“Fur and feathers,” Philip muttered. “Should I feel around for a new supplier?”
“Leave that part to Wanda.” Alistair hunched his shoulders deep inside his heavy coat. “Come on. Let’s get back to The Pride before we freeze our tails off.”
2
“Right down here,” cousin Eldon said. “Just off State Street. You’ll see some of my hexwork on display at the bar tonight, so pay attention before you start drinking.”
Sam burrowed his chin down into his scarf in an attempt to escape the biting wind. The temperature wasn’t any lower than it would have been back in Gatesville, or at least he didn’t think it was, but the wind made it feel twenty times worse. He’d be grateful for all the extra blankets on the sleeping porch tonight.
“I don’t really drink,” he said, but Eldon prattled on as if he didn’t hear.
“The band is pretty good, and the singer—just divine!” Eldon paused and glanced down at Sam. “Now, this is Towertown, so don’t be shocked. I’ve tried to ease you into Chicago life, but you’re going to see things tonight that would make our relations back in Gatesville retire to their fainting couches.”
Heat crept up Sam’s face as his imagination ran wild. It had only been three weeks since he’d arrived in Chicago and thrown himself on his cousin’s mercy. Before, he hadn’t thought Gatesville was too bad—they had electricity at the house, and there was even a movie theater in town, where he’d breathlessly watched every Rudolph Valentino movie, his entire body thrumming with an electric current each time the handsome actor appeared on screen.
And now he was in an actual city, with skyscrapers and interesting food and foreign languages, where cars whizzed past and everything moved so very fast he could barely grasp it. A city where no one seemed to care about Prohibition, to the point speakeasies advertised on flyers distributed openly around the city.
Not only that, he was in the Towertown neighborhood where his cousin, the previous black sheep of the family, lived alongside bohemians, flappers, sheiks, blues singers, and sex workers. Just a stroll down the street revealed more about humanity than his entire twenty-four years in Gatesville.
He’d originally expected tonight to be yet another quiet evening in, studying hexes alongside Eldon. Sam hadn’t known what to expect, when he turned up on his cousin’s doorstep with nowhere else to go. He’d hoped Eldon wouldn’t turn him away, but beyond that…well, it wasn’t as if he’d fled Gatesville with any kind of a plan.
Thankfully, Eldon had not only invited him to stay, but even offered to take him on as an apprentice once he saw that Sam had a steady hand with a pen. They’d spent the last three weeks together, while Sam learned the basics of crafting hexes and perfected his draftsmanship.
But tonight, Eldon announced they were going to The Pride, a local speakeasy, for an evening of drinking and dancing. When Sam tried to demur, telling Eldon to go without him, his cousin simply slapped him on the back and laughed. “Don’t be silly, Sammy. You’ve been here three weeks and haven’t yet set foot inside a blind tiger. I’d be remiss in my cousinly duties if I didn’t introduce you to everything Chicago has to offer.”
So here they were, trekking through the chill of a spring night, with Eldon in fine spirits and Sam a bundle of nerves.
“Here we are,” Eldon said, turning off State Street. They approached a second hand furniture store on the corner, then turned down the alley alongside. Tight against the wall, a set of stairs led down to the building’s basement.
Sam followed Eldon down the stairs, gripping the iron rail. A light shone above a steel door, illuminating them clearly. Eldon shot Sam a happy grin, then rapped on the door.
A slot in the door at eye level shot back, though Sam couldn’t see who was on the other side. “Eldon,” a woman said. “Been a while since I’ve seen you. Who’s your friend?”
Eldon tugged Sam closer. “This is my cousin, Sammy Cunningham, up from the country.”
“It’s, uh, Sam,” Sam said, but his nerve failed him and he doubted he spoke loud enough for even Eldon to hear. He could feel the hidden eyes taking him in, and a wave of self-consciousness nearly swamped him.
He and Eldon didn’t look much alike, he knew that. Eldon took after their fathers, who had been identical twins. He was tall and slim, his blond hair slicked back from a handsome face.
Sam, on the other hand, took after his mother. He wasn’t short, but he wasn’t tall. He was definitely wide, though, and the bulky sweater he wore did nothing to hide it. His auburn hair was a mess of curls, freckles dotted his nose, and a pair of thick glasses were the only thing that kept him from walking into walls.
The door swung open. The woman on the other side was tall and powerfully built, dressed in a suit, with brown skin and silky black hair. Her eyes were a startling shade of pale yellow.
A familiar.
The only familiar he’d had semi-contact with back in Gatesville came twice a year with her witch, to keep up the charge on the anti-fire hex on the neighbor’s barn. Mother would glare out the window the entire time, then immediately whisk them all to church so the pastor could pray over them for being so close to such heathenry. Sam had once made the mistake of waving to the familiar as she passed by the house. This led to Mother reminding him, once again, that Jake wouldn’t ever have done such a thing, because he was a far better son than Sam could ever hope to be.
But Jake was dead, and so eternally perfect in their family’s memory.
“Doris Gatti,” the familiar said, holding out her hand to Sam. “You liking Chicago so far?”
Sam shook her hand; it was warm and dry, the fingers strong. “It’s, um, really different.”
Doris laughed. “I bet it is. Go on in.”
The world beyond the door was an explosion of color and sound. The place was bigger than Sam had expected; he’d imagined a small, sordid room, with only a few drinkers huddled silently around tables. A bar ran along one wall, the liquor bottles on the shelf behind it gleaming in the electric lights. The Pride was spelled out above the bar in decorative stained glass. Beside the bar was a stage where a jazz band played a tune Sam didn’t recognize. Tables clustered along the other three walls, and the remainder of the space was given over to dancing.
The place was packed with people of every sort, shape, and color. Flappers danced enthusiastically in their short dresses, their sheik boyfriends struggling to keep up. But unlike any dances back in Gatesville, here men also danced with other men, and women with women. Some of the men wore their hair bleached, and adorned their faces with powder and lipstick, while some of the women dressed in suits as if the style had been created just for them.
The tables were a kaleidoscope of people, some of them drinking and eating, others socializing. Some sat in each other’s laps, kissing openly and without shame. The over-warm air smelled of sweat and perfume, and a haze of cigarette smoke crawled along the ceiling.
Then there were the drinks. Perhaps half of them looked ordinary: fizzy champagne or yellow Sidecars. But the others…
Magic was involved, that was certain. Some of them glowed from within, dazzling shades of pink or chartreuse or even blue. Bubbles shot impossibly high from some of the champagne, and other drinks sparked or changed colors.