Den of Shadows Collection: Lose yourself in the fantasy, mystery, and intrigue of this stand out trilogy

Wyld’s fingers lifted the piece to what little light the lamp made.

‘Is it worth it?’ Wyld whispered to the figure, searching the Angel’s gold visage with her eyes. Momentarily she wished for an answer to be given, no matter how implausible it seemed. Oh, how she wished it could speak to her. She pressed the cold metal against her forehead, questioning – among other things – if anybody even cared. Then she set it back down.

A slow striking of the car door diverted these thoughts. Katerina lightly slunk inside when invited, very much respectful of the personal space of the car’s inhabitant. She cooed a hello, waving a bottle of red wine and a glass, watching Wyld’s hammock rock to a stop.

‘Good evening, I don’t mean to impose on what you’re up to.’ Katerina scanned her surroundings, trying to work out what that may have been but obviously came up with nothing. ‘I was wondering if you would like to join us. We’re all playing cards and would welcome another hand.’

‘Sorry. I figure I’m just not your sort of company. No offence and all.’

‘None taken I assure you. I just thought it would be nice to invite our resident ghost. I rarely see you and thought that it must get pretty stuffy in here by your lonesome.’

Wyld cracked a smile in approval. ‘It’s appreciated, thanks. It’s nice to know that I’m not invisible to everyone. I get some disapproving looks from time to time so I just try to stay out of sight and all. I stand out too much among the make-up and –’ she gestured to Katerina who probed for a place to sit ‘– all that flair.’

‘You’re telling me. The dresses can be a bit much. Having to keep up the pretence can be draining.’

‘What pretence?’

‘The boss says we have to keep the image of who we are at all times, especially away from the Den itself. I get it. I really do, but it can be such a chore. We’re on display all the time and that’s fine. It can just be tiring.’

‘Enough to leave?’

‘Heavens no.’ Katerina gave a warm chuckle. ‘The girls here, well, we’re family, you know. You don’t walk out on your family. May I?’

Katerina pointed to a pine trunk strapped with rough iron, finding a lack of a proper chair.

‘Be my guest.’ Wyld wearily sighed and took another gulp from her bottle. You’re right, she thought. You don’t abandon your family. So why did he?

Katerina took a meek drink from a glass and gestured. ‘What about yours?’

‘Some white rum from in town. Local stuff. It’s fancy –’

‘No, I mean your family. Where are they?’

‘That’s pretty much non-existent,’ she said. ‘Orphan of the streets like many others out there. I never got to know my family. If I did nowadays, I would sock them on the jaw.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Wyld snorted. ‘Nobody else is.’

They both drank more, bolder, unsure as to how to continue the conversation.

‘I envy you, you know?’ Katerina eventually stated, refilling her glass, halfway this time.

‘That’s just the drink talking.’

‘No, I’m serious. You live so nomadically. Wind in your hair. You’re free, you know? Nobody to answer to.’ A blaze of red curls hid her features before eventually being moved away with a palm, replaced with an immediate smile that seemed suspiciously one of reflex and illusion.

‘Except Franco,’ Wyld added, swigging once more with a stifled gasp.

‘Except Franco. But you know what I mean.’

‘It’s nothing that couldn’t be fixed. There’s no harm venturing out to find a little purpose.’

‘There are some folks – you are very much included in this – who are well suited to adapting to challenging lifestyles. They thrive in such environments. It’s in their very being I guess one could say. Now, when it comes to me, I’m the opposite. I like my comforts. I am accustomed to them, have been all my days. The Den is my compromise for wanderlust.’

‘What were you before all this? Did you have a job or something?’

Katerina broadly grinned, genuinely excited to discuss such things. Rarely had she had the opportunity to do so. ‘I was a seamstress. I suppose I still am as I make alterations for the others if their garments need adjusting and I fix the clothes too. I even sewed up Franco when he caught a bullet. That was a first. But I didn’t actually need to work before, I did it as a hobby.’

‘Moneyed family?’ Wyld pressed, slightly concerned that this was too personal, though she was answered promptly.

‘Unfortunately so,’ Katerina said. ‘I had a childhood out of a book. Several books actually. Have you seen those family paintings that nobility have, hanging over fireplaces? I was the child with the pout who wanted to be doing anything else other than posing.’

‘Sounds like a fine time to me,’ Wyld countered. ‘I’ve always wanted to be invited to one of those fancy shindigs where there’s food for miles and the conversation is as pleasant as hornet stings.’

‘Not fine enough, I assure you. I heard that the Gambler’s Den was in town from my father. He promised to take me and when I saw Franco perform I was smitten. I knew there and then I wanted that life: the show, the performance, the fireworks, the applause – oh the applause! I approached Misu and she interviewed me that night. I must have done something well because I’ve been here ever since.’

‘If I had a family like yours, I would spend some of that wealth in tracking you down,’ Wyld said cautiously. It was a fair point. If one had money then there was nothing you couldn’t accomplish or obtain.

‘Fortunate for me that my father just doesn’t care then, isn’t it? My mother was more the free-spirited type. He was,’ Katerina corrected herself hurriedly, ‘is a bore. Talking about boring, I’m blabbering on about myself like I’m in fashion. What’s your story?’

Wyld swung her legs over to a more suitable position. Given her standing on the Gambler’s Den, or lack of it, reason dictated she should be wary of what she said. Reason also suggested drinking more and damn the consequences. The second of these took precedence.

‘I’ve been travelling for months from the south. It’s not been easy. Don’t know if you’ve got romantic notions of such travels but when a hot bath is a luxury, you know you’re doing something wrong.’

‘How do you afford the rooms? It must be costly.’

‘Money is no concern. Sold everything I owned before leaving, which got me not too far admittedly, but I sell things to make ends meet.’

‘What kind of things?’ Katerina narrowed her green eyes. ‘Our things?’

Wyld unfurled her still-clasped hands, reached forward, and passed her acquisition over for inspection.

Katerina examined its surface. It was presumably old but still in impeccable condition. Her eyes searched stoic features of the effigy. She handled it gently, careful not to inadvertently damage it. The statue’s blank eyes stared back. Wyld wondered whether it prompted the recollection of stories from youth, dramatic tales of sacrifice and danger, for Katerina as it did for her.

Clearly impressed by both its appearance and unexpected weight, Katerina passed it back. Wyld placed it beside her on the hammock with considerable care.

‘Where did you get it from?’

‘I stole it.’

‘You’re a thief?’

‘No,’ Wyld protested. ‘I’m not that. I acquire things to order for shadier clientele. I don’t know if it has a title.’

‘The title would be a thief.’

‘Only without the –’