Chapter Text
You didn’t miss the rain.
Sure, New Orleans was known to be a bit swampy like the rest of the South, but wet didn’t mean rainy. You groaned, running a hand through your soaking hair as you walked down the street.
It was one of the many reasons you hadn’t planned on ever returning to this place. But circumstances change, people change, and when you were in as big of a pile of shit as you were in… Well, you supposed you’d take being soaked with rain over being soaked with anything red and sticky spilling out of your own body. Shuddering, you kept walking.
Just a little further, you thought as you turned a corner down a familiar street. It had been years since you’d waded through the bustle of Decatur Street, and a lot had changed in a damned short time. The buildings seemed taller somehow, more automobiles than ever rushed down the road in place of the many horses and carriages you remember from your childhood. But the life and laughter on the block just off the French Quarter was undoubtedly the one you knew, even with the new construction and the new technology and the goddamn rain.
You pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from your pocket and squinted at the hasty scrawl. You confirmed the address one last time, nodded to yourself, and ripped it into scraps, letting it sprinkle behind you to get muddied with the rest of the street. You weren’t fool enough to keep evidence.
Then your eye caught sight of your target, a modest but respectable storefront.
Midas Music Shop
Instruments, Records, Phonographs, Supplies
“Should’ve expected as much,” you muttered to yourself with a small smile as you ducked under the awning. There was nothing you could do about your clothes, soaked to the bone as you were, so you pushed your dripping hair out of your eyes, dabbed your face with a somewhat-dry handkerchief, and stepped inside.
The bell above the door gave a tinny jingle as you entered. Expecting to see some kind of shopkeep, you were surprised to find yourself completely alone, so you took stock of the place. Rows of wooden cubbies stretched along one wall, each stuffed with paper-sleeved records, some new, others worn soft at the edges. Instruments of varying shapes and sizes proudly lined the dark wood paneled walls, from anything as petite as a piccolo to an entire double bass. The faint hiss of static leaked from a Victrola perched on the counter, the needle scratching through some jazz tune that came out a couple years past. The shop led to a back area, where you were certain was the supply closet.
“Hello?” You called out. When no answer came, you thumbed through the records. You huffed, muttering to yourself, “Jazz, jazz, jazz… isn’t there anything else?”
“If you’re asking, you’re in the wrong place.”
You jumped, whirling around to come face to face with a short, full-figured young woman with short blonde hair, a fashionable dress, and a smug smile. Blinking, you looked her up and down before a wide smile spread to your face.
“My stars,” you said, “Mimzy!”
You went to shake her hand, but she scoffed and swatted your hand away before jumping into your arms for a tight hug. You flushed, laughing as you wrapped your arms around her, too, and something in your chest unknotted. You missed her. God, you missed her.
“Aw, how’re you doing, kid?” she said and stepped back. “Didn’t get axed on your way over here, I see.” The open smile on her face quickly slipped, however, as she took in your face. “Mostly,” she said, her eyes dropping to your cheek. “When did that happen?”
You winced, not-so-casually covering the “X” shaped scar on your right cheek. “It’s old, don’t worry,” you said with a nervous chuckle.
“Well,” she hummed, leaning back, “you made it here, which means you’re safe.”
Safe. The word rang in your ears like an out of tune horn. But you shoved the anxiety aside as best as you could. You had to put on a brave face. If not for yourself, then for her.
“It wasn’t hard to find,” you said with a bit more uncertainty. Now was the hard, or at least very awkward, part of the conversation. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “So, um… you said on the phone you could offer me a job?”
Lord knew you needed it. You left San Francisco in a rush, and you didn’t have time to gather much in the way of money. Hell, even if you had time, you wouldn’t have had much to speak of. You were, for all intents and purposes, completely destitute.
“Damn right I can offer you a job,” she grinned.
“Yeah?” You didn’t bother hiding the relief in your tone. And when she nodded, you glanced around the shop another time. “I’ve done shop work before. I can handle customers pretty easily and I know plenty about the instruments. The jazz, though…” You trailed off, frowning. Jazz had never been your specialty. It was all the rage, sure, but it didn’t reach you the way classical always had. The airy complexities of Mozart, the drama of Beethoven, the barely contained sorrow of Chopin… there was nothing like it, really. Music. Real music.
You suddenly cringed at your inner monologue. Alright, maybe you were a bit of a loser. So what?
“Don’t worry about the jazz,” she said with a grin. “You still tickling those ivories, doll?”
You smiled ruefully, a quiet pain settling into your bones. “When I can,” you said softly. What you didn’t say was that “when you could” meant once, maybe twice a year. With the way everything had gone down in San Francisco…
To your shock, Mimzy’s playful smile turned a little sharp. “Perfect,” she said.
Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth to ask what she meant when a flicker of movement caught the corner of your eye. Instinct seized you. You stiffened and stepped back hard enough to rattle the records behind you as your pulse spiked. Someone had snuck up on you. How? It had only been the two of you, you were certain of it. Had someone followed you? Had he followed you? No, no, not this fast. Not already.
Mimzy, seeing the sudden horror on your face, frowned and glanced at the source of the movement. “Hey,” she called out with her hands on her hips, “what’re you doing skulking back there, Al? Come say hello.”
A low chuckle sounded before a man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, with lovely dark hair, brown skin, and sharp, dark eyes made darker by the narrow spectacles perched halfway down his nose. A charming, easy smile rested on his face as he approached.
For a moment, you forgot to breathe.
“Apologies, my darling Mimzy,” he said with a perfectly tailored Transatlantic accent. “Just wanted to give you a moment of privacy with your friend here.”
“Well, do it less… creepy,” Mimzy snorted. “You’re like a shadow sometimes, Al.”
The man laughed, low and melodic, his voice ringing through the shop like an expertly tuned instrument. Mimzy shook her head fondly and redirected her attention to you.
“Doll, this is my good friend, Alastor. He’s a bit of a local celebrity around these parts.”
“You’re too kind,” Alastor said with just the right amount of humility laced into his tone. His voice was captivating, almost entrancing you with the way he spoke. Unconsciously, you felt yourself leaning in. “I’m just a pianist.”
“But you’re up and out!” she said with a jump of enthusiasm. She turned back to you with a grin. “He’s being modest. Alastor here is a pianist for me. The finest pianist in New Orleans!” Alastor chuckled when Mimzy jabbed him playfully in the ribs “But he’s leaving me now. Just got a gig at the local radio station! He’s going to star in his own show.”
“Wow,” you said with raised eyebrows. She said he was a pianist for her. When she performed elsewhere? It’s not like they could perform in a little music shop like this. “So you two perform together? Where do you—”
“And Alastor,” she interrupted you a little too quickly, “this is…”
“I heard before.” Alastor’s smile lingered on his face as he took your hand and said your name. His hands were long and elegant, but surprisingly calloused. Was he a working man, then? It wouldn’t be surprising, you supposed. Pianists didn’t make much, you knew all too well. As you spaced out momentarily, he spoke again. “Name’s Alastor. Pleasure, quite a pleasure!”
You gave a small, uncertain smile in return. “Nice to meet you, Mister Alastor.”
“Mister?” He laughed. “What lovely manners. But please, just Alastor is fine. Or Al, if we get close enough.” He winked, and your cheeks grew warm.
“Doll here’s a little shy. Aren’t you, sweetie?”
“M-Mimzy,” you half stuttered. “I-I’m not… and you really shouldn’t call me doll in front of strangers—”
“Alastor’s not a stranger,” Mimzy insisted, grinning at the man.
“To me he is,” you mumbled, meek and a little petulant. That was when you felt the heat of someone else’s quiet, sharp attention settle on you.
“My, you startle easily.” Alastor hummed. The smile hadn’t left his face. “You’re like a little bunny rabbit, aren’t you?”
“E-excuse me?” you squeaked, turning to him.
He chuckled again, his eyes lingering on your mouth before flicking up to meet your gaze. “Haven’t seen you around these parts, bunny. New in town?”
“Hardly,” you replied, bristling at the word “bunny.” You just met this man, after all.
“Really?” Alastor raised a brow. “I don’t hear an accent.”
“Oh,” Mimzy cut in, looping her arm in yours. “That’s because my old friend here turned tail the moment we became grown-ups. Off to that fancy music conservatory up north, then out to San Francisco to perform for the symphony. Right, hon?”
Alastor let out a low whistle and leaned back against the counter. “Conservatory, San Francisco, the symphony… quite the résumé.” He tilted his head, his studying gaze pinning you to the spot. “A talent like that leaves footprints wherever it goes.”
You tensed under the words. Why would he say that? Did he know something? No, you were certain Mimzy wouldn’t have said anything. You swallowed, straightening your posture. Intimidation, that was all it was. Alastor’s smile sharpened by a hair.
“And what would a big city talent like you be coming back here for, bunny? Didn’t make it in showbiz?”
“Excuse me?” you asked, blinking. Charming as he was, you narrowed your eyes at what was clearly a jab. What the hell was this guy’s problem?
“Touchy subject?” Alastor asked with honeyed innocence. His gaze drifted along the line of your tense shoulders, and when he looked back up there was something knowing, almost entertained, in his expression.
“No offense,” you said sharply, “but you don’t know a damn thing about me, Al.”
As your eyes slid into a glare, Alastor’s smile sharpened. He stepped just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his attention. “Careful, bun,” he murmured, lower now. “Your voice quivers when you try to sound confident.”
You hated that he was right, and you glowered. “You—”
“That’s enough, both of you,” Mimzy cut in. “Al, be nice. Besides, why do you think my little doll is here?”
You stiffened beside Mimzy. She wasn’t going to tell this guy what was going on, right? “Uh,” you said quietly. “Mimzy, wait—”
“Hush.” Mimzy waved you off. “And let me show you my real business, huh?”
“Your… what?” You could barely stammer as Mimzy dragged you toward the back of the store with Alastor trailing closely behind.
She brought you to the supply closet. It looked normal enough, as far as you could tell. Stacked supplies, parts, cleaning tools. But Mimzy pulled you into the closet and walked to the far shelf. Then, with a push, the shelf moved aside. It wasn’t a shelf at all, but a door. Your jaw dropped. There was no way…
But you couldn’t contemplate how or why before she pulled you through the threshold. Distantly, you felt Alastor’s eyes on you as you stepped forward… and into an enormous jazz club.
“A gin joint, Mimzy?” you asked, dumbfounded as you looked around the very beautiful, very illegal speakeasy.
“Oh, yeah,” she beamed. “What’d’ya think?”
An electric chandelier hung high in the center of the room, overlooking a swanky bar, plenty of tables, and a dance floor. And, of course, off to the side was a stage that held a couple microphones and an enormous, shining grand piano.
“It’s… it’s beautiful.” And you meant it. It felt like luxury and comfort all mixed into a single space, warm and bright and lively even when it was empty.
“Good,” Mimzy said. “Then it’s time for a proper introduction.” You frowned at her but she only turned to Alastor, who was leaning against a nearby wall. “Alastor, this is my new pianist… and your replacement.”