“About your delightful employer, Miss Ethel Marie Barnes.”
Vivian couldn’t help it—she laughed. “What in God’s name could you possibly have on that monster?”
“Something that could make life a whole lot more pleasant for you and your sister,” Honor said, turning away from the mirror.
Vivian’s hands trembled. She wanted to be done, to be safe, more than anything. But after what she had learned that night, she also ached to do something for her sister, to bridge the gulf that had been growing between them since they were children. If Honor did know something about Miss Ethel, it could give Florence room to breathe, to maybe even hope for something more out of her life.
If, of course, Vivian had the courage to use the information she was handed.
“What do you say, pet? For me?” Honor asked. “It’s a fair trade, I promise.” Seeing Vivian still hesitate, she took a deep breath and said, her voice heavy with reluctance, “If you’re worried about staying safe, you could ask your Mr. Green to look out for you. Since it seems like he’s on the up and up, at least as far as this is concerned, he might not be too bad to keep around. Danny says he’s quite the fighter when he needs to be.”
“You want me to get even cozier with him?”
Honor scowled, the expression an endearing contrast to her usual cool beauty. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And if he can keep you safe…” She sighed, leaning back against the wall, her arms crossed. “Or if he can at least put your mind at ease, then I’d rather you keep him around.” Meeting Vivian’s eyes, she added, her honey-dark voice dropping even lower, “But no, I won’t like seeing you with him at all.”
Vivian had thought she was growing used to Honor’s games. But this was something different. There was a vulnerability in Honor’s voice that was not usually there, an honest admission of the potential that always hovered between them.
For a moment, Vivian couldn’t stop herself from imagining where that might lead, what might happen if they actually grew to trust each other, if the heat between them had the chance to turn into something real. The thought left her aching with hope.
But where could that hope lead? Vivian danced at the edges of the nighttime world, but Honor lived there. It was a world where each of them could be herself—but the daylight world would never truly offer them that chance, not if they wanted to be together.
And what would she tell Florence?
Honor was still watching her, regretful understanding in her eyes. “Even if I’d rather keep you for myself, pet, I’m not the sort of person who makes promises.”
“Did I ask you for promises?” Vivian said, flustered and stung even though she wasn’t sure she had any right to be.
Honor smiled. “One of these days you’ll figure out what you want. And then, yes, I think you’ll be the sort of girl who needs a promise to go along with it.”
“If you want to persuade me to help you out, that’s the wrong way to go about it.”
“I’m trying to be honest.” Honor shrugged. “And I’m offering you a trade in return for your help. Take your Mr. Green with you, find out something I can use to prove I had nothing to do with Wilson’s death. Help me keep the Nightingale open for the people who need it.” Quietly, she added, “People like us.”
Vivian stood abruptly, torn between loyalty and longing and fear. She knew what Honor meant—knew what the Nightingale meant. But she had been so scared in that alley. She was still scared. “I’m not ready to say yes.”
Honor nodded, her face thoughtful as she straightened and crossed to the door of the office. She pulled the key from her pocket, ready to lock the door behind them; it dangled from her fingers like a dare as she met Vivian’s eyes. “Think quickly, then. I need an answer by the end of the night.”
EIGHTEEN
The Nightingale was in full, raucous swing when they returned to the dance hall. Honor didn’t say anything, just gave Vivian a quickly blown kiss before she strode into her domain.
Vivian stayed where she was, her breath coming quickly as she glanced around the beautiful chaos.
The young Black man in the striped suit was new, but he had persuaded Miss Rose—the best dancer at the Nightingale, streaks of silver running through her curly bob though there wasn’t a single line on her perfectly made-up face—to join him on the dance floor. The two of them moved like silk and honey, like poetry, like jazz.
The band was warbling through the end of “My Melancholy Baby.” As soon as the last notes faded, Vivian knew the trumpet would swing the tempo back up for “Charleston Charlie,” the band leader’s favorite. He always played those two songs one after the other. The saxophone would be a beat behind, but he would catch up a bar and a half later. He always did.
The two baby vamps at the corner table, the ones who had arrivedseparately but been inseparable since, would giggle their way onto the dance floor. Bangles flashing, they would kick their heels toward the air, with eyes only for the dance and each other.
Danny was calling for the other bartender—another new one, sandy-haired, with a thousand-dollar smile and a face you could forget in an instant—to run downstairs for more gin. And when the music was done, Bea would be on her break, free for a talk and a drink and an eye roll when she saw Vivian on the dance floor once more.
A fellow from the bar caught her eye, then abandoned his drink to make his way over. Leaning close, his breath warming her ear, he whispered, “Catch a few bars with me, sweetheart? You’ll be the prettiest girl on the floor.”
Vivian met Honor’s eyes across the floor and nodded her answer. To her surprise, in spite of how persuasive she had been only minutes before, the club owner hesitated. But at last Honor nodded back, her expression a war of gratitude and worry and half a dozen other messy emotions. A moment later her face was smooth again. She turned back to the business of glad-handing the influential patrons who, though they would never give their real names or admit what their lives were like in daylight hours, kept her club in business.
Vivian cut her eyes at the man who was still waiting for her answer, smiling and determined and defiant as she took his hand and let him lead her to the floor.
This was where she belonged. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to it.
