Page 19 of Whispers in the Quarter

Your jazz man isn’t what he seems. Ask him about the shipments he helped “disappear” three years ago. Ask him why he really stopped running jobs for the organization.

Or better yet, ask him about the woman he’s protecting. The one with many names.

“Always trustthe whispers of your soul, child.”Grandmother’s voice echoes in my memory as Lucas’s car idles outside Jazz’s apartment.“When the spirits try to warn you, you best listen.”

The night air feels wrong somehow, charged with something beyond the usual New Orleans magic. Maybe it’s leftover adrenaline from Beaumont’s benefit, or maybe it’s something deeper, more primal.

“You’re sure about this, my Chimera?” Lucas asks, his brilliant eyes reflecting streetlight and madness. “I could takeyou somewhere more... controlled. My lab has excellent security protocols. I’ve recently installed the most fascinating array of?—”

“Lucas,” I cut him off with a fond smile. “I’m sure. Jazz’s place is the last place anyone would look for me tonight.”

“Ah yes, our musical friend.” Lucas’s fingers drum an erratic pattern on the steering wheel. “Do try not to break his heart too thoroughly. I’d hate to have to dissect it.” His grin turns feral. “For science, of course.”

The threat should worry me, but there’s something almost sweet about his unhinged protectiveness. I lean across the console, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Lucas. Try not to poison anyone without me.”

He turns at the last moment, catching my lips with his. The kiss is pure chaos—brilliant and dangerous and just a little bit mad.

A cascade of emotions rush through me as Lucas’s lips meet mine. Desire, fear, and something darker swirl together in a heady mixture. His kiss is intoxicating, like a drug that I can’t get enough of.

His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone as he deepens the kiss. I melt into him, my body responding to his touch with an urgency that surprises me. This isn’t supposed to happen. We’re just friends, colleagues even. But in this moment, none of that matters.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our tongues dance in a wild and reckless rhythm. The world falls away and it’s just the two of us, caught up in the heat and passion of this forbidden kiss.

When he pulls back, his eyes are fever-bright. “My beautiful Chimera,” he murmurs, “don’t think this means I’m sharing you easily.”

His laugh follows me up the fire escape, dark and rich as aged bourbon. My lips still tingle with the taste of him—coffee and chemicals and barely contained explosion.

Jazz isn’t home yet—still playing his last set at the club. I pick the lock with practiced ease, hearing Grandmother’s approval in the click of tumblers. Inside, his apartment feels alive with memory and music. Sheet music scattered across coffee tables, a trumpet case lovingly worn, the ever-present vinyl player waiting to spin stories into the night.

I sink onto his leather couch, letting the familiar scents of brass polish and cologne wash over me. Here, in this space that’s purely Jazz, I feel my carefully constructed walls beginning to crack. My hand drifts to my lips, still warm from Lucas’s kiss, and I wonder not for the first time what I’m getting myself into.

The soft glow of streetlights filters through the windows, casting long shadows that dance like lovers across the floor. I’ve spent countless evenings here, sharing drinks and secrets, neither of us acknowledging the growing tension between us. But tonight feels different. Tonight, the whispers in my soul are singing a new tune.

When I hear his key in the lock an hour later, my heart performs a complicated jazz riff against my ribs.

The key turns in the lock, and Jazz’s familiar silhouette fills the doorway. He doesn’t startle at finding me in his dark apartment—of course he doesn’t. Jazz has always seen me coming, even when I’m trying to hide.

“Well now,” he drawls, setting his trumpet case down with practiced care, “either my timing’s perfect, or yours is, Melody.” The nickname wraps around me like warm honey, so different from Lucas’s intenseChimera, but just as meaningful.

“Your place felt safer than mine tonight,” I say simply, knowing he’ll hear all the notes I’m not playing.

Jazz moves to his vinyl collection, fingers dancing over albums until he finds what he’s looking for. The scratch of needle on record, and then soft jazz fills the space between us. Duke Ellington’sIn a Sentimental Mood—he’s always known exactly what music my soul needs.

“I saw Lucas’s car outside,” he comments, pouring two bourbons without asking. “Interesting duet you two were playing earlier at the club.” His eyes meet mine, dark and knowing. “That kiss looked like it had some complicated chord progressions.”

I accept the glass he offers, our fingers brushing. “Jealous?”

“Of the doc’s passionate chaos?” Jazz settles beside me, close enough that I feel his warmth but not quite touching. “Nah, sugar. Some songs need both harmony and discord to work.” His smile turns gentle. “Besides, my Melody, I’ve been waiting to play my own part in this composition.”

The air between us shifts, electric with possibility. I take a slow sip of bourbon, watching him over the rim of my glass. “And what part would that be?”

“The steady rhythm beneath the chaos,” he murmurs, taking my glass and setting it aside. “The bass line that keeps you grounded when the music threatens to spin out of control.”

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and I lean into his touch. Where Lucas burns like fire and chemicals, Jazz flows like warm whiskey and summer nights.

“I’m not good at staying grounded,” I whisper, even as I move closer. “I wear too many faces, play too many dangerous games.”

“You’ve never had to wear a mask with me, Melody.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, still slightly swollen from Lucas’s earlier kiss. “I see you. All of you. Sarah, Celeste, Evangeline—they’re all just variations on the same beautiful theme.”

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