Page 24 of A Shade of Myself
My heels clicked against the concrete, the hem of my fitted spaghetti strap dress swirling around my ankles.
A Mercedes SUV gunned past us out of the lot. This parkade served a lot of office workers so at this hour, it was mostly empty, though I spied Tatiana’s gold beast taking up two and a half spots.
Once inside the elevator, which smelled of cigars, Emmett hit the button for the Bear’s Den before I could. Only people with magic could see it.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “Did you have to train to reveal hidden spaces?”
“Naw. I’m a natural. Did you?”
“Tiny bit.” It had taken weeks to train myself out of a lifelong habit of ignoring all signs of magic into being able to see it everywhere, but I’d gotten so proficient that I could even drive into a hidden space without incident.
We stepped out of the elevator into the tiny concrete area with the broken payphone, and I depressed the switch hook twice. The wall swung away, the funky bass solo from inside bringing a smile to my face and getting my hips swinging.
Vikram, the owner, greeted us, looking sharp in a dark suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was brushed away from his brown skin like a mane, though in reality, he was a bear shifter. “Tatiana is waiting for you at the back.”
There was loud applause, and the rest of the house jazz quartet joined the bass for the rest of “It Don’t Mean a Thing.” The clarinet and piano turned the melody into a soaring, dizzying tune, the bassist adding a deep groove and the percussionist keeping them all in line, pushing them to the limits of the beat.
“With the client,” Vikram finished.
“Thank you, my good man.” I fluttered my lashes and he grunted.
“You know how much that last visit of yours cost to clean up and repair?” he said, glowering.
There were about seven people involved in that fight, and I’d saved his best customer from certain death. Where was the gratitude? Still, there was no point arguing. I patted my updo of loose curls, secured with a scarlet flower, and launched into my best friend’s Southern drawl. “Honey, I’m not about to ruin my look.”
Emmett had reached the limit of standing and fidgeting, leaving the foyer for the main part of the speakeasy.
“Make sure he doesn’t steal anyone’s drink,” Vikram admonished.
“Yeah, yeah.” I hurried after the golem past round burnished tables hugged up to curved leather banquettes under softly glowing sconce lamps.
A black metal chandelier dripping with crystals over the long bar at the far end of the room threw dozens of prisms on the gold brocade wallpaper. The patrons were dressed to the nines enjoying cocktails in every color, while the scent of roasting meat, freshly baked rolls, and dozens of delicious appetizers made my mouth water.
Emmett slid into a back booth that I’d dubbed “the royal court” because Tatiana liked to conduct her machinations from it, be it entertaining clients, or just drawing like she had at our first meeting, while keeping an eye out for telltale signs of intrigue, secrets, and scandal.
She’d honed her ability over decades of practice to appear immersed in her sketching while not missing a thing that was happening around her, and this booth gave her a clear line of sight into all corners of the speakeasy. The only part she couldn’t spy on was the back half of the attached art gallery.
Tatiana set her menu aside and checked her gold watch, ruffling the explosion of silk feathers on her yellow sweater. “Punctual to the dot.”
There was no more room on the curved padded bench, so I took the chair that had been pulled up to the table, letting her critical tone wash over me, and stuck out my hand for our prospective client to shake. “Hi. I’m Miriam Feldman.”
“Giselle Mueller.” The young woman regarded me frankly with wide hazel eyes, unlike the blink of surprise she’d given the golem, a smattering of freckles dotting her porcelain skin. Her light brown hair held in a clasp at the nape of her neck accented the graceful line of her throat, while her handshake was firm, her long, elegant fingers enveloping mine. She reminded me of a swan, glowing with vitality.
“And this is Emmett,” Tatiana said.
The golem barely nodded, flagging down a server.
Giselle yawned, then covered her mouth. “Excuse me. Those red-eye flights wipe me out.”
“Where were you?” I draped my purse strap over the back of my chair.
“New York. I dance with the Ishikawa Ballet Company in Manhattan.”
I wasn’t a huge ballet fan, but they’d put on a high-profile production of Don Quixote a few years ago and I’d seen some of the clips that had gone viral. “Wow. That’s impressive.”
The dancer’s smile lit up her face. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard to get here.”
“Giselle is the name of a ballet, isn’t it?”
