender. “You said that wasn’t me.”

I took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. “It wasn’t, monstre.”

We climbed another set of stairs, emerging into a narrow alley. The tattoo shop's entrance was mostly obscured—just a black door with a worn brass handle and a tiny plume etched into the metal.

“This is it?” Tess asked.

I tried the handle. It turned smoothly, revealing a warmly lit interior that looked nothing like the grungy exterior suggested. The bright walls were covered in intricate artwork, and the air hummed with protective wards.

A tall man with silver-streaked hair looked up from his sketchbook. “Friends of Zara's?”

Marcel's eyes widened as he took in my true form beneath the glamour. His hand twitched toward something under the counter.

“Seraph,” he breathed, tension crackling through the shop's warm atmosphere. “And...” His gaze shifted to Tess, brow furrowing. “Something else entirely.”

I held my stance, relaxed but ready, positioned between him and Tess. The flash of tattoo photos on the walls blurred in my peripheral vision. “Zara vouched for you.”

“Zara vouches for many.” His fingers drummed against the counter. “Question is, do I risk my license helping fugitives from the Seraphim Sector?”

Tess stepped forward, her shoulder brushing mine. “We need tattoos, but I need to enchant the ink first though.”

Marcel's eyebrows shot up. “That's...” He paused, studying us with new interest. “Complex. Dangerous.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Expensive.”

“Name your price,” I said.

“A vial of seraph blood.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Freely given, of course.” When I said nothing he continued. “Do you know how rare that is? What I could create with it?”

But the request sent ice through my veins, and this time it had nothing to do with the poison. Seraph blood was powerful, disastrous in the wrong hands, but we were out of options.

“Deal,” I said, before I could second-guess myself. “But the tattoos come first.”

Marcel disappeared into the back room and returned with an ornate wooden box. Inside, dozens of glass vials nestled in velvet, their contents shimmering with an ethereal iridescence.

“These are my special reserves. Ink bases from various supernatural sources.”

Tess examined each one, her expression focused. “This one will hold the spell better.”

She placed her hands over the vial, whispering her words of enchantment. The liquid inside began to pulse with a faint purple glow. The air grew thick with alchemy, and our bond hummed in response.

“Fascinating.” Marcel leaned closer, watching the ink transform. “I've never seen anything quite like this. Would you mind if I kept any leftover ink? For research.”

“It won't work,” Tess said, not looking up from her work. “The enchantment only lasts forty-eight hours once activated. If it’s not placed under the skin, it reverts to regular ink.” She sealed the vial with a final word of will. “Which is why we need to do this now.”

Marcel's face fell slightly. “Ah, well. Still remarkable work.” He picked up the vial, holding it to the light. “Shall we begin?”

I nodded, rolling up my sleeve. The poison's chill crept further up my arm, a reminder of our time constraints. We needed these tattoos done ahead of the next moonlight ritual, and before the hunters caught our trail again.

“The design needs to be exact,” Tess said, pulling out the sketches we'd prepared. “One wrong line and the whole enchantment could backfire.”

Marcel studied the intricate patterns with professional interest. “These sigils... they're meant to channel energy?” At our nods, he smiled. “Well then, let's make some magic.”

The needles buzzed in unison as Marcel and his apprentice, Gabrielle, worked. The enchanted ink burned worse than regular tattoos, each line like molten silver being carved into my flesh. Across the room, Tess's face remained stoic, but her pain thrummed through our bond.

“Almost done with the outer ring,” Marcel muttered, wiping away excess ink. The pattern on my forearm radiated with that same purple glow from the vial. “These sigils are remarkable. Ancient magic.”

“Less admiring, more tattooing,” I growled through clenched teeth. The poison in my veins made everything hurt worse, each needle prick sending ice-cold shards through my body.

Gabrielle finished Tess's tattoo first, wrapping it carefully. Marcel took another ten minutes on the final details of mine. As he cleaned the finished piece, I felt the magic bed into place— a rush of energy that made both tattoos flare bright before settling into a subtle shimmer.

“That should do it,” Marcel said, but his voice had gone tense. He glanced toward the front of the shop. “You should leave. Now. Through the back.”

I caught it then, that distinct electric taste in the air that meant hunters were nearby. Tess was already on her feet, gathering our things. We'd barely finished wrapping my tattoo when Marcel ushered us toward a hidden door behind a tapestry.

“Service tunnel leads to Rue Saint-Denis,” he whispered. “Don't come back here. They're watching the shop now.”

The tunnel air hit my face like a slap. Tess and I moved, quick and quiet, our fresh tattoos throbbing in sync. When we emerged into the pre-dawn streets, that hunter-sense was stronger.

“We need somewhere isolated for the ritual,” Tess whispered, pulling me into the shadows of a doorway as footsteps echoed around the corner. “You look like a zombie.”

I felt like one. The fatigue hung over my shoulders like a lead shroud. We had maybe an hour until sunrise to find a secure spot and complete the moonlight ritual.