Page 2 of Harmonic Pleasure (Mysterious Arts #6)

THAT EVENING

T he first set went well. Vega was pleased with how her voice was tonight.

Just a bit of a pleasant burr on the low notes, the sultry tones that kept young men— and a number of others— coming back.

Madame Helena appreciated that a great deal.

Vega retreated to her dressing room for some sparkling water and a chance to put her feet up, but at eleven, she was back out on stage.

The room was near enough full, a pleasant surprise on a Wednesday.

As Vega made her way through the tables, the charmlight illuminating her, she glimpsed entirely familiar faces at one table.

They were with a group of women, friends who came in regularly, but that was absolutely Aunt Ancha and Uncle Thuban.

She didn’t do more than nod as she went past. First things first.

The second set was better than the first in every way.

The band was glorious, especially the improvisations.

Benjy, the trumpeter, had a gift for not having the trumpet shout over the other instruments, which meant she’d been able to hear Kevin Stafford, the guitarist, clearly.

Always the last name, with the Kevins, there being two working at the Cave right now.

He’d been a relatively recent addition, a few months before Vega had started.

But he’d fit right in, and the band took his suggestions seriously.

Vega herself was in full voice, her entire range, sliding from pitch to pitch with perfection.

And the illusions were absolutely exquisite.

Vega heard the oohs from the crowd, and the way the conversation went quiet.

That was the highest compliment in a club like this, when people paid attention to the performance out of all the other options in the room.

This set was drawing from a tradition of magical ballads and gesturing at a dozen pieces of folklore and myth.

She brought the last note to the end, then wriggled her fingers.

“I’ll be out again around midnight for the last time tonight.

Do have a delightful time, darlings, but stay to see me, do!

” There was an art to being direct without being uncomfortable.

She half-danced her way back, pausing behind the curtain from the staff stairs to see what happened next.

One of the dance mistresses— her name was Holly, Vega didn’t know her well yet— stopped by the table her aunt and uncle were at.

Uncle Thuban passed her something, and Holly came straight back toward the stairs.

Vega took another step or two down to make some room, only for Holly to squeak when she ducked through the curtain, “Pardon, Miss Vega. Erm. That gentleman, did you see? Is this the sort of thing I ought to take to Ed?”

Ed was one of the doormen. Vega laughed and shook her head.

“That’s one of my uncles. I’ve no idea what he’s doing here.

Was that a note? Thanks for checking, though.

You can never tell just from how someone looks, if one of us wants to talk to them.

Or you, too, I’m guessing, the way the boys looked last Sunday. ”

Holly ducked her chin. “Ed had to shoo two of them out. Oh, and that Fred called by, said he’d be by at the usual. I know Jack took the note back to your dressing room. He and I were just chatting when it came in.”

“Oh, excellent. He’s a reliable cabbie, if you need one. Keeps his hands to himself, likes having a fare who won’t be difficult. He goes to visit his mum, some seaside town, so he’s been away for a week or so.”

“Coo, you do know them all. Oh. They’re starting up.

Beg pardon!” Holly ducked her head, then disappeared out the curtain again.

Her heel kicked up behind her as she stepped out and picked up the steps of the dance for some of the partnered dancing.

Her job was to draw young men up into a dance without leading them on to expect more than they ought.

At a place like this, with people keeping an eye out, it was a good job if one could keep people happy enough to tip a bit.

The note said more or less what Vega suspected.

They’d like a word, when she was done for the evening, if convenient.

Or tomorrow during the day, if tonight was impossible.

Staying in town, apparently, though neither of them mentioned which hotel.

Vega went and rummaged for paper and a fountain pen, writing a note to ask them to come back after her last set.

The late hour wouldn’t be a bother for them, at least. They were used to being up into the wee hours.

The next waiter to come by took the note for her, and she saw Uncle Thuban glance at it, nod, and sign briefly that they’d do so.

The prospect of having someone back meant that she went and asked for a tray with something to drink and something to nibble on, to be brought once she went out for the last set.

And she had a good tidy of her dressing table, so everything would be ready for tomorrow.

Her family approved of having one’s tools in order.

It meant Vega only had ten minutes to sit down at the end, but no matter.

It was the end of the night and early in the week, she’d manage.

The third set went swimmingly, people swaying a little at two faster songs, then leaning back and listening at the intense one.

She finished with something cheerful and hopeful, putting a little edge of magic into it so people would leave in a good mood.

It seemed a small thing, but a bit of hope and sunny good will went a long way some nights.

Nothing false, that was the trick. Just following a thread of possibility where it might lead.

Once she got back into the staff hall, she waited, and just as she expected, her aunt and uncle were shown along promptly.

“Aunt Ancha, Uncle Thuban. Do come down to my dressing room? No problem with the stairs?” Vega wanted to make it clear there would be no discussion in the public spaces, by sheer force of will.

Other than the pleasantries, her aunt and uncle followed her lead.

She led them into the dressing room, then turned, pulling up the warding and the privacy charms. “We’ve an hour comfortably, a bit more if I let them know.

Will that be agreeable?” Vega turned to pull on a dressing gown, then to step from the heels into slippers, and she couldn’t quite repress the sound of pleasure.

The heels were as comfortable as magic could make them, which was to say, very.

But she also loved the moment where her feet could bend and arch on their own.

“That should be more than enough for a moment. We don’t wish to put you out.

” There was a tiny hesitation before he added, and she thought honestly enough, but as if he were a bit surprised, “We’ve not had a chance to hear you before.

And the club seems well-run.” Uncle Thuban was making every attempt to be pleasant, and it was succeeding, of course.

Vega knew perfectly well he was even more expert in the arts of incantation than she was.

“Not that we’ve a wide range of experience, but one hears stories,” Aunt Ancha agreed.

“The owner, Madam Helena, she handles all manner of details smoothly. And honestly, it’s tremendously helpful that we’re entirely magical.

We’ve not nearly the worries about police raids or what have you that the non-magical clubs have.

” Those were about drugs more than anything else, and the challenges of the magical community were a bit different.

“She owns the building. We’ve steady guests.

There’s a membership fee, though obviously, people can pay at the door for a night.

” As they would have done. “And the rare times there are problems, we’ve more ways to handle that.

Mostly, it’s someone with wandering hands or no sense of manners.

” Then her chin came up. “It was rather a triumph, becoming top of the bill here.”

“You’ve obviously earned it.” Her aunt’s voice was warm now. “Actually, we are here because we are hoping you’ll be in London for a bit, with perhaps some time for a small quest.”

“Quests are never small, Aunt Ancha,” Vega said as clearly as she could.

It made both her aunt and uncle laugh, which at least suggested that whatever quality the quest had, it was not imminently dire.

Though with the family’s sense of humour, it could be a trifle hard to tell.

Uncle Thuban shook his head. “We’re honestly not sure what the proper word is.

Quest, certainly, but the size and scope are harder.

May I just explain, and then have you ask whatever questions you might have? ”

Vega considered for only a moment, then nodded. It would certainly be more efficient. She wanted to rest her voice a little before talking more. And also have one or two of the little pastries. The kitchens had a genuine gift for them.

“Oh, yes.” Aunt Ancha was glancing around.

Vega made a point of decorating wherever she landed, at least a little.

This time, she’d chosen prints of London on the walls, generally covering the dingier spots in the paint.

There was a glorious velvet sofa along the niche across from the door, her dressing room, and a couple of footstools that served well enough for seating.

Vega gestured her aunt and uncle to the sofa.

And of course, there were a few charms to personalise the place.

The stars, spread across the ceiling, were shining just brightly enough to be visible right now.

Vega, the star she was named for, hovered over where she sat when she was at the dressing table.