Eventide in Fionn’s company. Bittersweet, because it was just like old times — and yet nothing like that at all.
Strange going back under any circumstances, to be fair. I don’t mix with the type who go there now, not if I can help it. It was a sad day when Ayaka retired. No one with any sense could approve of what’s been done with the place since.
The staff used to be merely friendly. Now they’re downright creepy — if you’ve eminence enough to pull your weight in there. As successful artists with a modicum of fame, Fi and I do, more’s the pity.
Eventide’s front doors are just for show. And what a show: clear glass lit with its own golden radiance, like afternoon sun on the water. Beyond that, a swirl of drifting mist, moon-silver, opaque; peering into that golden world is like catching a glimpse of heaven. Tantalising, provocative, out of reach.
Pretty, manipulative shit.
You can tell who’s new to Eventide, because they’re trying to get in that way. They don’t get far. The real entrance is around the back, and that is like wandering into the garden of paradise. Roses rambling everywhere, whatever the season; water features; thick carpets of golden moss, bejewelled with diamantine dew; and somewhere in there, a door, discreet compared to the front ones. It’s guarded by a couple of bouncers, typically drawn from the troll clans.
Tonight was no different.
‘Ladies,’ said bouncer number one, as Fi and I approached. Seven foot tall and stacked, the guy made for an intimidating door-guard. Nobody much wants to tangle with one mountain-troll, let alone two, although if the pair of them couldn’t keep their eyes where they belonged I’d be reconsidering my stance on that.
I clenched my fists, running my thumbs over the stones adorning my knuckles. I’d left the gloves at home. The jewels are decorative enough, in their way, and if their presence gives anybody pause before they think about getting too close to me, all the better.
Fionn stepped past me, nudging me none too gently as she did so.
Right. I was scowling. I replaced my thunderous expression with a smile; it felt badly pasted on, but it passed muster. Whatever Fi said to the tossers on the door produced a chuckle, and with a gracious inclination of her elegant head she was sashaying inside.
I followed, receiving an obsequious hat-tip as I passed.
So far so good. I paused inside the door to take a breath, and unclench my fists.
Fionn gave me a cool look. ‘You used to be better at this.’
‘Out of practice,’ I said shortly.
That might have been a flicker of sympathy somewhere at the back of her eyes, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just a trick of that silvery mist. She looked incredible, of course, in all her supermodel glory. Her shimmery satin gown looked like a sheath made of water itself, its style evoking the best of 1930s glamour. She wore pearls in her upswept hair, and her eye make-up was fabulously over the top. Perfect.
I’d gone for a more severe style. Black velvet: floor-length, long-sleeved and backless. Fi had lent me a pair of her skyscraper heels, which I had accepted only reluctantly, expecting to resent their spectacular lack of practicality. Actually, I didn’t. I liked the way they made me feel. Taller, for one, which is important anytime I have to stand next to Fionn.
Eventide wasn’t busy yet; the fashionable hour wouldn’t hit until nearer midnight. We had time to settle in, get our bearings, grab a drink or two, and try to remember what the fuck we were supposed to do in there.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I was out of practice. My old instincts aren’t entirely gone, but close enough. I could have walked up to the music stage and rocked the joint without a moment’s hesitation, but to mingle and hobnob and angle for information? These days, I’m more inclined to punch people than make nice to them.
Fi catwalked her way to a table and slid into a silk-brocaded chair, somehow managing to look coolly unconcerned and oblivious to those around her. I, though, recognised the signs: the way her gaze flicked from face to face, taking note of who was there, observing who sat with whom. The way she positioned herself so as to have a view of as much of the room as possible, her back to the wall. She wasn’t out of practice.
I strutted over to join her. Wasn’t even intentional, but you can’t wear four-inch heels without strutting about like a damned peacock. It’s sort of the basis of their appeal. ‘One might ask what you’ve been up to all this time,’ I said to Fi, ‘besides staging a takeover of the world of haute couture.’
Her gaze settled on me, more or less expressionless. ‘That’s more than enough to keep a person busy, I assure you.’
To which attempt at side-stepping my question, I merely raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’ she murmured, cool as ever.
‘Been taking a side job or two?’ I persevered.
‘You mean, do I secretly run an underground detective agency in some dingy back street?’
‘By day, she decks the city in silks, satins and pearls,’ I said. ‘By night, she champions the down-trodden masses from her secret lair.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Come on, Fi. Once a Fatale, always a Fatale.’
‘Really? Where then is your secret lair?’
‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret.’
Fionn bestowed upon me a withering look, and signalled a waiter. ‘Bring me a strawberry gin fizz,’ she murmured.
‘I’ll be needing something stronger,’ I said, flashing the waiter a smile. ‘Pray get me a love potion.’
‘Which is what?’ said Fionn.
‘Fruit juice and vodka, emphasis on the vodka.’
‘You’re nervous.’
‘I’m never nervous.’
‘And you never lie.’
The waiter had gone; I permitted myself a grin. ‘The truth should never be allowed to get in the way of a good joke.’
‘Of course,’ said Fionn, gracefully inclining her head. ‘Protecting the sanctity of the joke. Nothing whatsoever to do with protecting your pride, resisting perceived pressure, or stubborn bravado.’
‘See, this is why I stopped having friends,’ I said. ‘Too much self-knowledge is bad for a girl.’
‘You prefer self-deception.’
‘Who doesn’t.’
Fionn, bless her, actually considered that question, and finally awarded me the point. ‘I can’t say that you’re wrong.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Only you need not actively cultivate it, surely.’
‘I do indeed need, if it gets me through the damned day. Also, starry-eyed dilettante to your left.’
Fionn did that thing where she looked without seeming to. I… tried. We observed, more or less covertly, as a frighteningly young-looking girl came in, dressed up to the nines in too much make-up and too little satin, her eyes everywhere as she took in the scene. She’d gushed and stammered her way past the door guards, and as Fi and I watched, she tripped over to the bar and repeated the trick with the bartender. She walked like she was taking an exam in nonchalant elegance, and expected to fail.
‘Never been here before in her life, I’d wager,’ I murmured.
Fionn nodded. ‘Never expected to be, either.’
‘Does she look selkie?’
Fionn gave a tiny shrug of one shoulder. ‘I can’t always tell at a glance.’
Neither could I. The girl was certainly beautiful, in a gauche way, and just as clearly fae. Eventide was still close to empty; we’d arrived early on purpose, wanting to watch as the clientele came in. The newcomer took a seat alone, and sat with an air of suppressed anticipation, eyes everywhere.
Our drinks had arrived. I took a larger-than-advisable mouthful of raspberry and searingly-strong vodka, and felt steadied by it.
‘She’s meeting someone,’ said Fionn.
‘Someone with clout, if they got her name added,’ I agreed. It was one thing to finagle an unusual guest past the door guards if you were present to talk them into it; another to contrive admittance for them on their own account, unescorted, at any time they chose. There was a list somewhere, by repute a short one, of people welcome to frequent Eventide — the sort who lacked the eminence or connections to score an invitation on their own. I didn’t know who might have the power to get a name added to that list — besides, of course, the club’s owners.
‘We should go talk to her,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Fionn immediately. ‘We shouldn’t show ourselves yet.’
‘What do you mean, show ourselves? We’re just patrons here, enjoying a drink, mingling with the other guests. And that girl looks ready to faint with joy at meeting a certain name in fashion design. Unless I miss my guess, that’s one of your pieces she’s wearing.’
‘You have been paying attention,’ Fionn murmured, with a fleeting smile.
‘Come on, we’re going over.’
‘Tai, show a little caution. People may still remember—’
‘Very few people remember, Fi, and she isn’t going to be one of them. I doubt she was born the last time you and I spoke.’ So saying, I got up, collected my drink, and made my way over to the starry-eyed girl’s table. ‘Serenity,’ I said, nodding towards her gown. Like many of Fi’s designs, it was pure silk and had the fluidity of running water. Fionn is the king and queen of fabric drape. ‘I think I detect a fan.’
‘Oh my gosh, yes,’ gushed the girl. ‘I’ve never had a real Serenity gown before. They always look so beautiful in the shows, but wearing them is even better, isn’t it? It’s like wearing a waterfall, or a cloud—’
‘The waterfall was, in fact, some part of the inspiration for that gown,’ said Fionn, quietly joining us, and flowing into a seat. ‘You were lucky to get hold of that piece. We didn’t make many.’
The poor girl looked ready to explode, though not so much with joy. She’d clammed up, capable only of staring at Fionn with a kind of appalled wonder.
Which unfortunately meant she wasn’t responding to Fionn’s prompt. I saw the direction Fi was trying to go in: she had been lucky to get hold of that gown, and the thing was likely to be eye-bleedingly expensive. Her artless chatter reinforced the idea that she wasn’t normally in a position to own such things; she lacked the wherewithal, then. So how had she got the dress — or more likely, who had given it to her?
When in doubt, try being direct. ‘I’m jealous,’ I said, toasting her with my somewhat depleted love potion. ‘Where did you get it?’
The girl’s gaze travelled back to my face, eventually. ‘I— well, the truth is,’ she said, her eyes going wider. ‘The truth is, I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t exactly choose it, I…’ She trailed off, looking from one of us to the other, hesitating.
Silence from Fionn.
‘Curious,’ I said, laughing. ‘What, you found it in the street? I wish my lucky stars were so generous.’
‘Of course not.’ She gave an awkward laugh.
‘No, that would have been too good to be true,’ I agreed.
‘I, um, found it on my doorstep.’
I blinked. ‘What?’
‘Yesterday,’ she said. ‘With a note, inviting me to — to come here, tonight.’
‘Lucky girl,’ put in Fionn. ‘You’ve an important admirer.’
That observation was productive of a rosy blush, and the poor fool visibly preened. ‘I don’t know who it is, yet,’ she confided. ‘Though I have an idea…’
She had a wish list, in other words, and a head full of daydreams. I doubted any of those dreams were about to come true. Though, one question preoccupied me: did whoever had given her the dress know that she was a fan of Fionn’s, or had it been a coincidence? If the former, perhaps her mysterious admirer was someone she knew.
The mystery of it all made me uneasy.
‘You’re Fionn of Cuath-Tor, aren’t you?’ said the girl, and she had probably been dying to say that for some minutes. ‘You designed this dress! You’re so amazing. I applied to walk for your shows, but, no luck yet. I’m still trying.’ She gazed at Fionn with a trusting hopefulness I found rather heart-breaking. Innocence. It’s so easy to take advantage of.
‘You’re a model?’ said Fionn, sipping her gin fizz.
‘Just getting started, yet,’ came the answer, with another blush. ‘My agent says I have potential — ah, my name’s Cellann, by the way, Cellann of Indra-Tath, I’m with the Anna Sant Agency—’
Cellann of Indra-Tath rambled on, clearly hoping to impress Fi with her credentials. I let my attention wander. More people were coming in at the door, a few I vaguely recognised: a half ban sith brunette who was somebody in television; a tall, moody-looking sluagh I’d bumped into backstage once or twice. The rest were unfamiliar, as yet, and so far nobody showed any signs of wanting to approach Cellann’s table.
Fionn was excusing herself. Apparently she was tired of the chatter, as was I; I toasted Cellann with the dregs of my love potion and followed Fi, though we did not return to our table.
‘Perimeter prowl?’ I said, falling into step beside Fionn.
‘Eavesdropping circuit,’ said she, flashing a glamorous smile at a passing rakshasa. ‘Were you really jealous?’
‘Of the dress?’ I cast a fleeting glance at Cellann’s gown. ‘No. Not my style.’
‘You lied to an impressionable youngster? Deplorable.’
‘I will lie to that impressionable youngster all night if it will keep her from turning up face-down in the river.’
‘Or Mearil, either.’
‘Right. If someone’s luring girls like her to Eventide, I’m not leaving until we find out who it is. By the by, if you’re heading for Rudy with intent, you’re on the wrong track. I know him. He’s okay.’
‘Rudy?’
‘The sluagh I suspect you’re trying to eavesdrop on. He’s the type of dangerous-looking that wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘Rudy? Really?’
I grinned. ‘Full name’s Rudlund Mathis. He’s the drummer with Tormented Wraith.’
‘Tormented. Wraith.’
‘Death metal.’
Fionn’s look might best be described as indecipherable, with a side of appalled. ‘On which topic. Why power metal, Tai?’
‘Because it makes me feel powerful, Fi. Why else.’
‘Like you ever needed help there.’
‘I might also have been a bit angry about a few things.’
‘Farewell Fatales.’
‘Exactly.’
‘If you’re finished being angry,’ Fionn said, letting this pass, ‘You’ve the voice to do anything you want.’
‘Which I can’t take much actual credit for, but that aside, what I want to do is power metal.’
‘I see.’
‘And I do it very well, for your information.’
She inclined her head. ‘Pheriko and Orandine aren’t bad either.’
‘And you know the names of my bandmates how exactly?’
‘Same way you’re able to recognise my gowns at a glance, I expect.’
‘I love them,’ I said, not referring to the gowns. ‘But they’re no substitute.’
‘Were they supposed to be?’
I had to think about that one for a second. ‘How much honesty do you want?’
‘All of it.’
‘Then yes.’
She nodded.
‘If you were Daix,’ I went on, ‘you’d have something acidic to say about people who try to replace their best friends instead of mending fences with them.’
‘Let’s all be thankful that I am not Daix.’
‘But—’
She elbowed me. ‘Hush. I do believe Rudy’s coming over.’
He was, too. He’d been trying to catch my eye for a few minutes, an effort I had steadily resisted, but the man was persistent. He approached with that manly, rolling-the-shoulders walk he likes to affect, grinning what was doubtless supposed to be a knee-weakening grin. ‘It’s my favourite Fatale,’ he said.
‘Hi, Rudy,’ I said, suppressing an urge to roll my eyes. ‘Have you met Fionn?’
He did her the honour of a slow looking-over, which Fionn bore with her usual grace. ‘Ma’am,’ he said at last.
‘Ma’am?’ I echoed. ‘Since when are you so polite?’
‘I’m scrupulously polite to anyone I haven’t seen roaring drunk.’ He had the cheek to wink at me.
‘Drunk, hm?’ said Fionn, raising a brow.
‘Rudy’s going to go away now, and take story-time away with him.’ I directed at Rudy a mega-watt smile, liberally laced with venom.
He chuckled. ‘But seriously, Tai, I didn’t know you were an Eventide girl.’
‘One of my better achievements, clearly.’
‘Ma’am. Permit me to provide you with a drink.’ He actually bowed.
‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘I’m all out of love potion. But, Rudy, before you do that, tell me something. Do you come here a lot?’
His eyebrows climbed into his hair.
‘It’s not a pick-up line,’ I said, suppressing an urge to kick him with my delightfully pointy-toed shoes. ‘Real question.’
‘Uh, I suppose?’ he said, looking from me to Fionn in confusion. ‘Once a week, sometimes more.’
‘Okay. So. Have you noticed anyone unusual hanging around here of late?’
He turned his head, and looked straight at Cellann, who was still sitting alone. ‘You mean like her?’
‘Like her, and whoever the hell is getting people like her in here.’
‘I didn’t think you cared about stuff like that.’
‘Rudy, I’m not asking because I’ve turned into a giant snob overnight. It’s important.’
Fionn spoke up. She never raises her voice, but somehow she’s always heard. ‘Tai’s roommate is missing,’ she said. ‘And we fear she may have met somebody here who had something to do with it.’
My turn to raise an eyebrow at Fi. She gave me that eye-flick that functions as a dismissive shrug.
Fine, if we were going to do honesty and hope for the best…
‘Fi’s also short a couple of models from her shows,’ I said. ‘One of them’s dead. And that innocent little girl right there is exactly the type.’
Rudy’s gaze sharpened, all traces of humour vanishing from his face. ‘Selkie they pulled out of the river. That’s what you’re talking about?’
‘You heard about that?’
‘Everyone’s heard about it.’ Rudy was looking dead serious now, which is unusual for him, for all his death metal glory. ‘Tai, you want to be careful who you’re asking about that.’
‘I’m not running around asking people questions at random, if that’s what you mean.’
‘So you had some bullet-proof reason to think I couldn’t possibly be involved?’
I folded my arms. ‘Haven’t seen anything about you that might suggest you’re a crazed killer.’
‘What does that matter?’
He did have a point.
Too bad. ‘Got to take risks sometimes, Rudy. We can’t make progress on this case if we’re too cautious to actually investigate.’
He shrugged. ‘You’ve got that siren voice going for you, I suppose. Might get you out of a tight spot.’
It might indeed; had, in fact, on many occasions. I don’t use it lightly. I mean, there’s singing, which I will cheerfully do all day, and then there’s siren-singing, which is different. If you’re caught off guard by a siren song, you’ll do anything. Anything at all. And you may or may not remember it afterwards. It’s sort of like drunkenness that way, only without the long lead-up of knocking back shots.
Some people like that about a girl.
Some don’t so much.
It really depends on how much the siren happens to like you.
Anyway. Unlike Coronis, Rudy either hadn’t heard the old stories about the fatales, or he hadn’t made the connections between those same old stories and the name I’d somewhat unwisely chosen for my band. He thought I might get hurt.
Sweet, really.
I lifted my hands and showed him my diamond-studded knuckles. ‘I’ll be fine, Rudy.’
‘And your friend?’ He looked again at Fionn, who certainly appeared delicate with her silk-clad slenderness and bejewelled elegance. All lady-like and dainty.
‘Pray you never catch Fi with a couple of knives in her hands,’ I said.
Rudy’s brows went up. ‘There’s a story somewhere behind that.’
‘There is, and we’re not getting into it,’ I said, Fionn having opted merely to return Rudy’s gaze with an amused expression.
‘Pity,’ said Rudy, and grinned. At Fi.
‘Right, when you’re done flirting with my friends, feel free to go back to your life,’ I said. ‘And if you hear anything else, Rudy, let me know.’
He tugged his forelock at me, the cheeky grin I was more used to restored to his face. ‘We’ll do that drink,’ he said, ‘but maybe another time.’ Back he went to his table.
‘Interesting,’ said Fionn.
‘You two can hook up later, but for now, focus,’ I said. ‘Unless I miss my guess, our baby model there is expecting imminent company.’ Cellann had lost the increasingly listless look she had worn for the past half-hour or so, as time went by and nobody came for her. Now she was sitting bolt upright, eagerly scanning the new arrivals as they came in. What had led her to believe her rendezvous was imminent I couldn’t say.
We couldn’t stand there and openly watch; Rudy’s warning might have annoyed me, but he wasn’t wrong. Fi and I strolled over to the bar to pick up fresh drinks, then wandered back to our table. By the time I felt at leisure to cast another covert glance at Cellann, she had company.
Female company.
‘That’s… unexpected,’ I said.
‘Why?’ murmured Fionn, taking a sip of champagne cocktail.
‘I mean, I know women can be assholes, too. But Tanna definitely implied Melly had been meeting a man.’
‘They don’t have to be the same person,’ Fionn pointed out. ‘We probably are dealing with a gang. Anyway, Tanna never actually said Melly’s date was male. We don’t know that Melly herself ever said that.’
‘Good points all.’ I paused to be certain, for Cellann’s date was wearing heavy make-up, and she’d had a change of hair-colour and style since the last time I had seen her. But… no, it had to be the same person. ‘I know her,’ I said.
Fionn looked at me.
‘You know her, too,’ I said. ‘She used to frequent this place about a century ago, back when it was still Blue Havens.’
Fionn sat up a bit. ‘Red hair back then?’
‘Red hair, green gowns, never seen without a cigarette holder in hand.’
‘Brianne Lamarre.’
‘That’s it.’ She’d ditched the smoking affectation, swapped her red hair for what I suspected was her natural green, and she was wearing a gown of the sumptuous gold Fionn favoured. But that wide, cat-like smile was all Brianne, as was the air of calculated sensuality with which she was dazzling poor Cellann.
Brianne is a morgan. In shorthand terms, picture a cross between Fionn and me and you wouldn’t be too far off. They live undersea; they’ve a taste for jewels and finery to give Fionn a run for her money; they’ve all the seductive beauty of the selkie but with something of the mesmerising voice of a siren.
That makes Brianne Lamarre as dangerous as Fionn and I put together — and Daix, too, for I never knew this lady to possess much in the way of moral fibre.
She’s among the few who could out-fatale all three of us. Despite all this — or, hell, because of it — she was a friend, once. I’d suspected her of all kinds of shady dealings at one time or another, but by accident or design, her path and ours had never really crossed in the business way of things.
I’d liked her, even if we’d never been close. She had qualities I could respect. As with so many things, I’d lost touch with her since the Fatales had broken apart; it came as a jolt to see her sitting in Eventide, so different, and so much the same. Like a piece of the past had suddenly come to life, and wandered in to say hello.
Regardless. However dazzling she may be, she’s still a shark. A naïve girl like Cellann of Indra-Tath is far out of her depth with Brianne Lamarre.
‘So that’s a problem,’ I said after a while.
Fionn had developed a stony look. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘We are going to need Daix.’
‘Hell, yes.’
Fionn finished up her drink, and pushed back her chair. ‘Well, then.’
‘Right,’ I said, rising from my chair. ‘No further point in caution.’ If we remembered Brianne, she’d remember us, too. She might not be showing any sign of it now, but she’d have seen us the moment she walked in, and it was of no use hoping she’d think we were just catching up.
Time for the more direct approach.