Heat rose in Oliver’s cheeks at Felipe’s raised brow. He truly didn’t want to think about parrying or sweating or moving his upper body and his feet at the same time, but he wanted to make Felipe happy. Growing up being told pacifism and nonviolence was the only way, any aptitude he might have had for fighting atrophied long ago. Part of him wanted to call off the fighting lessons, despite Felipe insisting he enjoyed teaching him, but the other part whispered he would be deadweight as a partner if he couldn’t at least defend himself.
Oliver met Felipe’s eager gaze and any thoughts of quitting faltered. “All right, but reserve a private training room while you’re out. I don’t want to have an audience.”
***
FOLLOWING FELIPE ANDAnsley down Bleecker Street, Oliver tried to ignore the pain in his biceps and shoulders from practicing with Felipe. If Oliver had gotten his way, he would have been in his pajamas or less with Felipe, using anything but his arms, yet his partner seemed more alert than he had been all day. While Oliver wasn’t thrilled to be going to a rowdy bar after dark, at least Major Browning seemed pleased with his findings when he reported back, and if Felipe and Ansley were able to speak to Joe and get the information the Federal Branch needed for their case, then, maybe Oliver wouldn’t have to visit Dr. Yates again. He had made it through one minor interrogation and tour unscathed, but Oliver wasn’t sure he could hold his tongue if the man probed a little deeper about his feelings regarding his treatments for “undesirable” traits.
As they walked along Bleecker Street, Oliver’s eyes ran over the long shuttered businesses. Despite the late hour, the street was still crowded with men going from the Mills House to the bars and even less savory haunts, along with clusters of prostitutes of every sex looking for willing customers. Half a block away, Oliver sensed the Green Daisy before he saw it. The tingle and nudge of magic drifted up from the underground bar along with the bouncing melody of a piano. While the junkshop that occupied the main floor was dark, the windows on the upper stories were all alight. As the silhouette of two bodies passed across the curtains, Oliver quickly averted his gaze. A group of men strolled by, their eyes lingering over Ansley while gliding away from Oliver and Felipe as if they weren’t there.
While Ansley had foregone his flashier clothes, he still looked like a rich man slumming it. He carried himself differently than the rougher working men, unlike Felipe who had slipped back into that façade as easily as he did his shoes. Swapping his russet suit for a grey, utilitarian jacket and trousers, Felipe could have easily blended in with the domestic servants and working men. For once, Ansley had no comment on Oliver’s drab wardrobe. An off the rack black suit was hardly noticeable in this part of town. Oliver followed Felipe’s gaze as he surveyed the men lingering around the building, but in the dark, Oliver could hardly tell them apart. Right before they reached the pooled glow of the next gas lamp, Ansley pulled them into the shadows.
“Let’s go in separately,” Ansley said, putting a hand on Felipe and Oliver’s shoulders. “I don’t want them thinking we’re police about to raid the place. Give me a two minute head start to find a suitable table.”
At Felipe’s nod, Ansley stalked toward the stairs to the basement saloon. A few men turned to watch him pass. One gave him a nod and a knowing look that Ansley pointedly ignored. Shaking his head, Felipe covertly flashed Oliver a wad of money as he stuffed it into his inner breast pocket.
“It was either steal it myself or let one of them take it,” Felipe murmured. “He’s not used to not being seen, is he?”
“No.”
Oliver smiled, but it snuffed out at the thought of finally having to go inside. It had been years since he set foot in a crowded club for men like them. Back then, it was under duress at Ansley’s directive as well, and he hated every minute of it. Hell was a bunch of drunk people trying to talk to him or touch him when he was so wound up from the noise that he could scarcely think. At the brush of a hand on his sleeve, Oliver jerked back only to find Felipe staring up at him with concern. Oliver drew in a long breath and released it slowly. Felipe had tried to give him the least stressful day possible before they went out. He could make it through an hour of chaos.
“You ready?”
“Ready, yes. Do I want to go? No.” As Felipe took a step toward the curb, Oliver caught his arm. “I know I said it before, but thank you for dealing with Ansley this morning. I don’t think I could be doing this now if he had gotten me wound up.”
“Happy to help,” he said, motioning for Oliver to follow him, “though I wish you could have seen his face when he saw your case notes. I feel bad for the archivist who had to deal with him after. Now, I don’t think we’ll run into trouble, but if we do, same code as before: two tugs if one of us is leaving and three tugs for help.”
Oliver gave the tether a small tug as if to say he understood.
“Good. Let’s go in before Ansley gets mugged.”
Oliver bit back a grimace as they trekked down the stairs, and the cacophony of smells and sounds overwhelmed his senses. The club was packed, even on a Thursday night. As they entered, Felipe nodded to an intimidatingly large man sitting on a barrel by the door. He let them through but kept his eyes on the street. From the dim, hazy entrance to the Green Daisy, Oliver could scarcely see the bar in the far corner behind a wall of smoke drifting from the cigarettes and pipes of men in overalls, shirt sleeves, and plain suits of every color. The smell seared his eyes and made his nose itch horribly. At this rate, he would need to burn his clothes.
Across from the door, a short set of stairs led to a railing-encircled area of tables where men with full faces of make-up and in various stages of undress swept between the groups, speaking animatedly to regulars or drumming up business with newcomers. Other people were dressed completely as women, though Oliver didn’t know if they were women, somewhere in the middle like Gale, or men wearing a costume, not that it was his business. The other side of the lower level of the bar was taken up with card tables and what looked like a makeshift dancefloor, though it was empty, save for a few men milling around the edges chatting.
A half-heard song, sharp giggles, and velvety voices drifted down from the upper level only to be lost in the grumble of gambling calls and bar orders. The atmosphere at the Green Daisy was far from the more nouveau riche, faux bohemian places Ansley had dragged him to years ago. On one hand, Oliver felt just as out of place as he didn’t understand the mannerisms and phrases the man batted around at the Green Daisy. On the other, he liked the openness of the club; that the men could approach each other without nearly as much pretense and sidestepping.
A flash of golden hair in the far corner of the lower level caught Oliver’s eye. “Ansley’s over there.”
“You go find him. I’m going to get us drinks and make a few inquiries,” Felipe yelled over the din.
Oliver was loath to leave Felipe’s side, but before he could ask to join him, he was cutting through the crowd to the bar. Turning on heel, Oliver dodged a man with rouge who looked like he wanted to talk and made a beeline for the corner where Ansley sat by himself with a nearly empty glass of whiskey in his hand.
“May I?” Oliver asked.
“If I say no, will your lover eviscerate me?”
Rolling his eyes, Oliver crowded into the booth and nearly gagged when his hand brushed something sticky. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of what could be all over the tables and chairs. He told himself it was half-dried beer as he wiped it on his handkerchief, but it would take more convincing if he put his hand in something upstairs. Ansley snickered into his drink but kept his eyes on the crowd.
“You know, I’m surprised you’re here. When I told Galvan I was willing to let you stay back at the society while he and I met with this Joe guy, he was adamant that you wanted to come. I scoffed, but he said it was true and that he wouldn’t go without you. You really weren’t the jealous type, so I can’t imagine you’re following him to monitor his virtue, unless he’s given you cause for concern.”
“He hasn’t,” Oliver replied flatly.
“I figured it was that or he doesn’t know you well, unless you’re still on your best behavior. Either way, I’m just surprised you came out without a fight. I practically had to drag you out of the basement kicking and screaming to go anywhere. Do you remember that last fight about going to that club. What was it called? The Iceberg. You were insufferable, and look at you now, venturing out past eight.”
“We do go out, you know.”
“Oh?”
