The faint din of ragtime called in the background as William Carter adjusted his glasses. While the glow of the moon lent itself partially to the magician's gray pallor, much of the ash in his cheeks was entirely was entirely of his own making.
He checked his watch.
Charlie should have been there five minutes ago. Technically five minutes and thirty-six seconds but Carter wasn't counting. Or worried that she had suddenly changed her mind on the whole idea of a celebratory performance dinner.
He let his gaze drift from streetlamp to streetlamp and pondered instead if he was dressed decently enough for the occasion. The suit was one of the few articles of clothing he had kept with him on the long journey across the Atlantic, dapper as the bee's knees (whatever those were—Charlie had never told him) and likely his most prized possession, outside of the Codex Umbra. That was fine. The only problem was the rest of him.
Carter tugged off his glasses and slipped them into his pocket. Perhaps that was better. Jack had always said the glasses made him look like a bit of a Wisenheimer. On the other hand now everything was slightly blurry and, in the evening haze, he couldn't quite tell if the small maroon blur whirring toward him was Charlie or, in fact, a deranged hummingbird.
"Hey Maxy, wow you look swell."
Definitely the stagehand.
He almost jumped as she enclosed him in a warm embrace-then tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders. "You look quite beautiful as well, Charlie."
And she did. Finally close enough to see her clearly, Carter couldn't help but feel a curious twinge in the pit of his stomach. Instead of the scarlet finery she'd worn for each performance, Charlie was dressed in a long turquoise frock, a slim silver chain hanging from the waistband like drops of moonlight. A cerulean feather stuck out from between the curls of her hair, just far enough that it had tickled Carter on the nose when the flapper pulled in for a hug.
Even now, as they separated from the embrace, the magician let out a loud sneeze.
"Gesundheit," the stagehand grinned. "Hope you're not coming down with something. Because tonight we're going to be having the time of our lives."
"Oh really?" the magician asked, the other's smile spreading, infectious, over his cheeks, "What does the Fabulously Amazing Charlotte Rosenstein have in mind?"
"Oh the works! First a jaunt down Madison Avenue where, in light of our incredible performance this evening, the shopkeepers have elected to give us a hundred percent discount on any dapper sort of haberdashery we can dream up. This will work up a bit of an appetite so next we'll head to some main street speakeasy that serves caviar and champagne from dusk to dawn. And if we aren't thoroughly bushed after that, we can head to midtown park and take a walk in the moonlight. Maybe hobnob with Queen Titania and all her kin." Charle paused to take a breath. "How does that sound? Copathetic?"
William Carter couldn't help but let a short joyous laugh escape from his lips. "More than copathetic. Utterly perfect."
"Good." The flapper extended an expectant hand and, slowly, somewhat hesitantly the magician placed his palm on hers. Though the touch itself felt rather odd, he couldn't deny that the two's fingers fit together perfectly- like a rabbit snug inside a top hat or a deck of cards, shuffled into orderly chaos.
Charlie tugged his arm down gently and whispered in his ear. "I was just kidding about the discount you know."
"I know."
"But the rest of it was completely on level. I asked a couple of my sister's friends that live around here and they said there's a couple of good juice joints if you really know where to look."
Carter was acutely aware of the stagehand's breath on his cheek.
"Brilliant." he sighed. Then: "We aren't going to get arrested, right?"
Charlie snorted. "Only if we get caught."
The magician paused, expecting to feel more anxious about the entire thing. But he somehow didn't. Perhaps it was a post-performance high. Or maybe summoning demons every few nights actually did do something for the constitution he had always lacked.
Whatever it was, it didn't matter.
He turned his head just slightly so that the two of them were face to face, and whispered his answer to Charlie.
"Lead away."
She pulled him down boulevards illuminated by smokey streetlamps, like something out of a Dickens novel, and through alleyways filled with soot and moonlight. They peeked into shop windows on Main Street, pretending they were both already famed performers with the money to spend on such frivolity as mink coats and strands of pearls. Charlie suggested that they pretend they were visiting European royalty (Carter was British after all, and she could manage the accent) to sneak into one of the fancier boutiques. The magician, feeling daring, agreed. And in fact, the act was almost a success- but some combination of the stagehand's American slang and his own nervous stammer must've clued the shopkeeper in to what was happening. The two were cornered in the hat section and promptly kicked to the curb, laughing all the while.
By now, the couple was close enough to the park that it seemed a pity not to head there next. The stars hung bright in the sky, almost visible through the smog of the city, as they ventured down well-worn paths, through thickets and glens. Every so often, Charlie would point out a constellation in the sky and ask Carter what it was. He knew a few of them- the Big Dipper, Orion and the like- but made up the rest.
"Ah yes," the magician would say, "That's the Thundering Mongoose. They say it lives above canyons and, eats the souls of weary travelers."
"What on earth is a mongoose?" The flapper would ask in return.
And Carter would shrug. "Some cross between a moose and a goose I suppose."
At that point, they were barely able to hold back their amusement and fell into convulsions of laughter. For the first time in a long while, Carter felt peaceful. And, looking into Charlie's eyes, he was almost certain that she was experiencing the same emotion.
They sat there for a while, the two performers- just looking at stars and being calm.
But eventually the city's shine and smog grew to a feverish peak and began to obscure the night sky. No matter how they searched, neither one of them could even make out the moon.
"Come on," the flapper whispered to him though, after the last star had disappeared. "The night's not over yet."
She guided him down a series of back alleys until they came to what appeared to be a set of stairs, the end of which was obscured in darkness. Charlie took his hand. "This should be the place." she said, voice somewhat hesitant. "At least according to my sister's old roommate."
Carter eyed the hazy stairwell with a similar caution. "You think it's...open?"
"It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday, so probably… Maybe it just looks like this so the cops don't sap it."
The flapper minced down the first couple steps. She glanced back up at Carter, muttering. "Cover me."
So the magician took a deep breath, swallowed all of his well-reasoned anxiety (an act he was getting quite good at) and followed Charlie down the stairway. The steps creaked as though they had never supported the weight of a person before and the shadows flickered. Somehow, their shape couldn't help but remind Carter of the creatures he had summoned from the Codex Umbra- but whenever he tried to take a closer look, they vanished into nothing.
He was just upon the verge of taking out his glasses again to get a better look when Charlie tugged at his shoulder. "Hey Maxy, look."
He looked.
Nailed to the wall, just next to a very sorry example of a doorway, was a board covered in messy scrawl. The Fanged Basilisk: An Establishment of the Finest Sort. At least, that's what Carter thought it said. Between the dim light and the horrid handwriting, the word "basilisk" looked a great deal more like "bat fists." And, truth be told, he was really just winging it on the "establishment" part.
"Yep," Charlie gave a satisfied sort of sigh. "This has got to be it. Winnie's friend said it was a dive on the outside and a doozy on the inside. Let's hope she's right."
The magician watched as his companion raised a tight fist and rapped sharply on the door. Once. Twice. For a moment, he was afraid that she would knock the thing down before they were even let in.
Then, with an eerie rattle that wouldn't be out of place in an Edgar Allen Poe poem, the entranceway creaked open, allowing a bloodshot pair of eyes to peek out.
"Password?" came the rasp from within.
Charlie opened her mouth before Carter even had the time to get panicked. "Bluenose on a bottlehead."
A few moments passed during which the faint din of grumbling could be heard on the other side of the door. The flapper and magician exchanged a brief look.
"Did we make it?" Carter whispered.
"Dunno," Charlie replied. "But if this fails, my sister taught me how to pick locks."
"Oh! Me too actually. I learned it in New York for my act." And escaping the mob, the magician thought- but it would be a few weeks longer until he told his assistant about that.
Right about then was when the door swung open. A blond man with the same bloodshot look the performers had seen just a few moments ago, gave the two of them a dispassionate once-over. He sighed.
"Technically, that was last week's password. But if you're thinking about trying to jimmie the door, you might as well just come in."
Charlie beamed. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah. Just don't destroy anything."
He led the two of them down a long, equally dilapidated hallway to another door. "Hey Zelda, I've got a swell Sheba and a tall-looking bird here for some giggle-water!"
"Send'em on in," responded a muffled voice. "Honestly, what's two more at this point?"
The blonde man shrugged, flashing both performers a dull frown- "You heard the woman."- and gestured to the entrance. Carter could feel a nervous sort of bile rise up in his throat. Exactly how many people were going to be at this club? But before he could ponder the question any further, Charlie gently squeezed the door's brass knob, tugging it wide open.
"Damn." the flapper breathed.
