October, 1924

Lurking behind a red curtain, Damon watched a beautiful woman belt out a blues number. Her soulful voice blended in with the refrain of a moaning trumpet. Words and beat threaded together in a string of sweet, sultry sadness.

There's a change in the ocean/
Change in the deep blue sea, my baby/
I'll tell you, folks, there ain't no change in me/
My love for that man will always be.

Damon tried to block out the music. Instead, he watched the singer's sparkling dress, which reflected golden light onto her face as she swayed from side to side.

Damon's eyes rested just above the deep-V of the girl's dress, focusing not on her chest, but on her neck. Her heart hummed along to the melody.

The dancers swirling on the floor below, pairs of men with slicked back hair and women with cascades of curls, only looked like vague, shadowy forms beyond the dim glow of the stage. The slow waltzing transformed into frantic twirling when the singer's ballad ended.

A jaunty saxophone resounded through the crowded club, and the sax player's face grew red as he tapped his foot to the quicker tune. He stepped into the spotlight, and the attractive singer retreated to the back of the stage.

As soon as she stepped behind the curtain, the singer noticed Damon. She stuck out her hand, and the bracelets on her arm jingled.

"Gloria Lestrade. The upbeat songs don't suit me," she said. Damon pressed his warm lips against her smooth knuckles.

"Damon Salvatore. I find the mysterious ones much more alluring," he said.

Gloria freed her hand from his grasp. Her eyes had gotten dark and distant at his touch. "I suppose you aren't a talent scout, then," she said.

Damon smirked. "Well, I'm looking for my little brother, and he has quite a few interesting talents."

A frown line appeared between Gloria's manicured eyebrows. "If you find him, warn him to stay away from here. I can't let my customers get ripped to shreds every night."

Damon's pupils flashed like lights signaling Morse code, dilating and contracting to accentuate his every word. "Ah, so you have been acquainted with my better half. Now tell me, when did you last see him?"

"You can't compel me, vampire," Gloria said.

Surprise didn't even register on Damon's face, and his devilish smirk remained. "Darn, it looks like I'll have to rely on charm alone this time around. The art of seduction is much more entertaining than simple mind control, anyway."

"I'll skip that part, pretty boy," Gloria said. "Wait here while I change, and then I'll tell you about Stefan."

Her voice tightened at "Stefan," as if the name tasted bitter on her tongue.

"I'll come along," Damon said, "just in case you have a couple stakes hidden in your lingerie drawer."

Gloria laughed. "The only thing in there is a pack of cigs for pre-show jitters. With all due respect, Mister Salvatore, I would have killed you already if I wanted you dead."

"I love witches," Damon said to himself as he watched her strut away. She disappeared behind a door marked with her name. The gold letters curved in an ornate, ostentatious design, which appealed to Damon. He wondered if it reflected Gloria's personality.

When Gloria emerged from behind the fancy door, Damon caught a glimpse of glittering clothing racks and lighted mirrors. He examined her new outfit, a simple blouse-poodle skirt combo.

Gloria noticed his surprise. "The best thing about the women's rights movement is that I don't have to feel bad about sacrificing sexiness for comfort," she said. "I can just slap any man who insults me."

Damon could imagine her taking on any man in the room. "You know, I've always been a fan of assertive women," he said.

"I know everything about you, Mister Salvatore," Gloria replied. Her ominous expression made Damon wonder exactly how much information she had on him.

Taking her arm, he led Gloria out of the speakeasy's emergency exit. The back alley, empty but for a thick fume of smoke, seemed like a more appropriate place to discuss his brother. "Is Stefan the source of that knowledge?"

Gloria wrinkled her nose. "The only words I ever spoke to him were threats," she said.

Damon leaned against the bar's outer wall. "And when did you last threaten him?"

Gloria's lips tightened as she thought back to when Stefan had used her bar as a hunting ground.

"It's been about two years," she said. "Since the day of the police raid."

She could still picture the way her customers had looked at Stefan – the men's eyes, full of fear; the women's eyes, full of desire. Back then, Stefan and the Originals exercised more control over Gloria's establishment than she did.

"You know where he is," Damon insisted, breaking Gloria of her reverie. He tried to trap her wrists and pin her to the wall, but Gloria muttered a spell that sent a stab of power searing through his head. Damon sunk to the ground, groaning. Gloria stood over him with her hands on her hips, not the least bit concerned with the vampire's pain.

"Yes," she said. "And I would like him to stay there. I can't have you setting him free."

Damon looked up at her, mindless of the glass shards biting into his knees. "Color me intrigued. Did my dear brother run into more trouble than he could handle?"

"I sure hope so," Gloria said. Then the witch opened the door and swept back into her bustling bar, leaving Damon alone in the alley. He remained kneeling in the darkness, thinking of Stefan. It felt like a very long time before he could muster the strength to stand.