She looked across the room to where the back offices were. There were at least ten men between her and that door, all looking like they’d love to join in the row. “No. If she can sleep through this, then let her. I’ll have a smoke and wait it out.”

“Want me to send Hypatia out?”

She glanced over her shoulder. A few other punters had joined in the fight, and Hypatia was in the middle of it all, banging heads together, looking happy as a pig in shit.

“Wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Zeke grinned and sent her off with a salute.

Celeste slipped out into the back alley, avoiding the mess she’d made.

CHAPTER 2

It was blessedly empty out back behind the Eden, if not particularly quiet. Somewhere someone was singing loud and drunk enough to wake the dead, and piano music echoed down the dirt road through open saloon doors. Laughter spilled from intoxicated lips, and the faintest scent of opium tinged the night air. Normally, three a.m. found Goetia aslumber, but Aventum Angelorum only happened once a year, and people made the most of it. Even at this hour, Perdition Street bustled.

The holiday was the commemoration of the end of Lucifer’s rebellion and the war that followed, although whether one marked it as a celebration or a day of mourning depended entirely on which side of the war one’s ancestors had been on. The citizens of Goetia were mostly Elect, so the morning had seen a parade down Main Street and speeches by the local politicians. In the afternoon, those same upstanding denizens poured into the exhibition hall to ooh and aah over the latest mining innovations and wondrous clockwork creations powered by the divinity that came out of those mines. There had even been a charity dinner at the mayor’s mansion, with society ladies in taffeta and silk.

But by nightfall, even the most God-fearing of Goetia set aside their righteousness and joined the Fallen down on Perdition. Everywhere there were men and women, Elect and Fallen, rich and poor, dressed as devils, angels, and any manner of hellish creature roaming the streets. Horns and wings were the order of the day, but there were the occasional satyr’s cloven foot and a blackened halo made of painted straw.

That’s not to say the Elect and the Fallen were at odds in Goetia the other days of the year. They needed each other, in a wretched sort of way. The Fallen were the only ones who could spot the divinity lode for mining, a gift of their ancestry. The Elect paid fair wages for that service and for the other talents of the Fallen that kept Goetia booming. But amid the iniquity of Perdition was the only place they mixed as equals. Everywhere else, Elect were on top and Fallen somewhere below.