Adeline

I was enjoying myself ever so much at the brothel. The other staff were pleasant beyond my wildest dreams, bringing me into the fold as if it were destined. In just two short days, I'd made friends I was certain would be lifelong, and while this might turn out to be true for a few, it was naive to think it would be true of the twenty-some odd staff with whom I'd become vaguely acquainted. But they were all so lovely: the cooks and the servers, the dancers and the night workers, the cleaning staff and the reception staff, the bouncers, and especially Tanis. She was a wonderful boss and everyone agreed.

As I had no experience with mixing alcoholic beverages when I first arrived at the Goose and the Gander, Tanis advertised a wine-only event to relieve me of the pressure for a few days. It was kind of her, going so far as to have posters drawn up, and because of Tanis, my first two nights on the job went wonderfully. I popped many-a-corks serving our customers while they watched naked men and women dance on a silent stage. I dedicated nearly every other moment to studying the notes left by former bartenders, testing dubious drinks on the staff—and every other free moment watching the naked people, too. I'd been keeping my ears and eyes open on the subject of local belt strangulations, but this aspect of my new job was delicate and there had been no further murders, anyhow.

On the third morning, I woke from a solid sleep to the sound of a song. My roommates were fast asleep while my ears tuned to the frequency in the far distance—a familiar scree, scree, scree. With Sebastian's Law outlawing music across five of Auditoria's six territories, there was only one person I could think who would be so bold! The one who dared wear suede on a snowy day—the man in the burgundy suit. I followed the sound through the otherwise quiet corridors. The others wouldn't be awake for hours yet.

Wearing nothing but my fiery red robe, a gift from Tanis to match my fiery red hair, I passed the dorms and the office, the private rooms and the peepshows, the restrooms and the lounge until I found myself slipping through the door behind the bar. The sound from the kitchen grew closer but was still muffled. I turned my gaze to the floor and tiptoed toward the cellar door, opening the hatch with a creak. Firelight and a sudden silence poured through the hole as I descended the ladder.

The music had stopped, but there was no man in a burgundy suit, only the smallest Strachan I ever did see; smaller even than Enforcer Rhian. Her enormous grey eyes glittered, striking alongside her messy, chin-length hair—nearly white, but not quite blonde like most Strachan. It was like spun silver! The violinist wore a black knee-length dress which jutted out at her tiny waist and was accented by a white, ruffled collar.

A doll come to life, surely.

"Who are you?" I asked, and so did she.

The enormous eyes narrowed.

"I'm Abby," I said. "Abby Blaze."

"Abby Blaze?" she returned. "Aye, sure. And I'm Betty Black and White."

I giggled. "Well, it has a nice ring."

The stranger lowered her bowing arm and the other, resting the violin at her side. "It's been a while since they've had one of you lot around here," she said. "The others have awful hearing. Especially when they're sleeping. But before you think about snitching to the boss, Tanis knows I'm here, soooooo—"

She truly was the sweetest thing, and not even the deep, dark purple circles around her eyes or the spiderweb of scars spread across her left cheek could diminish how delightful she was.

"Well, I can't imagine anything much gets past Tanis," I replied, making my way toward the light. I took a seat on a crate in the corner next to the one holding the candelabra. "But don't worry, Betty Black and White, I hadn't even thought about snitching."

Betty rolled her eyes. "It's Ever."

"What's ever?"

"Not what's ever. It's Ever."

"It's ever what?"

"My. Name. Is. Ever."

"Your name is Ever?"

The Strachan delivered a deep bow. "Everleigh Gloom, at your service."

I stared until I could speak again "Your name is Ever Gloom?"

"And?"

"Well—I must say, you really do market the name tremendously."

"Uh huh."

"So, do you work here?" I asked.

"Aye."

The tiny violinist hopped on the crate beside me, and I took the opportunity to examine her black shiny shoes and her white frilly socks more closely.

"What do you do?"

"Play the violin, obviously. But only for the special clients. The ones who are tiptop like you, Abby Blaze. The ones who won't snitch and can pay out the arse for ambiance. The private rooms are soundproof for a reason."

"Oh, I just thought it was to ensure discretion."

Ever rolled her eyes again. "The private rooms are soundproof for a few reasons."

It was difficult to tell the age of most Strachan, but I'd have placed her at no younger than twenty and no older than twenty three.

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"How long have you been working here?" I asked.

"That's a personal question. Kinda rude, actually."

"Is it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, I was only curious because I don't recall seeing you around Palisade. Not to say I've seen every Partisan there is to see, of course, but surely you couldn't have defected too long ago, and you are rather unique looking."

"Thanks," she replied. "But I didn't defect. They kicked me out."

"Whatever for?"

"Because I couldn't do it."

"Couldn't do what?"

"Any of it," Ever said. "The fast-running, the high-jumping." She twisted her shoulders side to side, going woosh, woosh, woosh in the process. "My parents were Partisans, and I got their eyes, but nothing else. They say that's never happened before—I mean, there's been the occasional Barren born to Partisans, I'm told. But they say none of them got the eyes. Once I arrived at Palisade and started lessons, they realized pretty quickly what I was—or wasn't, I guess—and they kicked me out. Not before branding the back of my neck like a cow, though."

"Where did you go?"

"Back to the orphanage until I was twelve and the fire kicked us all out."

"How awful," I said. "And then where did you go?"

The enormous eyes narrowed.

"Is that a personal question, too?" I asked.

"Aye."

There was a pause while the violinist kicked her heels against the crate. I had so many more questions but I certainly didn't want to offend her with any of them. It was evident she'd been through so much and—

"Wait," I said. "The fire at the orphanage in Hollyhock?"

Ever responded by playing an upward scale on her violin, resolved with a triumphant flourish. I enjoyed it immensely, but the joy was overshadowed. She watched me closely as the gears wound around in my head—ten, twenty, thirty seconds, forty. But before I could question her story, Ever disappeared into thin air.

At the bottom of the ladder, the cook looked at me with frown that recalled each and every time I'd disappointed my mother, and I'd disappointed my mother many, many times. I'd heard her coming of course, but I didn't think we had anything to hide.

"Abby? I thought I heard voices. And music?"

If Tanis had approved of Ever, why would she hide from the other staff, and why hadn't she hidden from me? Of course, she seemed a rather complicated young Anima. The fire at the Hollyhock orphanage happened over forty years ago, you realize. Well then, I thought, perhaps she was like Lidia—an agent of chaos, happy to stir the pot and leave me with the ladle. Or—better yet—it was a test of loyalty. Yes—a test. I decided that must be it, and I was tickled to have made a secret new friend. I wouldn't let her down.

I returned the cook's confused expression with one of my own. "No music, just me. I talk to myself sometimes. It's quite soothing."

The late-middle aged Amali crossed her doughy arms beneath her bosom and jerked her chin toward the candelabra Ever left behind. "And where did that come from?"

"It's mine—I brought it from my room."

"Why?"

"Because it was dark."

"Can't you people see in the dark?"

"Well, yes. But what if there were someone else wandering the hall? They wouldn't even see me coming. Someone could get badly hurt."

The cook jutted one wide, rounded hip to the side. "Why are you down here?"

I held firm eye contact with the cook, my silvery-grey versus her nutty brown. She misses her husband, but only sometimes and not today because he was quite the nuisance, wasn't he? But if he were still alive, she wouldn't have to work at this sordid place, would she? She has children—one boy, one girl. They all three volunteer every third day at the orphanage where she cooks for the flock and they read the children stories. She'd prefer to be doing that. She has a grandchild on the way. She hopes it'll be a girl even if her boy was easier. She doesn't like me—no, she doesn't even know me. But she likes my hair. It reminds her of her dog's tail! It's such a shame he's getting old. He's a good boy. She doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust any of us, does she? But she trusts Tanis, and besides, she has so much to do with the banquet in just two days.

I smiled sweetly the way my mother taught me—the way I did while she watched me in the mirror. Again, and again, and brighter, and again, but bigger, but no, too big. Brighter, but not bigger, and with my dimples on display. "Why, I'm here because you asked me to be," I said. "You said you needed help preparing for the banquet."

"Did I?"

I nodded.

The cook grunted. "Sorry, then. Been a lot on my plate."

"And that's precisely why I'm here to help!"

I bounded to my feet and plucked the candelabra from the crate. Easy, I thought. But I wouldn't make a habit of it. It wasn't fair to manipulate the Barrens like that, even if it was so easy. Just the once, I thought. Just the once. I'd have to be more careful in the future.

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