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.
"You took the words right out of my mouth." The magician muttered in return.
Technically speaking, Carter had been in speakeasies before- but only as the evening's featured performer. And never longer than one hour either, not when you could receive jail time for just being in the same room as a bottle of liquor. Still, he was certain that, even if he had been the toast of the town back on the East Coast, he never would have gotten to see a barroom like the one in The Fanged Basilisk. The room glowed with the hazy light of a dozen kerosene lamps, strung from the ceiling like drunk fireflies. Their shine was just enough to illuminate the brass filigree on the moldings of the wall and what appeared to be a large tapestry with the image of a giant snake woven into its folds. Though, at first, Carter had to restrain himself from going over to examine the thing, he quickly realized that such an action would be futile. The crowds were so tight in the speakeasy- teeming with people of all shapes, dress and color- that even moving a few feet would be a challenge.
"Hey, you two! Over here!" The same throaty voice that had called the performers broke Carter's train of thought. He glanced around, trying to locate its source but it wasn't until Charlie jabbed him somewhere slightly below the ribs that he finally figured out who spoke.
A swarthy woman, all sharp points and glittering smiles, waved to them from a barstool. "Sheba, birdie" she called again.
Charlie grinned and cupped her hands around her mouth. "All present and accounted for." She began to elbow a way through the crowd and Carter quickly made an attempt to follow. Unfortunately, having a good six inches on almost everyone in the room did absolutely nothing for the magician's ability to move through the sea of partiers and he staggered around a good five minutes like a particularly leggy octopus.
"Excuse me," he murmured, trying to squeeze past an elderly Chinese man in a bow tie to where Charlie and the other flapper were waiting. "Sorry my bad, coming through…"
At last, he stumbled into the side of the bar, rattling a couple of patrons drinks to the point where a rather large bottle of wine almost toppled to the floor. Somehow, despite every previous bit of clumsiness, he managed to catch the drink and, after setting it back on the table, reached out his hand to the unfamiliar woman seated in front of him.
"Nice to meet you ma'am. I'm Maxwell Carter."
She stared at him a moment...two moments...then burst out laughing. "Well, that was quite the entrance."
Carter blushed and wondered whether he should lower his hand. Before he could do anything of the like though, the woman had already enveloped it in a firm handshake.
"Zelda Kent. Owner of this fine establishment." She nodded to Charlie. "And it's clear you two already know each other."
The stagehand raised one side of her lips in a slight smirk. "I suppose it is...Should I admit to it though?"
"Cripes, Charlie." Her companion groaned.
"Just fooling with you, Maxy." The flapper's smile widened- then she gestured to the barstool beside her. Carter slid over its top, the tips of his toes still managing to touch the ground. "Ms. Zelda and I were just talking about The Fanged Basilisk. Isn't the place positutely swell?"
"Truly." The magician nodded, his eyes again returning to the tapestry at the back of the room. Something about it seemed familiar- though he couldn't quite place his finger on it.
Then it hit him.
The shape of the snake was almost identical to one of the shadow creatures- Terrorbeaks, he thought they were called- illustrated inside the Codex Umbra.
He paused. "Excuse me, Ms. Zelda...I don't know if it would be too forward of me to ask, but… where on earth did you find that tapestry?"
The proprietress waved a careless hand. "Estate sale, somewhere in Massachusetts. My beau brought it back for back for me thinking it would fit the place well."
"It does," Carter added quickly, lest he seem rude. "Truly enchanting."
Zelda Kent shook her head, lips quirking into a smile. She glanced at Charlie. "You've got yourself a nice one there. Very polite."
The stagehand didn't correct her. Tell the other woman that they were only colleagues. For a moment, Carter thought he could hear, somehow over the crowd, the rhythm of his heart. But then, just as soon, he realized her silence was only because Charlie had turned her gaze as well to the tapestry.
Her eyes widened in recognition and she gave the magician the quickest of glances.
"You know Miss Kent...I was thinking. My mum likes stuff like that. Curios and the like. D'you mind if I take a bit of a closer look at it. I was going to embroider her something for her birthday anyway, and, well, if I could see the pattern…" The flapper let her voice trail off, light and innocent.
The proprietress didn't even hesitate before giving a wide nod. "Of course, Sheba. That's real sweet." and, sliding off her own stool, waved a hand for the two of them to follow. Carter gave the stagehand a glance. She shrugged in return, a little guilty, a little pleased or perhaps some mix of both.
"Okay, so my mum would hate that thing with a passion." She sighed, "It's not like we can tell her I want to see the thing because it's one of the demons you summon every week."
The magician shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Do you mind if I take your hand this time? I don't want to get lost."
The stagehand was silent, her eyes fixed on him in an inscrutable look. "You know...you really are polite."
"I'm British," Carter murmured, face turning red. "It's really only one step away from Canadians as far as etiquette goes."
The stagehand grinned, weaving her fingers between his. "Okay then Queen Victoria, you can take my hand if you want."
"Thank you, Prince Albert." It was rather forward as far as flirting went, but the American didn't seem to notice. She clasped his hand tightly, and before Carter knew it they were off, following the path that the proprietress had made just moments before.
Zelda Kent, it seemed could parted the crowd of people like Moses did the Red Sea. That was if Moses, stopped every few seconds to say hi to a couple of fish. She seemed to know everyone, and everyone, in turn, loved her. All the flapper had to do, in fact, was introduce Charlie and Carter as new friends, and by the time they had reached the tapestry, they had already received a couple glasses of wine, three business cards, and, for some reason, a matchbook which the magician shoved deep into the pockets of his coat.
"Well," said Zelda Kent, waving a carefree hand to the woven picture. "Here it is. Feel free to look it over as much as you like. And don't worry about touching either- The Fanged Basilisk isn't a museum."
"Thank you ma'am." The stagehand beamed. Carter echoed both thanks and smile.
"Heh. No problem." The proprietress replied. "Now... I doubt you two young things came to the Basilisk to find a fire extinguisher, so I think I'll just skidoo right here."
She waggled her fingers, and tossing the two of them a mischievous wink, disappeared back into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared to them in the first place.
Carter felt his face begin to burn.
"Well...uh. Should we give this a try?" He gestured to the tapestry.
"Of course. Yes. Certainly." Charlie nodded. The magician could have sworn her cheeks were actually a similar shade of scarlet-
But before he could get any more than a glimpse, the flapper crouched to the ground and began to examine some sort of minute detail in the embroidery. Carter paused a few moments in a futile attempt to figure out what exactly was going on- then decided that he was better off trying to puzzle together the tapestry.
Shadow demons, as it seemed to him, made more sense than American social cues any day.
Yet... the more the magician scanned the image, the more he felt that something was off. As far as he could tell, every bit of the portrait here matched what he had seen perfectly. Spikes. Teeth. Even the stumpy legs sticking out of the beast's bottom end were all rendered flawlessly in stitching.
But that was the thing- it was perfect.
Whoever had commissioned this weaving obviously had seen one of the shadow beasts before. And that was...well...
Not actually impossible.
From within his pocket, Carter could suddenly feel the cold, hard lump of the Codex Umbra pressing against his waist. He'd never really thought about it before—between the whirlwind rush of performance after performance he'd not had the time-but now that he saw the tapestry, the magician began to wonder...who exactly had owned the book before him?
And more importantly- what had happened to them?
But before he could go any further, Carter's train of thought was interrupted by a sharp prod to his kneecap. "Hey Maxy. Take a look at this!"
Charlie- she must have found something!
The magician leaned over- then realizing he was still about a foot above his companion's head- hurriedly bent his legs so that he was crouched beside her. Thankfully, the flapper had seemed to have forgotten about the embarrassment moments ago and her cheeks held only the faintest tinge of red. She grabbed his shoulder and gestured wildly to what seemed to be a small square of fabric stitched into the bottom-right corner of the tapestry.
"Can you see it?"
Carter shook his head. Then realized that this was probably because he still wasn't wearing his glasses. He sighed-so much for not looking like a Wisenheimer- and slipped them on.
With the aid of the lenses, the magician finally managed to get an idea of what Charlie was talking about. A couple of faint scrawlings, probably done originally in some sort of permanent ink, covered the face of the square.
Squinting a little, he found that he was able to actually discern a little of what they were saying. "Prop...E-F-G. No, that doesn't make sense. Property. Yes, that's it... 'Property of'..." Carter paused. "Can you read that?"
Charlie shook her head. "I think it starts with a 'w' though. If you cock your head to the side and scrunch your eyes a little."
The magician followed the instructions then nodded. "Yeah-" he said. "That's definitely a 'w.' The rest of it's too faded to get any good reading of it though."
"Applesauce!" The stagehand swore. Then, seeming to realize at the same time as Carter exactly how close their faces were, she quickly stood up. "Well, looks like we can only get so much out of sleuthing tonight."
"I guess so." said Carter, trying desperately to keep the color from spreading to his cheeks.
"Still should keep our eyes out though." Charlie babbled on with an artificial brightness. "Never know when you might find something strange."
"Exactly."
"Exactly."
They exchanged a minute long nervous smile, throughout which Carter was legitimately afraid to look away. Then, at last, Charlie collapsed to the floor.
"I didn't tell her, anything," the flapper said, the words rushing out of her mouth like rain. "Honest, I didn't. In fact, I barely even mentioned you until you came over and yahoo-ed straight into the bar side."
She plucked a glass of wine from one of the side tables-then twirled her finger clockwise through the red liquid. "Just so you know."
"Right." Carter gave a grin that was probably more of a wince. He was pretty sure that the sentiment was supposed to be reassuring but he wasn't quite sure how. Was it supposed to be a compliment that she didn't talk about him? Was this a thing in America?
They sat there for a few moments longer as he tried to puzzle it out. After about five minutes of utter confusion though, the magician was beginning to wonder if it might just be best to bite the bullet and ask Charlie exactly what she meant.
He peeked over at the flapper, only to find that in the exact same moment, she had turned her eyes toward him.
Bugger.
Almost instinctively, Carter let his glance fall to his knees. Though he wasn't watching, he was fairly sure that Charlie had done the same thing.
"So, uh…" The flapper muttered. The magician turned his head a little, just enough that he could see his companion staring into her drink. She took a sip then flashed him a weak looking grin.
"So everything's still jake, right?"
Carter scrunched his brows. "I mean yes, probably...it really depends on why talking about me would, you know, be a problem."
"What?" Charlie said.
"What?" The magician echoed.
There was a long silence then suddenly the flapper burst out laughing. Not comfortable laughter- still rather anxious.
But it was a start.
"Wait. Wait." she said. "I thought you were worried I was trying to pass you off as my steady to Miss Kent."
Carter shook his head. "What? How could I be worried about that? You're the Sheba, after all. I'm just the bird. I thought you'd be one who was upset."
"Me? No, no, no! That'd be bonkers- I mean when you're so…" Charlie's voice trailed off, fading into the background clamor of the bar. Her cheeks were the same scarlet as the drink in her glass. Without even needing to look, the magician knew that his would be the same.
They were quiet again- but this time, the silence was comfortable, the calm after the storm.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Now Carter was the one to break the silence. "So yes. I suppose everything is jake with me."
"Copathetic." Charlie's face slowly melted back into her usual easy grin. "Positutely copathetic."
The conversation only got better from there.
They must have looked a sight, the magician realized looking back. Sitting beneath the stitched likeness of a creature from humanity's wildest nightmares, not a care in the world. Chattering like songbirds into the wee hours of the morning. Nabbing abandoned bottles of wine until the two of them were completely corked.
Yet, for once in his life, Carter was certain that he didn't give a single whit what any others might say. The thought dawned on him about one a.m:
With Charlie, it didn't matter.
There was her- then there was everyone else. And, as far as he was concerned, everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier. He wouldn't shed a tear.
Well.
Not necessarily. But with a couple of glasses of liquor flowing through his veins, that's how it felt. In the dim light of the speakeasy and the slight waver of his vision, Charlie looked every part the moon queen Titania she had referenced earlier in the evening.
"My ear is much enamored with your note/ So is mine eye enthralled to your face/And your fair virtue's force perforce does move me/On the first view to say, to swear…" Carter mumbled.
"Mmmm?"
"Nothing. What was it you were saying?"
"Ah, not much either." The flapper shrugged, gazing up at the barroom's mottled ceiling. "Just how swell everything's going to be from here on out. You and me, Maxy. We'll own the world."
"Hmm. Like the Rockefellers?"
"More than that. The Rockefellers are famous for being rich. We're going to be famous just for being us."
"I like the sound of that," Carter murmured distantly. "Queen Charlie. King Maxwell... I want to keep New York, by the way. That's non-negotiable."
"Copathetic. I'll take LA. And Wyoming too, if you don't mind. I like all the little geysers." Charlie wiggled her fingers as though to imitate a spray of water. "Real creepy. Did you know the place was once called the doorway to hell?"
"Nope."
"Well, it was. One of these days I'm going to visit it. Then I'm going to write a screenplay: The Doorway to HELL. It'll be the berries." The flapper grinned at Carter through hands pressed into L-shapes, almost like the lens of a camera.
He couldn't help but give her a smile in return- quavery and unpracticed- but a smile all the same. "Sounds copasetic. My mug'll be in the front row, Charlie."
"Really?"
"Truly."
"Heh." The flapper peered down into her empty wine glass. And for the life of him, Carter couldn't tell if the blush in her cheeks was from the alcohol or something else. "You're real sweet. In fact, I'll save you a spot. It'll say: 'Reserved. Just for King Maxwell by order of Queen Charlie.'"
"Then I'll hobnob with the robber barons-all there to see your premiere, you know-and, when they ask exactly what I'm king of, I'll say 'the world.' And I'll tell them you own Wyoming. That it was the inspiration for the movie."
"Right," The flapper snorted. "And I'll throw you out for telling all my secrets."
" You'll have to drag me from the theater. Kicking and screaming." Carter said proudly. His companion snorted.
"You do realize that everyone will be watching, right?"
"I won't care. Not when it's your movie, Charlie. Not when it's... you."
"Ah."
The two performers were quiet a moment, watching the early morning crowd stagger from empty bottle to empty couch.
Carter could feel a faint buzz in his stomach. Almost an anxiety. But it wasn't- he knew- it was something else. "You know," the magician said softly, "You never did tell me why you wanted to be my stagehand."
