“So if I work here, I could question people.”
“Only if you’re discreet, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
She smiled at him. “Hear what?”
Jason chuckled, and his dimple flashed again. As he placed his big hand against her lower back and they continued their journey through the club, she was acutely aware of his body next to her, the accidental brushing of his legs against hers, and the splay of heat radiating from where he touched her. It disturbed her more than she cared to admit.
“Right through here,” Jason murmured, taking her elbow through the cloak and guiding her from the gambling hall into a side door marked “Auditorium.”
There were half a dozen tables whose candlewicks were half burned down. Around the walls were shadowed booths, faded-velvet curtains ready to be pulled shut when customers were able to pay enough for the pleasure of a girl. The floor in front of the stage held open tables with plush chairs currently occupied by a bevy of scantily clad women who turned to look at her as she walked in behind Jason Braddock.
“We have another girl to audition,” Jason informed the room of people.
Avilon saw several women roll their eyes while others snickered and nudged each other. She came to a stop.
“Who else auditioned for the singing position?” she asked.
All of them raised a hand. She bit her lip, gripping her cloak tightly. It was the only recourse she had to fight off her anxiety.
“Here you go, Avilon,” Jason murmured, gesturing to the stage.
“I have to sing in front of everyone?” she whispered, aghast.
“That’s kind of the definition of a singer, eh?” murmured one woman sarcastically as she flipped her red hair over her shoulder.
The others laughed.
Avilon looked at each girl, seeing flinty eyes, under kohl-painted lids, staring unpleasantly back at her. There were eight women total, most a tad too thin beneath their threadbare wraps. All had the unhealthy pallor of spending too much time indoors, the world-weary glower of abuse clinging to them like sour perfume.
“Did you bring us a mute singer, Jace?” another girl asked, causing all of them to laugh.
“Now, girls, give Avilon a chance,” Jason said, holding a hand up.
“Avilon, eh? Well, dearie,” said one particular voluptuous blonde in front, “the stage is up there. Have a go.”
Avilon took a deep breath and grounded herself. She’d had to do that a lot over the past few months as she traveled from Europe to Louisiana to San Francisco. It helped calm her nerves and quell the butterflies in her stomach. On hesitant feet, she climbed the stairs to the stage and nodded at the piano man who sat waiting for her song choice. He was a solemn-faced black man, the carved grooves on his face placing his age anywhere between twenty and fifty.
“Do you happen to know ‘Amazing Grace’? The new British melody?”
When he nodded, she smiled tentatively.
“Thank you. I’m a soprano,” she added as a side thought. Absently she noted the instrument was a Pleyel grand, and though it was an older model, it was still nicely maintained, as evidenced by the crystal-clear sound coming from its wires.
Avilon stood in the center of the stage, closed her eyes, and sang. Her light, airy voice carried the notes as piously as possible.
“Stop,” came a harsh voice from the back of the room.
The piano music immediately halted, and Avilon opened her eyes.
“This is not church,” the voice said again.
Avilon squinted as she searched the dark corners for the owner of the voice.
“As lovely as you sing, I think you’ve come to the wrong building. The nearest church is about five blocks away. Good day.”
“Wait!” she called out in a panicked voice. Unthinkingly, she raised her hand in some type of appeal, and her cloak opened. “Please, before I go, I need to speak with Mr. Masters. I’ve come such a long way—”
“Take off the cloak,” the man ordered.
“Excuse me?”
“What part of that command did you not understand?”
“The part where it was a command,” she retorted and saw the blonde woman flash a grin. “Just who are you to order me about?”
There was a slight pause. “I’m the man who’s going to hire you if you can sing.”
Avilon bit her lip. Did that mean the voice belonged to Eli Masters?
“Mr. Masters?”
“Does my reputation precede me?”
She closed her eyes for brief a moment. Of course he is Eli Masters. “I’m only here to ask you a few questions.”
“And I’m only here to find me a singer. If you’re interested, then take off the cloak.”
This time she didn’t think twice about flipping the hood of her cloak down and untying it. With a flick of her wrist, she draped it over her arm.
“Now unbind your hair.”
“I don’t understand how unbinding my hair will help my singing.”
A figure rose from one of the back booths and walked toward the stage. As he neared, the first thing she noticed was his height. He was about the same height as Mr. Braddock, but the width of his broad shoulders made him seem enormous. There was not one ounce of softness in his features or grace in his step as he lumbered forward to stand at the bottom of the raised platform and stare up at her.
Dark hair curled around his head and fell to his collar in a sheet of glossy waves. It was much too thick and long to be considered fashionable, but Avilon had the feeling that he didn’t care a whit about what was trendy. He wasn’t what one would call classically handsome, but there was something arresting about him. A deep worldliness seemed to have settled upon him, as if he had seen much of life and had ceased to find anything amusing. His eyes were such a light blue that they appeared almost colorless in the dim lighting, and they stared at her harshly, his mouth an angry slash of lips pressed together.
“You’d be surprised how letting down your hair helps loosen that stick up your ass.”
Avilon felt her eyes stretch wide in shock. “I beg your pardon!”
“You think my patrons come here to feel guilty about the sin they’re making? No, they want a good-looking woman teasing them, turning them on, and that church bullshit you spewed isn’t going to cut it.”
A few snickers came from the women watching, and Avilon sent them all a fierce glare. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin to address the dark-haired man glaring at her.
“That’s the only type of song I know.”
“Then we’re done, sweetheart. Take your hymns and go home.”
He turned and took a few imposing strides away, leaving Avilon staring after him in mute fury. The one man she needed to interview and he had refused to talk to her. She saw Jason Braddock leaning against the doorframe, saw him raise one eyebrow at her that seemed to mock her and ask what she planned to do.
Without thinking about her next move, she started singing another song, a different type of song, one that walked hand in hand with the atmosphere of the club.
“Tra voi tra voi saprò dividere, il tempo mio giocondo. Tutto è follia, follia nel mondo, ciò che non è piacer.”
She lowered her tone, made it sound more seductive. Her voice was strong, with the right inflection of sweet and sassy. The song was one about flirtation, an exchange of flowery compliments given around one night of imbibing.
And it did the trick. Eli Masters paused. She watched him turn around slowly and study her with shrewd eyes, and this time she saw interest in their pale depths. Dropping the cloak, she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair as she put more swagger into the last bit of the song. Her black hair fell like a curtain down her back, and she shook it slightly. When she finished, the room was silent for a moment before erupting in enthusiastic clapping.
“Interesting,” Eli Masters murmured. She flushed, though she wasn’t sure if it was from his praise or his heated perusal. “What language is that?”
“I’ve never heard of it. You’re Italian?”
“No. I’m French Creole. I just came here to ask you about my sister.”
“What is the song about?”
Her lips compressed when he ignored her intent. “It’s a duet, actually, between two characters in the first act. It’s a drinking song.”
“You know this opera?”
“I know many operas.”
“Are they all drinking songs?”
She flicked an eye around the theater. “Some are,” she said. “But I have the feeling you want something more. Something that brings a little class to your establishment.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?”
“Because you stopped walking when I started singing.”
“I stopped walking because you have a beautiful voice.”
“Yes, a beautiful voice singing opera.”
He smiled, though it was a predatory slash of lips that made her shiver. But she held his gaze, determined to get him to answer what he knew about her sister.
“Very well, you can have the job. You’ll sing every night, followed by walking through the club after your performance to tantalize the guests. I’ll let you start tomorrow night, to acclimate to the club.”
“I came here to ask you about my sister. That’s all.”
“My time is valuable—”
“My sister’s life is valuable,” she interrupted, a hard edge creeping into her voice.
Again, he stared at her unblinkingly from eyes as cold as ice. “Never say I don’t recognize a business opportunity when I see it.”
His words caused a slight quiver of anxiety deep in her belly. “What?”
“I propose we have an arrangement. One song for one question. You get what you came here for, and I get what I need.”
She studied his face, the broad planes and crooked nose detailing a face that spoke volumes of his character. Avilon felt as though she could look at him all day and see a different side of his personality at every second.
“Is it a deal, sweetheart?”
“My name is Avilon Chambert, not sweetheart.”
“I like sweetheart.” He grinned mockingly at her. “Do we have a deal?”
“If I say yes, will you pay the song I just sang with an answer?”
He chuckled. “I see you recognize a business opportunity as well. All right, what is your question?”
“Do you know my sister, Amelia Chambert?”
Their gazes locked. She wanted to make sure she saw his eyes when he answered.
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard that name.” She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to halt her. “You want another question answered, you have to wait till you sing me a song. In the meantime, let Annabel show you where you’ll be staying.”
“Staying?” she questioned.
But without any other delay, Eli Masters turned and left the theater, taking with him the wind from her sails. Avilon wilted, as if the strings holding her upright had suddenly been clipped. She desperately hoped she hadn’t just made a deal with the devil.
Chapter Three
As usual, Jason fell into step beside him as they left the auditorium. Eli had been sixteen, on the streets in Philadelphia, picking fights and doing what he had to do to survive. Life was difficult but manageable, until the day a few street kids had picked a fight over territory, and he’d been outnumbered. He was getting the shit beat out of him, and saw a knife flash, when all of a sudden, another boy had jumped into the fray. Dazed and half unconscious, all he saw was a swish of blond hair.
Then he was being moved, and he looked up to stare into the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen. The boy had smiled as blood ran down from a cut at his temple, and he’d held out his hand to help him up. He’d tried to run the boy off, but Jason had tenaciously stayed. And as moody and hardheaded as he could be, Eli couldn’t imagine life without having Jason by his side.
“Quite a beauty, eh?” Jason quipped.
Eli sent him a sardonic glance. “You wanting to start a goddamn church in my club, Jace?”
“If I can listen to her sing and feast my eyes on that body every night, I may just become a believer.”
Something between a snort and laugh erupted from Eli. “Just our luck someone who looks like her believes in God. But I don’t sleep in convents, no matter that she’s got a body made for fucking.”
“Be nice, Eli. She could stir up a lot of trouble looking for her sister.”
“And even more if she starts asking questions outside of us.”
“I don’t recognize the sister’s name, though. Do you?”
Eli shook his head. “No, but she’s got to be the one who disappeared. I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“What do you want me to tell our new song bird?”
Eli stopped walking and pursed his lips. “Play dumb for as long as possible.”
Jason raised his eyebrow. “She doesn’t seem like an ordinary complacent woman, Eli. I don’t think she’ll just blindly go along with the nonsense I make up.”
“Don’t shortchange yourself, Jace. You spout nonsense like no one I’ve ever met before.”
“You’re such a smart-ass,” Jason muttered as he turned and walked away.
* * * *
Avilon shifted her focus from Mr. Masters’s and Mr. Braddock’s retreating backs to the women watching her. She could feel each stare like tiny little needle pricks stabbing into her skin.
“Well, dearie,” said the blonde as she swaggered up to the theater platform. Her robe gapped open, showing off the generous swell of her breast. Avilon had a hard time keeping her eyes from straying to the show of flesh. “Welcome to the club.”
“Are you Annabel?”
“I am. I’m also head of the girls around here.”
A hard glint crept into her blue eyes, blocking out the affable woman from moments earlier. Avilon immediately realized that Annabel felt the need to assert her status in the club.
“Then you must know everything,” Avilon replied eagerly, making sure to appeal to the woman’s sense of worth. “You probably could answer all my questions.”
Annabel sniffed, raised her chin a notch, and nodded slowly. “I do know just about everything in this club.”
“My sister wrote me a letter, dated six months ago, stating she worked upstairs for Mr. Masters. She implied she was in trouble.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Annabel replied. She gestured to all the girls. “None of us can. We all got here at the beginning of the year.”
Avilon felt her excitement plummet. “Is that a usual turnover?”
“No, but I do know a theft happened,” Annabel replied. “Mr. Masters had to dismiss all of them since none of the girls admitted to it. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.”
Avilon thought about that for a moment. “Was it reported to the authorities?”
Several women broke out in chuckles.
“Dearie,” Annabel replied through her amusement, “Sydney Town ain’t a district that worries much about authority.” She used her fingers to emphasize the word. “Mr. Masters is lord over his domain.”
Avilon heard all that Annabel didn’t say, and so she clarified it. “And so over the girls as well.”
“Including you now,” Annabel replied.
Deciding not to argue with her about the issue, Avilon changed the subject. “I didn’t think trying to find Amelia was going to be quite this difficult.”
“It’ll be easier once you find out the name she was going by.”
“You think she changed her name?”
“Well, some girls do when entering into this type of work, protecting their families or whatnot.”
Avilon gave a thoughtful nod. “Then I need to describe her to him, see if he remembers what she looks like.”
Annabel pursed her lips. “As long as she didn’t dye her hair.”
Avilon stared at her, not quite sure to believe the woman or not. Would Amelia have gone to such lengths to escape her identity? Escape her background and erase all memories of her life? And if so, why? That question haunted her the most out of any other.
“Six months ago would have been the start of winter, and a lot of us working women move from the streets to indoors,” said the redhead in the back.
“The club would have been a very sought-after roost to rest,” another woman said. She had messy brown hair and sat next to the redhead.
“It would’ve been hard to find another at that time,” Annabel concluded.
“No room at the inns.” The red-haired woman snickered.
“So she could be out there,” Avilon stated, “living on the streets.”
“Dearie, if she was on the streets, then she ain’t alive no more,” Annabel replied with absolutely no trace of pity or sympathy. “Sydney Town ain’t a place to survive on your own.”
The thought made Avilon pause as sadness and fear washed through her, blocking out any other thought. She hadn’t considered that Amelia could be…dead. Not her beautiful, vivacious sister. They were only a year apart in age, Avilon being the elder. It was why she had gone to Aunt Verity. Amelia had one year left in finishing school, and Aunt Verity had admitted she preferred Avilon’s composure, decorum, and manners. Amelia had always been just a tad rambunctious.
And like the good little girl she’d always been, Avilon hadn’t protested at all when Amelia had been shipped off to Odell’s house. Now that glaring mistake seemed like it had snowballed into something out of control.
“Surely there’s a record of who worked here,” Avilon stated, thinking, “an accounts receivable from the money of your…gentlemen friends.”
“The only one who would have that information is Mr. Braddock.”
Avilon blinked. “I don’t think I trust him, or Mr. Masters, for that matter.”
“Of course not, dearie. They’re men.”
The other women gave various snorts of agreement.
“What did he mean about me staying here?”
“The girls stay on the second floor.”
Avilon shook her head. “But I’m not hiring my services out. I’m just singing.”
The Song Bird (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2