Page 59 of Once a Rogue
The bouncer relaxed. “You can talk to Eddie, then,” he said, as he opened the door.
Muted jazz and laughter floated up into the alley. Wesley and Sebastian exchanged a look, but stepped through the door.
A set of steep stairs took them down to another door, guarded by a smaller man in a pinstripe suit, the pseudonymous Eddie, presumably. He had a mean look about him, like he had more than one knife stashed on him and would be happy to use any of them.
Eddie appeared less than impressed to see them. “You’re not from around here.”
“Thank God,” Wesley said, which made Eddie’s eyes narrow.
“We’re here to see friends,” Sebastian said, unruffled.
Eddie sized up Sebastian, the stylish flat cap, loosened tie, and of course, the outrageously pretty face. “You can come in, the ladies’ll love you,” said Eddie. “But his majesty here doesn’t seem like the friendly type.”
Wesley opened his mouth again, tired of this posturing, but Sebastian got in between them. “He’smyfriend,” Sebastian said, before Wesley could speak. “He can come in with me, yes?”
Wesley folded his arms. Sebastian was apparently going to get another reminder that Wesley didn’t need a paranormal riding in to his rescue.
“Hmph.” Eddie was grudgingly stepping aside. “Welcome to Hudson Haberdashers. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”
They stepped through the doors and into a crowd. The speakeasy was dimly lit by a handful of flimsy drop lights, with dark walls ringed with booths and a low ceiling that made the cramped space seem even smaller. On stage, the band was performing “Big Bad Bill”—not up to the level Jade’s sister had been, certainly, but Wesley suspected few were. In front of the stage and around the club, round tables dotted the floor, most of them full. A trio of men had whiskey shots lined up on the bar to Wesley’s right, and to the left, a flapper with a cigarette in a long holder was getting a light from another flapper in a sequined headband, their eyes on each other, neither paying any attention to the men who kept looking their way.
“Sebastian,” Wesley said warningly, as they headed toward one of the few empty booths along the far wall. “I don’t need protecting from a bouncer with an axe to grind.”
“But this time we’re not here for Oysters Rockefeller, we’re here to meet paranormals,” Sebastian said, intolerably earnest. “Shouldn’t I look out for you if there could be magic?”
“No.”
They reached the booth, sliding in across from each other as a waiter made his way over from the bar. Wesley pulled out his vile American cigarettes and lit one up as the man came to the edge of their table.
“What are you fine fellows drinking tonight?”
“Tonic water, please,” Sebastian said.
The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Why come here for that?”
“He’s perfectly entitled not to drink and doesn’t need your commentary on it,” Wesley snapped. “I want a glass of the finest stuff in the house. Granted, my expectations are rock bottom, so that very well may be piss in a cup, but supposedly hope springs eternal.”
“You two seem like loads of fun,” the waiter muttered, disappearing.
Wesley leaned forward, smoke drifting up from the cigarette between his fingers. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. I can handle the consequences of my own sharp tongue.”
“But—”
“I like your magic in bed. Doesn’t mean you get to lord it over me anywhere else.”
“You’rethe lord,” Sebastian said impatiently. “I’m just—”
“Magic isn’t everything.” Wesley brought the cigarette to his lips. “I’ve seen you drained of it, just as helpless as any other man.”
“That was once—”
“Twice.”
“Twice?”
“The time you had to bring your brother back from his visions, and the time Blanshard took it from you.”
“That’s still only twice—”
