The Song Bird

Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2019 Beth D. Carter

ISBN: 978-1-77339-876-1

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

Many thanks to Stacey at Evernight for saying yes, and to all who helped to bring this story to a new home.

THE SONG BIRD

Beth D. Carter

Copyright © 2019

Chapter One

1855 San Francisco

Avilon Chambert stared at the imposing building in front of her and bit her bottom lip. The bitterly cold wind snaked its way from San Francisco Bay to curl along the rolling streets, finally finding a way under her woolen skirts. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her body, although it proved to be hopeless against the gust of April wind.

She stood on the corner of Montgomery and Broadway, in a section of the city nicknamed Sydney Town, notorious for its unholy den of prostitution, corruption, and crime. No decent person in their right mind would dare venture into the district at night, which was why she had waited until noon to search for her sister. Inside her reticule lay her sister’s letter, making her wonder again, for the thousandth time, what had driven Amelia to travel to such a wild city in the first place. They came from a small fishing community in Louisiana steeped in Creole tradition, and when fever swept through their small town, the girls had been split. Avilon went to live with their Great Aunt Verity while Amelia had gone to live with their cousin Odell in New Orleans. And at some point in the past five years, Amelia’s life seemingly drifted drastically off course.

The contentiousness of the building in front of her was proof enough of that. In the letter Amelia called it a gentlemen’s hall, but its character looked a tad shady. The front of it reminded her of something from a Greek Revival, with four Corinthian columns holding up a pediment decorated with female figures barely clad in wispy flowing clothes. The steps leading up to the heavy gilt-encrusted doors were lined with a marble balustrade topped with Tyche, the goddess of luck.

The entire street held signs proclaiming all types of available debauchery. Sex, drink, and gambling. It didn’t take much of an imagination to know what the place would be like once night fell. The whole area seemed to breathe with a collected gust of sin, and for a moment Avilon longed to cover her mouth and nose with her rose-scented linen square. She shivered, wishing she could return to her rented bed in the Parish center off Vallejo Street where the nuns had been kind enough to offer her shelter, but she quickly pushed the cowardly notion aside.

Amelia needed her.

She looked skyward, drawing in a lungful of air. Ever since she’d set foot on the coal-dusted streets of San Francisco, a foreboding settled inside and gripped her soul. The city held a black heart, cold and unfeeling. In the years since gold had been discovered in nearby Coloma, thousands of people had flocked to the area. Unfortunately, the nonexistent infrastructure had given rise to out-of-control crime since California was still a new state. Hordes of people had rushed to a city that hinted at wealth and gold, only to see those promises turned into lies and falsehoods. The lure of riches was a temptation too hard to resist, and Avilon was afraid her sister had turned into one more lost soul.

The sunlight seemed trapped behind a perpetual thick bank of gray, angry clouds. Coal dust and grime touched every open surface, leaving behind streaks of dirty water as well as a smell that hovered somewhere between rotten food and unwashed bodies. The people milling about had a look of unbearable burden, as if they wore loneliness like a favorite cloak. Avilon needed to find Amelia because there wasn’t a doubt in her mind danger lurked everywhere. Most would have written off a sister who had admitted to working in a gambling establishment. After all, it didn’t take a genius to deduce what type of work she would being doing in such a manner of employment, but Avilon would never abandon Amelia. They were all each other had left.

She crossed the street and marched resolutely up the slick marble steps of the gambling house. She knocked upon the locked door and waited. Minutes passed. She knocked again. When another five minutes passed she decided to head around back to see if there was another entrance.

In the alley several men unloaded wooden crates off a cart into the opened door of the gambling house. A tall, heavily muscled man talked to the workers, giving them instructions in a lilting accented voice. As she approached him, she noticed his hair shown burnished gold in the muted light, hanging over the lip of his collar. Suspenders held up pants that molded to him like a second skin, showing off a backside of corded sinew and strength.

He stood next to a Chinaman dressed in the same attire, their sleeves rolled up as they worked. Neither of them seemed to notice the whipping wind.

Excuse me, she called out, and when he turned around her breath hitched in her chest. Bright green eyes raked over from head to toe, and she could only imagine what this handsome man must have thought of her Puritan clothing.

Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying, he said, his voice sounding like rough silk. She couldn’t quite place the accent, though it definitely had some British inflection underlining the words.

I’m not selling anything. I’m here to see Mr. Masters.

The man raised an eyebrow. You here for the job?

Job?

We lost our songbird a few days ago.

It’s a singing job?

The man gave a one shouldered shrug. Interested?

Aware that the workers had stopped unloading the cart, she looked over at them and found their interested gaze perusing her up and down. Taken aback, she pulled her black cloak more securely around her body.

Get back to work! the big man snarled. He placed himself in front of her, blocking their sight. Avilon took a deep breath, feeling relieved, and she raised her eyes to meet his.

Thank you, she whispered.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Can you finish this, Dewei?

The Chinaman nodded and said something to the delivery men. Much to Avilon’s surprise, the workers followed the order promptly. The blond man took her arm and led her away from the work.

Listen, go back to your convent. This is no place for a woman like you.

A woman like me?

Don’t play dumb, he ordered and gestured to her clothes.

She raised her chin. I’m not a nun. My name is Avilon Chambert and I’m here looking for my sister, Mr…?

He gave her a brief, amused smile, flashing a dimple in his right cheek. His green eyes lit up like springtime after a morning shower. Braddock. Jason Braddock at your service, love.

Mr. Braddock, she said, nodding her head in greeting. Like I said, I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Amelia Chambert and she worked here, so perhaps you can help me.

He shook his head. I’m afraid I don’t know her.

Avilon frowned. But she sent me a letter saying she worked at this establishment. It’s been a couple of months, so maybe you just don’t recognize the name.

I don’t think the girls we have are who you’re looking for, he murmured in a slightly consolatory tone.

Unfortunately, Mr. Braddock, they are. She pulled the letter out of her bag and held it up. My sister wrote to me almost six months ago, saying how she worked upstairs at Mr. Masters’s gentlemen’s establishment, which I know is just a nice euphemism for a whorehouse. She said she was in danger, so please, I’ve come a long way to find her.

Jason Braddock took the letter from her and looked at it, reading quickly through the short note. He frowned and shook his head. I’m sorry, but girls come and go all the time. I’m afraid that’s the nature of such a life.

Her shoulders slumped a bit. Then can I please see Mr. Masters? Perhaps he remembers her.

He tilted his head, studying her face. Can you sing? He only has time for auditions today.

For the singing job?

Like I said, we lost our songbird.

Her mind raced. She had to meet Eli Masters, the only man her sister named in her letter. There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to leave without talking to him. I can sing. I’ll … do it. I’ll audition if I can have just a moment of his time.

He nodded and held out his hand. She looked at it hesitantly. I don’t bite. Unless you want me too.

Startled, her gaze shot to his. His green eyes looked at her with a mixture of humor and curiosity, along with something else, something that made her tingle deep down in her belly. It was a test, she realized, and she was determined to pass. Holding his gaze, she placed her hand in his. He gripped it tight and brought it against his chest where his heart stammered slightly before pounding hard.

His eyes turned a deep, stormy green, narrowing as surprise and awareness suddenly blazed in the depths as he did a slow perusal over her face.

Avilon, he murmured.

She took a deep breath, to calm her heart that seemed to beat in time with his.

Let me take you to Eli.

Chapter Two

He escorted her into the dark interior of the club, through the kitchen where the cook and busy staff prepared food for the day. They paused in various tasks to glance at her, though not one person said anything. Avilon kept her cloak wrapped around her tightly, using the dark material to keep the stares at bay.

The kitchen led to a small hallway made of stone before opening up to a large dining area. The light blue walls contained a painted mural of vines and flowers. Fat little cherubs peaked from big fluffy clouds on the ceiling. A stack of unopened wine sat in the center of a table with hundreds of small glasses perched around the bottles. More tables pushed against the back walls waited for food to be placed upon the surfaces.

They left that area and made their way into the heart of the gaming tables. The red velvet surfaces clashed horribly with the burgundy painted walls, along with the mottled black rugs laid upon the floors. It gave the air an oppressive heaviness that settled in her chest, choking her.

A dark room veered off to the left, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. It seemed to be a large ballroom, with a grand staircase that swept up to the mezzanine, showing a multitude of closed doors around the mahogany rail. A beautiful stained glass wall divided the entrance foyer from the gaming club, depicting Greek gods in all their powerful glory. It would be beautiful when sunlight hit it, but now it sat flat and lackluster. Everything was either dark or gave the impression of being dark, even the chandelier that hung in the center of the high ceiling.

We don’t light it till we open, he said.

Avilon looked from the chandelier to him. Pardon?

He pointed up. Oil is expensive so we conserve when we can.

It’s beautiful.

Eli had it imported. Cost him an arm and a leg, but he only likes the nicer things for his clientele. He wants a level of sophistication other clubs lack.

An air for the wealthy gentlemen?

Something like that. We’re the high end gambling club in Sydney Town, maybe even all of San Francisco. We have many wealthy patrons that visit us.

And yet he manages prostitutes like a pimp.

Jason stopped and frowned at her. Where on earth did a lady like you ever hear that word? And by the way, I probably wouldn’t call him that to his face, if I were you.

She lifted her chin a notch. I told you I’m not a nun. Why won’t he like being called a pimp? Does he hit women?

No, but he can stalwart your searching efforts. This club sees a lot of men, and if your sister worked upstairs, more than likely one of them remembers her.

So if I work here I could question people?

Only if you’re discreet, but you didn’t hear that from me.

He winked at her.

She smiled at him. Hear what, Mr. Braddock?

Jason chuckled and his dimple flashed again. As he placed his big hand against her lower back and continued their journey through the club, the movement of his body next to hers made her acutely aware of him. The accidental brushing of his legs against hers and the splay of heat radiating from where he touched her disturbed her more than she cared to admit.

Right through here, Jason said, taking her elbow through the cloak and guiding her from the gambling hall into a side door marked Auditorium.

Half a dozen tables waited for patrons. Shadowed booths were for the men able to pay enough to dally with the prostitutes behind the heavy red velvet curtains. A stage engulfed one corner with a dozen plush chairs in front of it, all currently occupied by scantily clad women. They turned to look at her as she walked in behind Jason Braddock, each woman eyeing her up like a potential threat.

We have another girl to audition, Jason informed the room of people.

Several women rolled their eyes while others snickered and nudged each other. It hadn’t dawned on her she’d be competing against the upstairs working women.

Who else auditioned for the singing position? she asked.

All of them raised a hand. She bit her