itself was to Lythande, who preferred not to be contacted directly. She would
not rely on the magician to solve the Street’s problems with the Hell Hounds,
but no one else would understand her anger or alleviate it.
The Aphrodisia House dominated the Street. The Hell Hounds would come to her
first, then visit the other establishments. As word of the tax spread, the other
madams would begin a furtive pilgrimage to the back entrance of the Aphrodisia.
They looked to Myrtis for guidance, and she looked out the window for
inspiration. She had not found one by the time her guests began to appear.
‘It’s an outrage. They’re trying to put us on the streets like common whores!’
Dylan of the artificially flaming red hair exclaimed before sitting in the chair
Myrtis indicated to her.
‘Nonsense, dear,’ Myrtis explained calmly. ‘They wish to make us slaves and send
us to Ranke. In a way, it is a compliment to Sanctuary.’
‘They can’t do such a thing!’
‘No, but it will be up to us to explain that to them.’
‘How?’.
‘First we’ll wait until the others arrive. I hear Amoli in the hall; the others
won’t be long in coming.’
It was a blatant stall for time on Myrtis’s part. Other than her conviction that
the Hell Hounds and their prince would not succeed where others had failed in
the past, Myrtis had no idea how to approach the utterly incorruptible elite
soldiers. The other madams of the Street talked among themselves, exchanging the
insight Myrtis had revealed to Dylan, and reacting poorly to it. Myrtis watched
their reflections in the rough-cut glass.