Page 32 of Blackwicket
The word burned my eyes. Or perhaps it was the horrible shock of discovering how deep our bond had been severed that she’d hide even this from me. My sister had been a mother.
But where was her child?
I stood from the desk so forcibly the chair overturned. I left it and hastily pocketed the photos, forgetting the pen was there. It nicked my fingertip, and I yanked my hand out, a dome of red welling on my finger. The minor pain aided in clenching my decision. Damning the Inspector and his orders to hell, I hurried into the foyer and grabbed my coat.
I was going to town to hunt down Ms. James.
Chapter Thirteen
When I arrived on the main street of Nightglass, it was early evening, and already the town was alive. Tourists were filtering in and out of the restaurants and boutique shops filled with the high-end trappings and trimmings of the wealthy: luxury cosmetics, rare liquors, and expensive cigars. The glow of the shop window lights strained to present a cheery sight amidst the gloomy blue of winter dusk, but it looked jaundiced and feeble to my eyes.
The sidewalk in front of The Vapors lounge, where I’d first encountered the woman in Fiona’s picture, was no less claustrophobic to me tonight. But my mission was compelling, and the thrill of disobeying the inspector quickened my step. A flashing marquis crowned the entry with the headlining names:
THEA JAMES AND THE BUTTON MEN
No doorman waited outside to welcome guests, and I wondered if they were closed. But when I tested the handle, the black lacquered entry swung open, inviting me into an intimate foyer, adorned in blue velvet and soft golden lights. A podium stood stationed by a cascade of lush indigo curtains, and muffled music echoed from beyond, peculiar and magnetic.
I ventured to the curtain, but as my hand reached to push it aside, a man emerged from them, and I retreated a respectfuldistance to let him pass. Instead, he followed my steps, eyes locked on mine until we were standing far too near for strangers in a dimly lit room. It was the man from the crosswalk.
“Look who’s here,” he said, his grin a lopsided affair that was not as charming as it was hostile.
“Excuse me,” I replied, snappish, abashed by the gross overstep of personal space. I wondered if he was drunk.
“Can’t, love. You won’t be coming in here.”
He was security. It explained the way he loomed, though I was hardly size enough to cause any trouble, and of all the tactics that might have worked on me, intimidation wasn’t included among them. I set my jaw, and despite the rage clawing its way one bleeding inch at a time up my spine, I maintained an unbothered tone.
“I’m new to Nightglass. This lounge came highly recommended. Is it private?”
He chose this moment to try to feel me up again, the tendrils of his magic like tentacles, uncomfortable and disgusting. I gave them a yank, and he withdrew with a grunt like he’d caught a smart blow in his stomach.
“Thought so.” He chuckled, the harsh, angry sound of a man ready to resort to violence. “You’ve got some kick to you. Blackwicket bitches usually do.”
“I recommend you take a step back before I offer further demonstration.” The words were a snarl, and he sucked a breath in through his teeth, pleased, as though I’d just attempted to seduce him.
“Big threats coming from such a small, breakable body.”
He made as if to grab me, but the curtain was pulled roughly to the side and William Nightglass appeared, saving me from considering my worst options.
“Coppe,” he said, tone hard as stone. “You’ll keep your hands to yourself or you’ll lose them.”
I scrambled to squash the rise of my magic, hiding it away.
“Was just trying to keep out the riffraff.”
“Miss Blackwicket is hardly that.” William offered a nod to me, keeping the curtain open with the tip of his cane, onyx as the entry doors. “You’re welcome here, Eleanora, and I look forward to showing you what Nightglass has to offer. Please, wait inside for me.”
My instincts tingled, a sure sign the decision to enter would lead to trouble, but my pride wouldn’t let me retreat, and the photos rested heavy in my pocket.
“Thank you, William,” I said, gratified when Coppe’s upper lip raised in a grimy sneer.
William let the heavy fabric fall behind me, muffling many of the words the two men exchanged, though I caught…hangingby your dick on the town greenin Williams’ steady baritone.
I didn’t doubt such a spectacle would please the crowds, and none that William’s threat was empty, though the vulgarity of it shocked me. In his youth, William had been intense but sensitive to the needs of a town he’d inherit, slow to anger. I was unhappy with this evidence that he might be following the path of his father, and I moved away so I wouldn’t overhear anymore.
Another set of curtains ahead separated the corridor from the theater, but these were fully open, offering a glimpse into the dimly lit room beyond, and a sample of the slinking rhythm of the band. I approached them and took in the spectacle.
On stage, Thea James, dressed in a white gown accentuating every magnificent curve, shimmered in the spotlight that shined on her with the reverence of an acolyte at the feet of an angel. More than the smoky voice she poured into the microphone like warm honey was the magic infused in it, a shameless presentation of clear, bright energy that rolled over the crowd sitting rapt in their chairs, soaking it in. An audience member writhed, her partner pulling her close to savor the effects of theheady enchantments. If these people had focused on more than the gratification of imbibing someone else’s magic, they’d have noticed the stunning prism of the music and the twinkling radiance of this woman’s deepest self blooming around them.
