Sebastian

  Praise for

  Sebastian

  “Bishop’s talents lie both in her ability to craft a story filled with intriguing characters and in her flair for smoldering sensuality that recommends her to fans of Tanith Lee, Storm Constantine, and Anne Rice. Highly recommended.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “[Anne Bishop’s] worlds are so fully realized and three-dimensional, they jump right off the pages…. Exotic, original, sensual, there’s nothing here I didn’t love. I can’t recommend this author and her newest novel highly enough.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “[A] page-turner…[an] impressively unclichéd battle between light and dark…pure originality and lyrical prose…will delight fantasy readers.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “I enjoyed every page of the book from beginning to end and absolutely love the characters that inhabit it.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Highly recommended…. Glorianna is a fantastic presence, a nascent goddess.”

  —SFRevu

  “A wonderful book to get lost in.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “A fantastic book. Bishop has built a compelling world that is filled with fascinating and complex characters.”

  —Romantic Times (top pick, 41/2 stars)

  Praise for Award-Winning

  Author Anne Bishop

  “Rich and fascinatingly different dark fantasy.”

  —Locus

  “A terrific writer…. The more I read, the more excited I became because of the freshness of [her] take on the usual high fantasy setting, the assurance of [her] language, all the lovely touches of characterization that [she slips] in so effortlessly.”

  —Charles de Lint

  “Lavishly sensual…a richly detailed world.”

  —Library Journal

  “Vividly painted…dramatic, erotic, hope-filled.”

  —Lynn Flewelling

  “A darkly fascinating world…vivid and sympathetic characters…lavish and sensuous descriptions, and interesting world building…many compelling and beautifully realized elements…a terrific read.”

  —SF Site

  “Intense…erotic, violent, and imaginative. This one is white-hot.”

  —Nancy Kress

  “Mystical, sensual, glittering with dark magic.”

  —Terri Windling, coeditor of The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror

  “[Anne Bishop’s] poignant storytelling skills are surpassed only by her flair for the dramatic and her deft characterization…a talented author.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  ALSO BY ANNE BISHOP

  THE BLACK JEWELS SERIES

  Daughter of the Blood

  Heir to the Shadows

  Queen of the Darkness

  The Invisible Ring

  Dreams Made Flesh

  THE TIR ALAINN TRILOGY

  The Pillars of the World

  Shadows and Light

  The House of Gaian

  THE EPHEMERA SERIES

  Sebastian

  Belladonna

  ANNE BISHOP

  Sebastian

  ROC

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,

  Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,

  Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany,

  Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin

  Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a Roc hardcover edition.

  Copyright © Anne Bishop, 2006

  Excerpt from Belladonna copyright © Anne Bishop, 2007

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-1012-1958-4

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For

  Pat York

  who crossed over to other landscapes.

  I’m glad you were part of my life.

  Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to Blair Boone for continuing to be my first reader, to Debra Dixon for being second reader, to Kandra and Doranna for maintaining the Web site, and to Pat and Bill Feidner for all the things that make them special.

  Long ago, in a time that has faded from memory,

  a mother’s tears forged the bridge that, ever after,

  connected the power of the living, ever-changing

  world to the human heart.

  —Myth

  Chapter One

  Present

  Standing at the kitchen counter, Sebastian closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and deeply to savor the smell of freshly ground koffea beans. Better than a woman. At least, a more sensual experience than the last two he’d been with.

  When an incubus found sex boring, it was time to take a break—or think about another line of work.

  Pushing that thought into the mental trunk where he
’d shoved so many unpleasant memories, he followed the rest of the instructions for brewing the koffea beans.

  What would it be like to rise in the first wisps of dawn and come out to the kitchen to grind the beans while someone who truly mattered was snuggled in his bed, waiting to be awakened with a nuzzle and a kiss—and a cup of freshly brewed koffee? What would it be like to stand outside, cup in hand, and watch the day come alive?

  Sebastian shook his head. Why was he rubbing salt into emotional wounds, thinking about things that couldn’t be? He lived in the Den of Iniquity, which consisted of a few blocks of crowded buildings and cobblestone streets—a place that, most likely, had been an unsavory part of some large city, nothing but a dark smudge in a daylight landscape. Then a Landscaper had altered the world, turning those streets into a separate landscape, and that had changed the feel of living on those streets, had changed the taverns, gambling houses, and brothels into a carnal carnival.

  But it was more than a place where human vices were openly enjoyed, more than a place where humans who didn’t fit into the daylight landscapes and demons like the incubi and succubi could live. The Den was at the center of a cluster of dark landscapes some of Ephemera’s demon races claimed as their own. It was a place where those demons could purchase supplies or buy a drink in a tavern without being hated or driven away because they weren’t human.

  It was also a place that had its roots in the darker side of the human heart, a place where the sun never rose.

  He’d been a bitter fifteen-year-old boy when he’d stumbled into the Den. Having escaped his father’s control two years before, he’d disappeared into the landscapes and struggled to survive. The dark human landscapes were too desperate and frightening even for a boy whose demon nature eclipsed whatever human blood might flow through his veins, but the people in the daylight landscapes didn’t want something like him living among them, and he’d been driven out of village after village as soon as the people realized he was an incubus—and that hunger for the emotions that were produced by sex was something that couldn’t be hidden or denied for long.

  So when he found the Den and felt the dark, edgy, carnival tone of the place, he’d embraced it with all his heart because he’d finally found a place where being an incubus didn’t make him an outcast, a place where the never-ending night suited who and what he was—a place where he could belong.

  And he still belonged here. The Den was his home. But now, as a man who had recently turned thirty…

  I’m so tired of the night.

  A sudden yearning for something washed through him, making his heart ache, filling him with a need and a longing so powerful it staggered him. He braced his hands on the counter and waited for the feeling to pass. It always did.

  But the yearning had never been this powerful before, had never swept through him like this. Didn’t matter. Those feelings came and went—and nothing changed.

  Disgusted with himself for not being content with what he had, he plucked a mug off the wooden stand—and almost dropped it when someone knocked on the cottage’s front door. He never brought anyone to his home, never invited anyone to visit. The only two people who ignored that demand for privacy were his human cousins, Glorianna and Lee, and neither of them would sound so hesitant about applying knuckles to wood.

  He’d just ignore it; that’s what he’d do. He’d ignore it, and whoever—whatever—was on the other side of the door would go away.

  The door creaked open. Sebastian’s heart pumped against his chest as he set the mug on the counter, careful to make no sound. Just as silently, he eased the biggest knife he had out of the wood block. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but he’d go down fighting.

  “Sebastian?” a voice called. “Sebastian? You here?”

  He knew that voice, but he still hesitated. Then he swore silently and slipped the knife back into its slot. There were very few things in the Den that couldn’t be bought, but trust was one of them.

  Moving to the doorway that separated the kitchen from the main living area, he peered into the room and studied his visitor.

  The other incubus stood on the threshold, almost bouncing with nerves. Yet his eyes were bright with curiosity as he looked at the simple furniture and the framed sketches on the walls.

  “What do you want, Teaser?” Sebastian asked.

  If Teaser noticed the harsh note in Sebastian’s voice, he ignored it and bounded into the main room. Then he stopped, spun around, and closed the outer door before moving toward Sebastian with the cocky swagger that was at odds with his boyish good looks.

  Women were often deceived into believing he acted the way he looked. With Teaser, sometimes that was a serious mistake.

  As youths, they had trolled the Den’s streets together—blond-haired, blue-eyed Teaser projecting an image of a boy out for a bit of naughty fun, while Sebastian was the handsome piece of danger with his sable hair and sharp green eyes. They’d played their games of seduction, providing physical sex to women who crossed over to the Den from the daylight landscapes or using the power of the incubi to connect with another mind through the twilight of waking dreams, feeding on the emotions they created by being fantasy lovers. Unhappy wives. Foolish girls who wanted the romance of a mysterious admirer. Lonely women who craved the warmth of a lover, even if that lover came to them only in dreams. They were all prey to the incubi.

  For five years, he and Teaser had rented adjoining rooms at an expensive bordello and trolled the Den. Then, when he turned twenty, Sebastian could no longer ignore a growing need for something beyond the Den and the sexual games, so he walked away from the colored lights and the dark buildings. He found a dirt lane that began a few steps away from where the Den’s main street ended—a lane he was certain hadn’t been there before. He followed it, not sure if he was just taking a walk or really leaving the one place he’d felt at home.

  That was how he found the two-story cottage. It didn’t look like it belonged in a landscape like the Den, but it wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t belonged. That was the way things worked in Ephemera.

  He went inside, wary of being caught by whoever laid claim to the place. But it wasn’t inhabited. Half the rooms were empty, but there was enough furniture left haphazardly in the other rooms to set up a comfortable bedroom, living area, and kitchen. He found linens and towels, as well as everything he needed in the kitchen to prepare and eat a simple meal. He prowled the rooms for an hour—and realized something inside him had relaxed, as if he’d taken his first full breath in months.

  Finding cleaning supplies in a cupboard in the kitchen, he dusted, polished, swept, and scrubbed until the cottage was clean and the furniture arranged to his liking. Then he went back to the Den, removed most of his possessions from the room he rented in the bordello, and moved into the cottage. A week later, when he returned from trolling the Den’s streets, he discovered someone had planted a moonflower beside the cottage’s back door.

  That was when he realized this place had been waiting for him to find it, to want it. She would have known the moment something in him had changed enough to match the cottage, and the moonflower was her way of saying, “Welcome.”

  In Ephemera, there were few secrets of the heart. And nothing could be hidden from Glorianna Belladonna.

  He had lived in the cottage for the past ten years, still a part of the Den and yet apart from it.

  “Didn’t see you around yesterday,” Teaser said, pulling Sebastian back to the present. “Just thought I’d stop by and…see.”

  He’d spent yesterday sketching—and had burned all the sketches when he realized he’d been trying to capture daylight memories of Aurora, his aunt Nadia’s home village. Things he’d seen as a child during the times he lived with her. Then his father, Koltak, would show up again and take him away, dumping him on some woman in the poor section of the city where Koltak lived—a woman who was paid to tolerate his presence and provide him with food and a place to sleep. Half the time he lived on the street
s, running wild with other abandoned children and remembering all over again how barren and miserable his life was supposed to be. Then Nadia would arrive and take him back to her home.

  Nadia’s and Koltak’s battle of wills, and the cycle of loving acceptance and coldhearted misery, finally ended when he’d gotten away from his father the last time Koltak arrived at Nadia’s house to take him back to the hated city.

  “I was occupied,” Sebastian said, pushing aside the memories.

  Teaser grinned wickedly. “Still offering comfort to aging spinsters and lonely widows? You need to look for something a bit more lively. Someone with a bit more kick. Can’t imagine any of them are much fun when you cross over to give them a ride in the flesh instead of just romantic dreams.” Then he sniffed the air. His eyes widened. “Is that koffee?”

  Sebastian sighed. He’d ground enough beans for two cups. Looked like he was going to share. “Come on, then.”

  When he walked back to the counter, Teaser was right behind him.

  After eyeing the bag of koffea beans, the grinder, and the perk-pot, Teaser whistled. “Got the whole setup. Maybe giving spinsters and widows sweet dreams and hot nights is more lucrative than I thought.” He paused. “But you don’t usually buy from the black market.”

  Sebastian took another mug from the wooden stand and filled it with koffee. “I didn’t get this from the black market. This was a gift from my cousins.” As he turned to hand the mug to Teaser, he caught the flash of fear in the other incubus’s eyes, noted the slight tremble in the hands that accepted the mug.