Authors: Ruth Vincent
“Let’s face it, I bet this guy would be much more likely to talk to you than he would be to talk to me,” Reggie said, laughing.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, not sure how to respond to that.
“So that would be your assignment,” Reggie finished. “Go to this place. Pretend like you’re going to the party. Find this guy. Talk to him. See if you can find out any information about Charlotte. Think you can do that?”
I gulped. Pass as a partygoer? I had heard of these underground events, which sprouted up all over Brooklyn like mushrooms after a rain, and I really wasn’t sure I was cool enough to get into one of these things. I was shy and nerdy and still working on passing as human—being a suave cool kid who could waltz right into a secret underground party and then casually chat up the manager while stealthily gleaning information? Was I up to this task? But I couldn’t let Reggie see these doubts. I had to ace this assignment; it was the only way I was getting hired. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard. After all, I’d been pretending to be someone I wasn’t for twenty-two years. Maybe being a changeling was a transferable skill set?
“I can do that, sir,” I said, trying to project confidence.
“Alright, then,” said Reggie. His face had softened up quite a bit since the beginning of our interview. “I’ll call you and let you know if we need you.”
Detective Mabily Jones,
I thought, smiling, as Reggie opened the door to take in the next nervous applicant. I slipped my hand beneath the floppy sleeve of my suit jacket and crossed my fingers.
Letting out a long sigh of relief, I stepped through the double doors of the building and into the brisk winter sunshine. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath most of the interview. Walking down Seventh Avenue towards the subway, I shivered as the icy wind whipped round the buildings and blasted my face with bone-chilling cold. Meat-scented smoke billowed out of kebab carts along the street corner across from Penn Station, blending with the sweet, caramelized smell of honey-roasted nuts. Descending the subway stairs for the C train, along with a throng of hundreds of other pushing, shoving New Yorkers, I noticed the floater again. It was back, hovering, as always, just out of reach in the corner of my eye. I knew it was one of the fairies’ messengers—a tiny pixie, invisible in the human world, only showing up as a small visual disturbance. But what did they want?
The express train thundered past in a roar of screeching metal, shooting sparks like a mechanical dragon, and I took a step back.
It occurred to me, as I waited on the subway platform, that the annoying little thing really had honored my request; it had left me alone for the duration of my job interview, just like I had asked it to. Whoever it was from my old life that was trying to make contact with me, they’d
listened
to me. I didn’t know what to make of that.
I
bounded up the steps to our fourth-floor walk-up apartment. The hallway still smelled like piss. I tripped on my neighbors’ pile of bikes yet again and cursed, rubbing my elbow. But I didn’t care. I had just listened to the voicemail from Reggie, and I felt like skipping.
At last I reached our door, out of breath from running up the three flights of stairs. I was bursting with the news; I couldn’t wait to tell Eva, but I took the time to jangle my keys loudly and then pause for a moment on the welcome mat, to give her some warning, in case her sort-of-a-boyfriend, Ramsey, was over. I was really hoping not. He wasn’t a bad guy, I kept telling myself. But still. Eva fell in love with boys the way moths fall in love with lightbulbs.
Thankfully there was no Ramsey, but when the door swung open, Eva was in the bathtub. This would not have been awkward in a normal apartment, but our bathtub was in our kitchen. The “kitchen counter” was a piece of plywood balanced on top the tub, and the “shower” was a green garden hose we screwed into the tub faucet. And all our friends thought we were so lucky to have found this apartment . . . but that’s New York real estate for you.
“I got it!” I cried out to Eva. “I got the job!”
She leapt out of the tub like a wet dolphin, squealing. Throwing a big, fluffy terrycloth robe over herself, Eva enveloped me in a tight hug. We clutched each other’s hands and spun round and round in a circle on the kitchen floor, whooping with joy.
“I knew you’d get it!” She grinned at me as she wrapped her hair in a towel turban and slipped into her track suit. It too was soft and fuzzy, like a lot of Eva’s possessions. I had the urge to pet her sleeve.
“I wasn’t sure I’d get it.” I shook my head. “I guess you had more faith in me than I did.”
“I always have more faith in you than you do,” she said, putting on her bunny slippers, “and I always end up being right, so you should really listen to me more often.”
I had to laugh at that.
As Eva towel dried her hair, I related everything Reggie had told me about the case. She listened, her head cocked thoughtfully to the side, as she brushed sweet-smelling gel into her long, black curls.
“So when does he want you to go to this club?”
“Actually, tonight.”
“He isn’t going to train you first?”
I sighed. “I guess not. Maybe that’s why it’s a trial assignment.” I looked up at her. “I’m nervous.”
Eva padded over to me, the bunny ears on her feet flopping with each step. She put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to be great, honey.”
She paused for a moment, and then an impish grin spread over her face.
“Do you know what you’re wearing to the club?”
I stared at her blankly. Fashion was not my forte.
“Um . . . this?” I said, gesturing to the jeans and black T-shirt I’d changed into after the interview.
Eva shook her head in disapproval.
“Come with me.”
“Eva . . .” I protested.
But she grabbed my hand and led me towards her bedroom.
She parted the long curtain of beads that covered the door. The strands tinkled and clinked behind us. As I stepped through, I could smell the lingering sweetness from her altar on the windowsill—the scent of beeswax candles, mixed with the spice of sandalwood incense and the heady fragrance of Florida Water. Her row of resin statues stared down at us from a high shelf. There were a few fairies in the anachronistic mix of goddesses, angels and Catholic saints—I wondered what she’d think if she knew we were nothing like those pink-cheeked children with wings.
Sometimes I’d thought maybe I could tell her the truth, about me having been a fairy. Maybe Eva’s belief in magic would make her able to believe me? I watched her as she rummaged through her closet, humming an old folk song tunelessly to herself in Spanish. Maybe she would believe me . . . but probably not. No one
really
believed in fairies.
Eva emerged from her closet with a sound of triumph. She had tossed aside her piles of nursing school scrubs and found what appeared to be a very low-cut black dress and a pair of high-heeled boots. I eyed them both skeptically.
“Um . . . Eva, this is business . . .”
“You want to look the part, don’t you?” she countered.
Reluctantly, I agreed.
“You know I’m too flat chested to wear something like this,” I said as I slipped off my shirt and pulled the dress over my head.
“Hush. It’ll look good. And you never know—you might meet someone at this club tonight.”
I rolled my eyes, though I knew Eva couldn’t see it with the dress over my head. She had taken on my dating life, or lack thereof, like it was her pet project. Not that she was always the greatest dating role model. Personally, I didn’t have much hope. Twenty-two years in this body and human relationships were as baffling to me as ever.
I smoothed the dress over my hips and pulled on the high-heeled boots. Eva whistled, but I couldn’t see myself yet. I walked over to her full-length mirror, wobbling in my heels, and then stopped, staring at myself. I had never felt so naked wearing clothes before! The sheer black fabric stopped before I’d even fully lengthened my arm. It was slightly scandalous. And yet—as I looked at my reflection, I saw that I was smiling, involuntarily. As I turned to see the back, the skirt swirled flirtatiously around me. I blushed.
“Oh my god, you’re like the girl version of James Bond in that!” said Eva.
“You really think so?” I asked. I still wasn’t sure.
Eva smiled at me. “You’re going to rock this assignment.”
She paused.
“You sure it’s safe, right? I mean, a girl who went to this place did disappear.” Eva’s forehead wrinkled. She was worried about me.
“I had the same fear,” I said. “But I keep telling myself it’s a public place. Reggie wouldn’t have sent me on this assignment as a newbie if he thought it was dangerous, right? And I’m just there to observe. It’s not like I’m coming in to bust this guy.” I gave her a thin-lipped smile, trying to reassure her. But I was also trying to reassure myself. “I’ll keep my wits about me.”
“Write down the name and address of the club.”
I nodded.
“And text me when you get there. Then text me periodically, just so I know you’re okay. And text me when you’re headed home!”
“Yes, Mom.” I smiled at her, but I appreciated Eva’s concern. It was good to have somebody worried about me.
“I promise I’ll text you,” I told her.
I
got out of the subway, clutching the little slip of paper where I had jotted down the address of the club and the name of the proprietor, which Reggie had given me. I peered at it in the halo of a lone streetlight to make sure I hadn’t gotten lost. I wasn’t familiar with this part of Brooklyn. The sound of my borrowed heels click-clacking over the sidewalk was too loud, and I was feeling self-conscious in this too-short dress. Not that anyone could see it under my bulky winter coat.
The street was dark and unusually quiet for New York City. The buildings were old and tired. A few of them had sheets of plywood nailed over the windows, the front doors decorated with scrawls of graffiti. Occasionally I heard shouts or peals of laughter from inside one of the buildings, but then the sounds faded into an eerie quiet.
I was alone on the street. Every so often a car would pass, its stereo cranked up loud, the beat vibrating in my internal organs. Then the sound petered out into the distance, and I was alone on the silent street once more.
At last I came to the door that matched the number on the little scrap of paper. This was it? This was not what I’d been expecting. The whitewashed brick building in front of me looked like a warehouse or abandoned storefront, a rusty fire escape running up the front, windows boarded up, paint peeling from the door. I double-checked the address, but it was right. I stepped closer. Then I heard the muffled sound of music coming from inside.
It wasn’t the kind of music I was expecting. It sounded like a brassy, jazzy swing band. There were lights too, flashing now and then from beneath the dark window shades. I heard a lull drone of voices and occasionally a peal of high-pitched laughter.
My stomach fluttered nervously.
Human social interactions were confusing enough when it was one-on-one; throw a whole group of humans together and add alcohol—and I had no idea what to do. I mostly sat on the sidelines at parties, an awkward observer. And those were the parties that were supposed to be “fun”—at this party I had a job to do. But maybe that would make it easier, I told myself—at least it would give me a focus. Still, I wasn’t sure. What if this “Obadiah Savage” Reggie wanted me to talk to found out I was working for a private detective? Worse, what if he thought I was an undercover cop come to arrest him? Would he be mad? Would things get ugly?
I paused on the sidewalk outside the door. I could turn back, I told myself. I could return to Reggie’s office tomorrow and say, “I can’t do this alone. I need backup.”
But it was Friday, and that would mean I couldn’t talk to Reggie till Monday, and then we probably wouldn’t have another chance to interview this guy till next weekend. I didn’t want that much time to elapse. I knew this much about missing-person cases: the more time elapsed, the less chance we had of finding Charlotte alive. Plus, it wasn’t like I was coming here to bust this man. As far as we knew, he hadn’t even done anything wrong. I was just here to observe, ask a few questions, then leave.
Get a grip on yourself,
I told my fluttering stomach.
You could help find this girl. You could finally stop being unemployed.
I took a deep breath. “Please let this go well,” I whispered. Then I knocked on the door with a nervous heart.
There was no answer.
Maybe my knock was too soft? The music was rather loud. I knocked again. And then I realized the door was open. Feeling foolish, I stepped inside.
A swirl of light and music and moving bodies accosted me. For a second I stepped back into the door frame, like an animal in retreat. But remembering why I was here I took a deep breath and walked forward.
The room was full of people. The walls were lined with smoky glass mirrors, framed in peeling gold, with little flickering candles beneath that multiplied their numbers even more. Everyone was dancing and talking and laughing, and the air in the room was thick with their heat. On the far side of the club was a small stage where two saxophonists, a singer and a bassist were rocking out a raucous ballad. I felt like I’d gone back in time to some sort of twenties speakeasy.