I would be hesitant to call the place in front of me a whorehouse. The red brick façade was shiny and well maintained, none of the windows were broken, and the lights all worked. From the outside it looked like an office building or the apartment of a lawyer or a socialite. No, it wasn't anything as cheap as a whorehouse. It was a brothel.

I rang the bell and leaned back against the railing as I waited. The door swung open almost immediately- good service- revealing a dame with bright red lips and smoky eyeliner. She had hair that looked like it was on fire and was wearing a lacy chemise slip and stiletto heels. I grinned at her.

"Hey, dollface. Is your boss at home?"

She frowned, tilting her hip sideways and pouting. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Don't give me that. Tell her it's Erik Lensherr; she knows me." I wasn't in the mood to play games. The girl huffed and went back inside, but she returned a few minutes later and beckoned me inside.

"Come on in."

She led me through the brownstone, past the various rooms and hallways that made up the labyrinthine structure. I couldn't avoid glancing in at the broads in various states of undress, from slinky nightgowns to lingerie to less. The doors were open if they were free. If they were closed you could hear everything that was going on behind them. Thin walls.

The redhead led me upstairs. The brothel was just as opulent as I remembered it- the walls were plush velvet, the light fixtures burnished brass and silver. My shoes sank into the carpet like it was sponge cake, and the railing I held onto as I ascended the stairs was covered in a warm leather sheath. I was impressed, though the whole place made me feel slightly ill.

"Ms. Frost will see you now." The redhead said as we stopped outside a large door of dark cherry wood. "We're busy tonight, so don't waste her time." She stalked back down the stairs as I let myself in, her hips swaying suggestively as she went.

"Shut the door behind you." I did as I was told and turned to see my host. Emma Frost was the sort of woman that made men uncomfortable just by looking at her. She was a tall, willowy champagne blonde with gams that went on forever and a taste for garter belts. She was curvier than a parabola and just as infuriating. Over the years she had risen from a two-bit whore in the worst part of town to the richest madam in town. Her cold heart and insatiable taste for diamonds had earned her the nickname The Ice Queen. It seemed an especially apt moniker tonight- she was decked out in an ivory bra and panties that left little to the imagination and a pair of huge, shimmery studs graced her earlobes while a choker circling her throat glinted in the low light of the room. She watched me coolly over a glass of clear vodka, her smoke dangling from the end of a long, elegant silver-and-black cigarette holder. "I see Jean got you here in one piece, Mr. Lensherr. It's a pleasure."

"The feeling is mutual, Frost." I gestured to the burgundy armchair in the corner of the room. "Can I sit?"

She smiled deviously. "Of course. Our first priority is the comfort of gentlemen such as yourself."

"I'm not here as one of your 'gentlemen', I'm afraid." I helped myself to a drink. "I need to know if Shaw's been here recently."

Emma scowled. "Sebastian and I are no longer on speaking terms. He was here last week, but I didn't said two words to him."

"Lover's spat?" It was well known in the underground that Sebastian Shaw and Emma Frost had on on-again, off-again relationship that made Antony and Cleopatra look like a stable couple. He'd taken her out to fancy events a few times, raising scandal in the upper-crust community, but since no one wanted to admit to knowing who she was or what she did it had blow over silently. Most of the politicians in the city had spent time with one or more of Emma's girls, but it wasn't a fact any of them wanted to admit.

"You could say that." Emma took a dainty sip from her glass. "He decided he didn't have time for me, what with his new dame. He'll be back." Her eyes flickered sinisterly. "You do know about his girl?"

"The Xavier kid, right?"

She snorted. "The 'Xavier kid' is the brother. She's the Xavier baby. The girl isn't even twenty-five. It's a joke. And anyway, everyone knows Sebastian's only treating her like a queen 'cause he's after the Xavier's empire."

"I had that figured out." I set down my drink on the table beside the bed where Emma was lounging and steepled my fingers beneath my chin. "Do you know which of your girls Shaw used the last time he was here? I want to talk to them, see if they know the low down."

"I always know who's slept with who, Lensherr. It's my job." She stood up and offered her hand. I took it. Her skin was as cold as… well, ice. "This way."

I was led down the hall to a small room near the stairwell. The broad inside was tall and slim and carefully arranging a vase of flowers in the nude, her dark skin contrasting sharply with the white hair cascading down her back. Emma nodded at her.

"Ororo, there's someone here to see you."

She turned around, eyeing me appraisingly. "Fifteen or thirty minute session?"

"Five." I said, grabbing a dressing gown from the back of the door and tossing it to her. "Here, put this on. I want to ask you some questions."

Ororo sat down on the bed, nervously shrugging on the sheer fabric. It didn't hide much, but it was better than nothing at all. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, sweetie, it's not about you. Don't worry." Emma voice had softened slightly, her arms crossed over her ample chest as she leaned against the doorframe.

I held up the crumpled photo of Shaw that I always carried in my wallet. It was fuzzy black and white, taken soon after I was thrown out of the police force, and ripped and torn from many a night of drunken abuse. There were a few tiny holes in his face from where I had poked needles and pins through the photo in a parody of a voodoo doll. "Have you ever serviced this man?"

She nodded. "Yeah, last week. He was a bit too grabby with his paws for my taste, and he was kinda rough. He talked sweet, but he was a real jerk when we got into bed."

"He's like that." Emma nodded ruefully. I folded the photo back into my pocket.

"Did you hear him say anything suspicious? Anything interesting? Did he mention anyplace he may have been going?"

She shook her head. "Naw, he was pretty quiet about himself." She stared down at her folded hands for a moment before looking up and snapping her fingers. "Wait! He said something about a party on the sixteenth. He said that he was gonna propose to his girlfriend, even though he got better lays here. Is that good?"

"Not for her." I said grimly. "Did he mention where the party was, or when?"

"No. Sorry." She sighed. "I wish I could give you more."

"It's okay, baby, you've been a lot of help." I stood up and looked at Emma. "You got the down low on this party he was yapping about?"

Emma frowned. "He probably meant the Stryker ball. It's this big gathering of all the fancy-types in the city where they talk about how much money they have and grope their neighbors' wives in the cloakrooms. Sebastian took me one year." She snorted. "Say what you will about the sort of people I associate with in this line of business: at least they're honest about the fact that they're horrible people. William Stryker and his business partner Carl Hendry host this get together every year to show off that he's the richest man in the city and to eye up the competition. So far the only people that are anywhere close to him are the Xavier's and Sebastian. And word on the street is that Hendry's been planning to jump Stryker's ship and head over to Shaw." A smile flickered at the edges of her lips coyly. "He probably isn't too happy about that."

"Aces. You're a doll, Frost." I kissed her hand and tipped my hat to Ororo, who was looking cold in her miniscule covering. "I'll leave you ladies to your work. Good evening."