This is it, Evie thought. I'm in too deep. I'm fucked. She'd never wanted her work to spill over and mix with the plight of the Connlaothian mages. She'd kept that boundary firm. Yes, they were targets, but by definition they weren't helpless. They could pick up and they could leave before a Mordecai found them. And where they stood with Ansgar, well...it was complicated. Slaves, on the other hand...slaves were trapped, sometimes for life. And she'd been there before Madam Diedre picked her up. She'd seen enough to know that she didn't want that life for anyone. Especially not the young ones.
The message came in early that morning, tucked under the brown paper in a basket of bread. She'd nicked it and read it and then re-read it five more times while she held her breath. The railroad boys had made an alliance. She'd known they were trying to strengthen ties and broaden their reach. She hadn't known that one of those ties was with the mage terrorists. "Oh, Garrett," she murmured. "What did you do?"
But the message was clear: unbeknownst to her, she'd been promoted. She wasn't just a spy anymore. As of this evening, she'd be hiding a stowaway in her closet. And that stowaway was a god-damned mage. A terrorist mage.
The girl was a tiny thing all bundled up in an oversized cloak. She shivered and refused to remove it, clutching it to her arms as she shuffled along. She couldn't have been more than twelve. As Evie shut her door and ushered her new contraband into that tiny closet, she couldn't help but wonder how such a young girl came to such a violent organization. Out of desperation for freedom, maybe. Maybe. But she'd seen plenty of young ones trying to escape, and the look in this stowaway's eyes told a very different story. Something about all of this was horribly wrong. She just couldn't put her finger on how.
Maybe she didn't want to know at all.
"Stay here. Stay quiet," she whispered. "I have to go down for work. There's a chamber pot right there if you need to go. You know where your food and drink are? Good. And close your eyes and plug your ears if you hear me come back in with a man, alright, sweetie? You look like you've seen enough shit already." The kid said nothing in response and stared at her with those blank, dead eyes. Evie winked, smiled nervously, stood, and closed her in. She hesitated, fingering her key ring. Finally, she took a breath and locked the closet door. Like a cadaver in a coffin, she thought. She calmed her nerves, straightened up, pasted on her prettiest smile, and headed down into the din.
The Wild Rose was short-staffed. It must have been, because Madam Dierdre worked the bar that night. The girls would all be working. She'd be guaranteed some work, too, unfortunately for the kid in the closet. Evie scanned the room, her stormy eyes darting from patron to patron. Any other night and it would have been business as usual: find a man with means, status, loose lips, and an interest in something a little different, ply him liberally with wine, and...see what there was to learn. But right now? Right now, she needed to be damned certain that there weren't any...
Her gaze froze on the Mordecai at the bar. She was lucky that he was facing away from her at that very moment. Her mask dropped like a rock. "Noooo nononono," she whispered to herself. "Fuck. This can't be happening." Nearby, an old, graying patron eyed her, confused at her unbecoming expression and choice of words. Or maybe he'd just never seen anything like her before. But no — he glanced between her and the Mordecai like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Evie hastily glued her smile back on again and touched the man on his forearm, startling him. "I think I know that man," she smiled. "If you'll excuse me, honey. But I'll be right over there if you make up your mind."
There was only one thing for it. She had to follow through. She had to keep pretending. And now Madam Dierdre waved her over to the bar, too. Shit. She glided across the floor, weaving between the patrons and the girls, her practiced expression held together by a thread. "Evira, come here, darling," Dierdre called when she got within earshot of the bar. Shitshitshit. Madam Dierdre only called her darling like that when a man expressed an interest. But surely not...this man. Evie looked him over under the guise of batting her lashes at him. She knew how to read them. She knew how to find the ones that sought her out in a crowd. This man? This man looked like he thought toast was too decadent. He was missionary in male form. This man had definitely not asked for her. Which meant one thing: she was the only one available.
"I'll go and dish you up, love," Dierdre said with a simpering smile. "Darling Evie here will see to anything else you might desire."
Evie's smile strained ever so slightly as the panic set in. She looked him over again: this miserable, drenched, sour-looking Mordecai. She couldn't bring the man to her room. If he found the girl, her life would be over. What was more, her railroad friends would be in grave danger. There had to be a way out of this. There had to. "Well, now," she lilted from behind the bar. "Aren't you easy on the eyes? But don't you want to dry off first, soldier boy? You look awfully cold."