Chapter 1
JANUARY 18TH, 1928 AT THE CRYSTAL CAVE, LONDON
“Five minutes to prep, Miss Vega.” The call came from just outside her dressing room.
“Be right out, Bob.” Vega stretched, reaching out one hand for a dressing gown to go over her frock. She’d be fine once the evening got started, with the warmth of bodies crowded in to have a good time, but right now, she’d take a chill without it. Vega and her voice had no time for that. She heard Bob continue down the hall, the particular rhythm of steps, knock, and call. Perhaps sometime she’d make up a dance and song of it, for fun.
It felt good to be back in the routine from before the holidays. She’d just had two glorious nights off— and also the days, of course— and she’d spent almost all of them asleep. Or having a good meal before going back to sleep. Mama referred to it as her cat phase. Vega had sung her voice to threads. She’d gone through six pairs of dancing shoes between the middle of December and Sunday night. Certainly, she’d earned every bit of a rest. Now, she didn’t rush, but she didn’t dally either.
Within a minute, she was out on the main dance floor, glancing around. “That chair from Saturday?” Vega gesturedwith her entire hand, never just her finger. Old habits stuck, and with good reason. Then she caught who was standing up from checking on one of the charmlights on the stage. “Oh, and how’s your wife, Jack?”
“Solid as a rock now, Miss Vega.” Jack was the club’s handyman, among a number of other skills. “And thank you for asking. She’s doing much better now, just a brief bad turn. That tea you sent along seems to have done a treat.”
“Oh, I’m glad.” He’d been off last Sunday, and she’d been worried that it meant his wife had been worse.
The other performers trickled in from the dressing rooms, some of them still coming alive for the evening. Most of them, honestly. None of them was a lark, most of them woke sometime in the mid-afternoon before getting ready for an evening of entertainment that would stretch to near enough dawn some nights.
She didn’t yet know enough about most of them to know what they did on their days off. She’d started at the Crystal Cave in the middle of October. It took people a bit to warm up, and see what a new performer at the top of the bill was like. And then they’d gone into the flurry of the holidays, with not much time to talk about anything other than the night’s performances and adjustments. Vega certainly hadn’t shared her plans then. Now she was back to a more relaxed schedule, which would probably help with the social ties. She also hoped she could get a night or two to go out to Astralis, the family estate. She could see her parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. And look at stars. Stars were in very short supply in London’s air and lights. They’d understood that she couldn’t get back for the halcyon days and all those rituals. She knew what the life she’d chosen meant. That didn’t mean she hadn’t missed being there.
Now, she put on a smile— an honest one, really— and made all the polite chit-chat. Her name might be top of the bill at themoment. But she refused to be the sort who swept in, demanded the world, and stomped on everyone on her way by. For one thing, it was a way to leave a trail of enemies in her wake, and Grandmother Alcyone definitely would not approve of that. For another, it simply wasn’t how Vega wanted to be in the world. It soured her music and her magic. That was something she would never tolerate.
Now, though, Ivy and Charles Hessian were coming her way. She wriggled her fingers at them. “Evening!” They did an excellent dance set, as well as a rather more demanding part: each of them would draw a partner or two from the crowd onto the dance floor to get things started. “You look pleased, Ivy?”
“Oh, I am. You remember how that young— well— had his hands all over me, Saturday?” Ivy said. It was an undeniable challenge of the profession, even if Vega mostly ducked it by being up on stage.
“And came back on Sunday,” Vega agreed. “Wait, did you find out who he is?”
Charles slipped his arm around his wife. “Oh, better than that. That’s just one ill-mannered boor, and there doesn’t seem to be a shortage. Madam Helena introduced us to a talisman maker, the sort who doesn’t charge the sun and the moon. He worked up a piece that should help. We picked it up this afternoon.”
Ivy gave a little shimmy, making her frock glitter under the translucent wrap. “Makes it more and more uncomfortable, if the hands aren’t where they’re supposed to be. We had to do a bit of testing, but it’s working a treat.” She gestured at a piece that hung at the back of her neck, the necklace clasp, then a piece pinned just at the waistline at the back. “If a gentleman keeps his hand where he ought, no problem. If they wander, well.” She shrugged, with a put-on wide-eyed innocence.
“Oh, I’m glad.” Vega was. The Crystal Cave was far better at handling that sort of thing than a number of clubs Vega had sung in. And of course, a magical club had options that a non-magical one didn’t. The staff had many more options to summon help. Madam Helena, who ran the place, did not look kindly on boors.
But everyone had a first time to misbehave, or get too drunk, or whatever else led them astray, and those were always unpleasant to deal with. And sometimes people had power or a position that meant they couldn’t just be shown the door without consequences. “He might get quite a lot of other business if it works as you say.”
Ivy laughed. “We pointed that out. If you need a piece, you let me know. I’ll introduce you.”
Vega nodded. That sort of magic wouldn’t work reliably for her, not without a number of adjustments. But perhaps she’d have a reason to do that at some point, or enough in the way of funds she could experiment. She did well for herself, these days, but not so well she could pay for talismans that were purely a curiosity, not a need. Not if she was taking the necessary long view about her career and her life. “I’ll think about it. And I want to see how it works, too!”
“Did you do anything with your days off? You keep saying you mean to go to one of the museums.” Charles leaned forward a little, twisting on one foot, warming up lightly.
“I slept.” Vega said, given a cheerful stretch. “I mean, most of the time. There was a book. And my usual vocal practice.” That was, in her life, a thing more like eating supper, so habitual she didn’t write it out on a list of tasks for the day. She laughed, deliberately keeping it light. “Oh, I see Pasco. I need to ask him about that illusion in the third set.”
Pasco, the club’s illusionist, was a good bit older than most of the other performers. Of course, he wasn’t generally on stage.And when it came to illusion work, age and experience counted for quite a bit. Vega had found him just as competent as Madam Helena had promised when she took the contract here. Now, he peered at her over his pince-nez glasses, then made a slight gesture at a bow. “Good evening.”
Vega tilted her head, because those were all the signs of someone who was nervous she was about to be difficult. She spread her hands. “I wanted to thank you for Sunday. And to check about that set of flowers. I thought it worked well except for my feet. Can we just gesture at the sequence, so I can avoid stepping on them? It breaks the magic of it. Your illusions are good enough that I worry I’m going to slip on the petals.” The combination of the practicality and the compliment did what Vega hoped, and won her a bit more relaxed smile.
“Ah. Yes.” He took a step back, considering, and then gestured at the illusion work as she took up a position as she would be on stage. They didn’t need to work around a microphone or cords, thanks to the magic in play, but she needed to avoid stumbling over one of the musicians or down the stairs. She took a couple of steps, wordlessly singing the tune, dah-da-da-dee, dah-dah-dee.
As she sang softly, Pasco did the equivalent with the illusion, just splotches of colours rather than any detail. They’d save that for when there were people to see and hear and applaud and hopefully toss a little in as a tip. When it came toward the end of the last chorus, she adjusted and watched Pasco do the same. The flowers cascaded down the side of her calf, away onto the floor beside her.
When she got to the end, and the little side to side sway before the pose that finished the song, he nodded. “Much better effect.”
“Excellent. I knew it would be simple for you to figure out something that worked.” Then she tilted her head. “Bad evening?”
“Some are better at joining our circle than others.” Pasco didn’t have to name names. They’d had a new singer start just after New Year’s. She wasn’t anything like Vega’s competition; she had a different style of singing, for one thing. For another, Vega’s skills were rather better. Camille would ruin her voice in a few years, if she kept on like she did. It was mostly lazy technique on her part. Potentially also the way she put on a French accent Vega suspected wasn’t entirely honestly come by.
There was nothing wrong with being a performer, certainly not in a room of them. There was, however, a problem when someone made themselves difficult, treated the other performers like their own personal props, particularly when they didn’t have the draw to back it up. Now, Vega offered a smile, glanced up to discover Camille had finally deigned to join the rest of them, and leaned to kiss Pasco on the cheek. “You let me know if you need an ally in reminding her of how we do things here, all right?”
