Chapter Text
The jazz was loud enough to shake the floorboards.
Every horn and drumbeat thudded through Alice Everglow’s bones as she spun across the small, smoky stage. Her dark sequined dress glittered under the dim amber lights, and her curls bounced as she swayed in perfect rhythm. For a fleeting moment, she forgot herself — lost in the music, in the pure rush of sound. She had always loved to dance. When she moved, the world blurred into color and motion, and for a few precious seconds, there was no fear, no past, no pain.
Then she opened her eyes.
A dozen pairs of eyes stared back — hungry, gleaming with the kind of attention that made her skin prickle. Men in pressed shirts and loosened ties leaned against the bar, their cigars glowing faintly in the haze. They watched her the way wolves watched a lamb.
She hated this.
Dancing was the only part of her job she could stomach, losing herself in the rhythm, in the way her body moved like it had a mind of its own. But the watchers, the way their eyes crawled over her like greedy hands, made her want to shrink away, disappear into the floorboards beneath her dancing feet. A small part of her wished she was like the other girls she worked with—bold, confident, with laughter like champagne bubbles and the ability to sweet-talk their way into a man's wallet. Alice was awkward, timid, always forcing a smile she didn't mean. The ONLY reason she still had this job was because when Alice danced, she was electric.
Laughter and the clink of glass filled the smoky air as whiskey — real whiskey, smuggled and forbidden — flowed freely through their hands.
The speakeasy was packed wall to wall, heavy with perfume and smoke. Ever since the oh so intelligent government outlawed alcohol, the whole city had learned how to drink in secret. Hidden rooms behind false doors, back alleys that led to velvet-curtained clubs — New Orleans was riddled with them. Places where people could forget, if only for a night.
And on nights like this, the men tended to want more than just a drink.
They wanted a show.
Girls in glitter and fringe danced to the pounding beat, smiling wide even when their feet ached and their throats burned from the smoke. Alice was unfortunately one of them but, no matter how hard she tried, she never quite fit in.
The final trumpet blared, and Alice struck her ending pose beside the other girls — one arm high, one leg bent, her breath catching in her throat. The room erupted into cheers and whistles, the loudest coming from the drunken men at the front. Someone tossed a dollar onto the stage, another shouted “Encore!”, but she only bowed her head and smiled faintly, the expression practiced and hollow.
The lights dimmed. The band slid into a slower tune.
Alice exhaled and stepped off the stage, her heart still pounding from more than just the dance.
She could already feel their eyes following her into the shadows.
Backstage was always warmer than the floor outside — too many bodies, too many costumes, too many lamps burning low to keep the powder soft. Alice sat before her vanity, shoulders drawn in, hands trembling only slightly as she fixed her hair.
Her golden curls, usually long and soft over her shoulders, were pinned up tight tonight. Fashion demanded bobs — neat little cuts — and Alice had none of the heart to chop hers off. So the stagehands pinned it until she had more pins on her head than hair.
Her scalp throbbed from the strain. She swallowed, forcing herself not to rub it.
A soft dusting of blush on her fair skin, a little mascara to brighten her green eyes — eyes that were always a bit too wide, a bit too startled-looking. She fixed the beading on her black dress, smoothing it flat over her ribs. From across the room, she looked like the perfect speakeasy doll — glittering, confident, alive.
But close up, her hands wouldn’t quite stop shaking.
“Hon, you killed out there!”
Alice nearly jumped out of her skin as Mimzy flounced into view — all feathers, perfume, and uncontainable energy. Mimzy was shorter, fuller, and louder than any woman had a right to be, but she carried herself like she owned every square inch of air around her.
Mimzy planted her hands on her hips. “Honestly, dear, I think the fellas were drooling so hard I saw puddles. They loved it!”
Alice let out a small laugh — breathy, shy, but real.
“Well… I'm just glad I didn't trip,” she murmured, adjusting a pin behind her ear.
Mimzy gasped dramatically. “Oh please. At this point you’re a natural. Not as good as me, obviously, but—”
Alice smiled fully this time, shoulders loosening. “Of course. No one could ever rival the Mimzy DuMont.”
“That’s right.” Mimzy winked at her in the mirror. “And had better remember it.”
Mimzy had been the one to help Alice on her first night — near trembling, barely able to breathe when the music started. She’d taken Alice by the shoulders, slapped some glitter on her cheeks, and told her:
“No one here knows or cares who you are, here, you can be whoever you want to be!”
Alice had never forgotten it.
“So.” Mimzy leaned down beside her, batting her lashes. “What time you off tonight?”
Alice glanced at the clock.
“Oh. In thirty minutes. I didn’t… realize it was that late already.” She said, trying to hide her grateful smile.
“Perfect.” Mimzy clapped her hands once. “Because you and me, are going out for drinks..”
Alice hesitated immediately.
“Oh… Mimzy, I—I don’t really— I don’t drink.”
Mimzy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh come on! Let yourself live a little!
Alice looked down at her hands.
She knew Mimzy wanted company. But, Alice also knew herself, and she was not built for smoky back rooms and talking to strangers, she just wanted to go home.
Alice spoke softly, voice careful, almost apologetic:
“You… don’t have anyone else to go with tonight, do you?”
Mimzy froze.
Then groaned loudly. “Ugh, fine, you caught me. Everyone else is either sick, married, or in jail.” She tossed a feather boa onto a chair. “Which is just rude, frankly.”
Alice couldn’t help laughing — quiet and brief.
Mimzy gave her a hopeful look.
Alice chewed her lip. “Mimzy… it’s late. And it’s a Friday night. I don’t know if—”
Mimzy’s expression dropped, exaggerated and wounded. “Are you saying you wanna go home and sit alone in your tiny sad apartment and think about your sad life again, or do you wanna come drink illegal booze with your favorite person in the world?”
Alice flushed pink.
Because yes — she would go home and cry if left alone long enough.
She sighed.
“…Fine. I’ll go.”
Mimzy brightened instantly. “Atta girl! That’s what I like to hear.”
Alice did not like what she’d just agreed to.
But as the band struck up the next number, she rose from her seat anyway.
The stage lights hit her like a slap — bright, hot, blinding.
The music roared to life, fast and swinging, all piano and horns and brass.
Alice plastered on her showgirl smile — the one that felt like porcelain and might crack if she breathed too hard.
And then she danced.
Her kicks were sharp, her steps clean, her skirt shimmering like black water as she moved. The crowd roared. Men whistled. Someone shouted, “That’s my girl!” though Alice had never seen him before.
She pretended she didn’t hear any of it.
When the final note rang out, she struck her pose — arm up, chin high — and the room exploded with applause.
But the moment she stepped backstage again, the smile slid right off her face, like a mask being set aside.
She exhaled.
Relief washing over her like cool air.
It was finally over.
Before Alice knew it, she was being pulled through the streets of New Orleans, past the buzzing life of the French Quarter, where jazz poured from every doorway and the night air smelled of smoke and magnolias. Men eyed her as they passed, but Mimzy shot them looks that sent them scurrying like rats.
The night air outside the club was thick with humidity and cigarette smoke, but inside the speakeasy, it was even thicker—packed shoulder-to-shoulder, glittering with sequins, jazz, perfume, and whiskey no one was legally supposed to have. Mimzy didn’t walk so much as barrel forward, dragging Alice along like a determined parade float.
“Mimzy—Mimzy wait—!” Alice squeaked, trying not to bump into anyone, clinging to her purse like a lifeline.
“Relax, hon! we’re fine!” Mimzy cackled, already waving at people she recognized. “Unless the law busts in, and if that happens—oh well! We just run!”
Alice gave a weak laugh. “That’s… comforting.”
She recognized this place—The Red Magnolia. One of the nicer speakeasies, Alice had performed here a handful of times. Here the floorboards weren’t sticky, the walls had velvet curtains, and the men wore cologne instead of corn alcohol and sweat. Still, the noise pressed on her like a hand at the back of her neck. She stayed close to Mimzy, feeling like a child holding onto her mother’s skirt.
Then the music changed.
The room quieted—not all the way, but enough that Alice noticed the shift. A piano began to play—smooth, warm, quick-fingered, but with a strange cheer to it. Almost… mischievous. Alice turned toward the stage.
The pianist was a tan-skinned man with dark, wavy hair and a grin that looked like it had been painted on, bright and sharp like the edge of a knife. His black suit was immaculate, his crimson bow tie bold as a flare.
And his hands—good lord—his hands danced over the keys like they were alive.
The music swelled and dipped, a hypnotic rhythm that wrapped itself around the speakeasy like smoke. The pianist fingers danced effortlessly over the piano keys, his touch light but precise. The tune was lively yet smooth, playful yet commanding. It was impossible not to sway to it, and even Alice, usually too reserved to lose herself in the moment, found her hips moving slightly, her fingers tapping against the table in time with the melody.
Alice stopped breathing for a moment.
Mimzy followed her gaze.
“Oho,” she said. “Are we smitten, Miss Everglow?”
Alice yanked her eyes away so fast her curls bobbed. “Wh—no! No, of course not! I just—he’s—he plays very well, that’s all!”
Mimzy smirked like a cat who knew every secret in the world.
“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be good friends with,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Big radio hotshot nowadays. Or, well—he will be. He’s convinced he’s gonna have the whole damn city listenin’ to him one day.”
Alice blinked. “A radio show? But he plays like he belongs in a concert hall or even for Louis Armstrong.”
“Don’t you dare tell him that,” Mimzy snorted. “His head’ll get so big we’ll never fit him through the door.”
Before Alice could deny any further accusations of staring, Mimzy suddenly snatched her wrist.
“I am introducin’ you,” she declared.
Alice’s breath caught. “Wait—no—no, Mimzy, I—”
“Too late!”
But the moment Mimzy tugged, Alice’s heartbeat spiked. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up—her hand went cold, her chest tightened. The room blurred at the edges. For a split second, she wasn’t in the speakeasy anymore—she was back in that house, back in that room, back with him—Raised voice. Slammed door. Hot breath and a hand clamped around her wrist just like this—
Her vision flickered. Her throat closed.
Mimzy paused mid-step and turned. The look on Alice’s face stopped her cold—wide eyes, shaking hands, tears shining at the corners though Alice tried to blink them away.
“Oh—oh sugar,” Mimzy whispered, guilt washing over her. She let go immediately. “Darlin’, I’m sorry. That was my fault. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Hey—look at me—you're alright. I got you. You’re safe here, okay?”
Alice swallowed hard. She hated how small she felt. Hated how fast fear could swallow her whole. Hated how obvious it must look.
She forced a weak smile and wiped her eyes with the back of her glove.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “Really. I’m okay. I was just—startled, that’s all.”
Mimzy squeezed her shoulder—gentle this time. Protective. “You sure, hon?”
Alice nodded. “Yeah. I… I’m okay.”
They continued, slower now, shoulder to shoulder instead of one dragging the other.
They wove through the crowd just as the piano song ended. Alice expected applause—real applause. But what she heard was… a few claps. Most of the room just looked away, bored—or worse—irritated.
Alice’s gaze flicked to the charming pianist and then to his skin, he wasn't white. He wasn't all the way dark, but he was dark enough for the wrong kind of people to care. Her stomach turned. Of course.
But the pianist? If he noticed, he didn't let it show.
She hated the South for this. The quiet cruelty. The way people smiled with their mouths and judged with their eyes. She had grown up around it—Sunday dresses and polished church pews and her father preaching about love, compassion, how God created all His children equal.
And then those same churchgoers would step outside and talk about “colored folks” like they were animals.
It had made Alice sick even as a child. She remembered watching a black family sit in the very back pew because everyone else refused to sit near them. She remembered wanting to offer her seat beside them—but she didn’t. She sat still. She stayed quiet. Because that was what a “good” daughter did.
She didn’t speak up then.
She still hadn’t forgiven herself for that.
But she never forgot the feeling of shame. And she never treated people that way herself—not once. She believed kindness mattered. That it meant something.
Looking at the pianist—still smiling, still proud despite the cold reception—something in her tightened.
No one deserved to be looked at the way this room looked at him.
No one.
And in that moment, her fear didn’t disappear… but something steadied inside her.
She didn’t know his name yet.
But she already respected him.
Mimzy shot up and clapped, grinning ear to ear. "Al! You sly devil, you're still as good as ever!"
The pianist turned, and his grin stretched wider. "Mimzy! Well, ain't this a delight?" His voice was smooth, full of something playful yet sharp beneath the surface. He stood, giving a small, dramatic bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Mimzy sauntered over, and Alice followed hesitantly, suddenly feeling out of place. Mimzy and Alastor chatted like old friends, laughing and exchanging stories, Mimzy asking about his radio show.
"Ah, it's goin' splendidly!" he beamed. "Only up from here, my dear! Soon, everyone's gonna know my voice, mark my words."
Mimzy laughed. "I don't doubt it, sugar. You always did know how to get folks to listen."
Alice stood awkwardly beside them, unsure of how to insert herself into the conversation. She felt like a child tagging along with adults, her presence unnecessary. The room was growing more crowded, and for a moment, she considered fading into it, disappearing before anyone noticed just how out of place she was.
But before she could, Mimzy put her arm around Alice’s shoulder "Oh, where are my manners? Alastor, this is Alice! New friend of mine. She works with me at the club."
Alice’s throat suddenly went dry “H-hello. It’s… um… nice to meet you.”
"The pleasure is mine, my dear," he said, gently taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
Alice’s face blazed. She snatched her hand back before she squeaked.
“I—uh—you play beautifully,” she blurted. “Truly. I haven’t heard anything like that before.”
He straightened, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Well, thank you, dear. Music is a language all its own—why, it can stir the soul, awaken what once slept, or remind us of things we didn’t realize we’d forgotten.” His eyes gleamed—warm and eerie all at once. “And perhaps introduce us to things we never knew we were longing for, wouldn't you agree?”
Alice nodded. "I do. And your radio show... I'll have to tune in one of these nights."
His grin sharpened, pleased. "Oh, do! I guarantee you won't regret it."
Before Alice could say anything more, a man approached their small group, his steps just slightly uneven. Definitely buzzed, but not wasted. He was young, dressed well enough, but there was an arrogance in his eyes that made Alice uneasy before he even opened his mouth.
“Well, well,” the man drawled as he sauntered up, eyes raking over Alice. She stiffened. The dress felt suddenly too short, too bright—too much.
“Ain’t you a pretty thing.”
Alice offered the smallest, tightest smile. “Thank you.”
She angled her body away, already searching for Mimzy, for an exit, for anything.
“How ‘bout a dance?” he asked, stepping closer.
“No,” Alice said softly, “thank you.”
But he laughed—loud, confident, like no had never been meant for him—and reached for her wrist.
“Aw, don’t be shy, sweetheart—”
Her heartbeat spiked, again. The room blurred again. Not here. Not now. Not again.
Alice yanked her arm back—sharper than she realized, her voice cracking out before she could swallow it:
“I said no.”
Mimzy straightened, ready to throw hands, but Alice stepped forward first—voice trembling, but still standing.
“Did your mother raise you without manners?” she asked, clutching her wrist close to her chest. “I’m in the middle of a conversation. It’s rude to interrupt. Especially like that.”
The man blinked, thrown by the sudden fire in someone who looked like she’d blow away in the wind.
His eyes slid to Alastor—lingering there with a curl of scorn.
“Oh, don’t get your pretty little head twisted, babe. It was probably a dull conversation anyway. I mean—look at him.”
He jerked his chin toward Alastor. “Don’t tell me you’re impressed by that. You must not get out much.”
Alice stared at him. Just stared.
How did people like this walk around so confident in being awful?
Her arms crossed, posture small but unyielding.
“Oh? So I should be impressed by you instead?”
He grinned, smug. “Now you’re gettin’ it, doll.”
Alice let out the softest, sharpest laugh.
“You know, if I judged people on appearances alone, I’d have to assume you are a sloppy, desperate, insecure mess.”
His smile twitched.
“But,” she continued sweetly, “I try not to make assumptions.”
She tilted her head. “Though… the sheer desperation of hitting on every woman in this room after they’ve already turned you down is rather hard to ignore ,and just plain pathetic.”
Mimzy slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from wheezing.
The man sputtered, face flushing, then spun and stormed off, muttering curses.
Silence lingered for just one beat.
Then Mimzy burst into loud, delighted laughter. “Where the hell did that come from!?”
Alice blinked hard, her adrenaline shaking her fingertips. “I… don’t know.”
“Oh honey, I loved it,” Mimzy declared, throwing an arm around her.
A warm chuckle slipped in behind them—smooth as honey, sharp as a blade.
Alastor leaned casually against the piano, eyes glinting like polished obsidian and a smile wide.
“My, my…” he drawled, voice rich, theatrical, and oddly delighted. “Miss Alice, wasn’t it?”
He dipped his head slightly.
“You practically chewed the poor fellow up and spat him out.”
He tapped a hand to his chest in mock astonishment.
“I am positively entertained.”
Alice’s face flushed scarlet. “I—I didn’t mean to cause a scene…”
“Oh, nonsense,” Alastor said, offering a charming, gentlemanly bow—almost courtly.
“On the contrary. You handled yourself exquisitely.”
His eyes flicked to hers—warm, but carrying a depth she couldn’t read.
“Quite a spine you have there.” he murmured.
“A rare and lovely thing… especially in a place like this.”
And just like that—
Alice felt her heart slowly tighten up.
Then the band struck up a lively swing tune, the brass blaring in a wild, untamed rhythm that sent energy crackling through the air. The moment the first note hit, Alastor downed the last of his whiskey and slammed the glass onto the bar with a satisfied grin.
"Now that's what I like to hear!" he declared.
Before he could so much as adjust his bow tie, Mimzy grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the dance floor. "Oh, no, you owe me a dance, mister!" she said, barely giving him time to protest.
"Well, if you insist!" Alastor laughed, letting himself be dragged into the swirling crowd.
Alice watched them go, shaking her head fondly before settling into her seat. She didn't mind sitting out. She liked watching, observing. And right now, there was plenty to see.
Mimzy danced fast—Alice knew that well. Most men struggled to keep up with her, but not Alastor. He moved like he'd been dancing his whole life, effortlessly matching her pace, spinning her with perfect timing, his feet never missing a beat. The two of them commanded the floor, drawing cheers and whistles from the crowd.
Alice found herself smiling.
Alastor was... interesting. More interesting than most of the men she was used to. Most of them were predictable—sleazy, dull, or full of empty flattery. But Alastor? There was something about him. Something unpredictable, something sharp beneath the charm. And unlike so many others, he carried himself with the confidence of a man who didn't care what anyone thought of him, it was refreshing.
As the song came to an end, Alastor spun Mimzy one last time before dipping her low, earning a round of applause from the onlookers. Mimzy laughed breathlessly as she straightened up, fanning herself.
"Alright, alright, I'll admit it—you can dance," she teased.
Alastor smirked. "My dear, you wound me! Of course I can dance!"
Alice glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing how late it had gotten. She pushed herself up and dusted off her dress. "I think I better head home."
Mimzy's smile faltered. "You're leavin' already?" she asked, stepping over to hug her. "Aw, you never stay out late."
Alice chuckled softly, hugging her back. "Mimzy, I never even usually go out."
Alastor turned to her, tilting his head slightly. "Well, Miss Alice, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance tonight. I do hope we'll see each other again soon."
Alice hesitated, then smiled. "That... would be nice."
As she pulled away from Mimzy, she glanced back. "Oh, what time will you be at the club tomorrow night?"
Mimzy waved a hand. "Oh, I'm takin' tomorrow off. Got some things to take care of."
Alice blinked. "Oh." She hadn't realized Mimzy wouldn't be there. She'd never had to go in without her before. It made her feel... uneasy.
Still, she forced a smile. "Well, enjoy your night off."
"You sure you don't wanna stay out just a little longer?" Mimzy teased.
Alice shook her head. "I'll see you soon."
With that, she made her way out into the night.
The streets of New Orleans were quieter now, though a few stragglers still lingered, voices low, laughter echoing from alleyways. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the club, and Alice wrapped her arms around herself as she walked.
Her apartment was small, rundown—nothing fancy. But it was hers, and that was enough.
As she made her way down the dimly lit street, a strange feeling settled over her. The sensation of being watched.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing. Just empty streets, flickering street lamps, the distant murmur of the city.
Still, unease crept up her spine.
She picked up her pace, her heels clicking against the pavement a little faster. The feeling didn't leave her, not until she finally reached her building and shut the door behind her, locking it tight.
Alice let out a breath.
"I’m just tired," she muttered to herself. "That's all."
But deep down, she wasn't entirely convinced.