The sun dipped below the jagged horizon, bleeding a bruised purple into the sky. Madeline tightened the drawstring of her cloak, the fabric feeling like a leaden weight. She had whispered her final instructions to Charlene: "Keep my grandmother busy. Tell her I'm helping you with the mending. Don't let her look at the clock."
The walk to the Devil's Throat was a descent into a different world. The air here didn't carry the scent of pine or woodsmoke; it was thick with the cloying, oily smell of cheap coal and the sharp, metallic tang of the industrial runoff. In the alleyways, the shadows seemed to detach themselves from the soot-stained walls. Groups of men lingered in the gloom, the cherry-red embers of their cigarettes pulsing like the eyes of predators as they exhaled thick, ghostly plumes of smoke that swirled into the night air.
Madeline kept her gaze anchored to the cracked cobblestones, her knuckles white as she gripped her bag. She scanned the shadows for Chris, her pulse stuttering, but the tall man with the unsettling smile was nowhere to be seen.
She reached the iron door of the windowless stone building. A girl stood guard today, leaning against the cold stone with a look of profound boredom. She raked her eyes over Madeline's modest cloak and heavy veil, her lip curling in a faint, mocking line.
"How can I help you, darling? Lost your way to the chapel?" the girl drawled.
"I... I am here for the job. Madam is expecting me," Madeline said, forcing a steady tone she didn't feel.
"Ah. You must be the 'Veiled Maiden' Rob was chirping about." The girl pushed off the wall and beckoned with a jagged fingernail. "Follow me. And try to keep up; the night doesn't wait for dawdlers."
They moved deeper into the bowels of the building, past heavy velvet curtains that muffled a distant, rhythmic thumping—the heartbeat of the house. They stopped before a lacquered red door embossed with the words STAFF ONLY. Madeline's hands began to shake uncontrollably as the girl swung it open.
"This is the dressing room. Get in, get changed, and don't touch the silk unless your hands are clean."
Madeline stepped inside and froze, her jaw dropping beneath her veil. The room was a chaotic explosion of color, scent, and flesh. It smelled of heavy floral powders, spilled wine, and scorched hair. Dozens of women sat before cracked mirrors, slapping thick white pastes onto their skin and staining their lips the color of crushed berries.
But it was the clothing—or the lack of it—that left Madeline speechless. They wore garments of lace and translucent silk that seemed designed to reveal rather than protect. It was a kaleidoscope of scandal that made the air in the room feel suffocatingly hot.
"Are you going to stand there like a stone statue?" A sharp, commanding voice sliced through the chatter. A middle-aged woman with hair pulled back so tight it tugged at her eyes marched toward Madeline. "Get inside! The bells have already chimed. Time is silver, and you're wasting mine."
Madeline stepped in hesitantly, feeling the sudden, cold weight of a dozen gazes. The room went quiet as the women turned to stare at the shrouded figure in their midst.
"So, this is the one?" a woman in a canary-yellow dress scoffed, her blonde waves cascading over shoulders that were entirely bare. She leaned back, blowing a cloud of blue smoke from a long pipe. "Does she think she's better than us, hiding behind that rag? Or is she just too ugly to show her face to the light?"
"Nicole, hush," another woman said, rising from her vanity with a soft, sympathetic smile. She walked over to Madeline, the silk of her robe fluttering like a butterfly's wings. "Don't mind her; Nicole thinks anyone who isn't baring their soul is a saint in hiding. I'm Joylin."
Madeline could only offer a stiff, terrified nod. Joylin took her by the arm and ushered her to a velvet stool.
"You'll get used to the thorns in here," Joylin whispered, her voice a comforting balm. "The roses are few and far between. What do they call you, honey?"
"Madeline. But... Maddy is fine."
Joylin tilted her head, peering at the sliver of blue eyes visible through the veil. "You have beautiful eyes, Maddy. Deep as the ocean. I suspect if you ever took that veil off, the men in the lounge would be flocking to you like moths to a flame."
"I... I am just here to clean," Madeline whispered, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
Joylin let out a soft, musical chuckle. "Clean? Oh, darling. We all start by saying we're just here to sweep the floors."
The headwoman returned, dumping a bundle of sheer, midnight-blue fabric into Madeline's lap. It felt like spiderwebs and moonlight. "Put this on. Now. The guests are arriving."
Madeline looked at the 'costume' in horror. It was a slip of silk held together by thin silver chains. She had no idea where it began or where it ended. Her face burned with a fierce, hot shame.
"I... I don't know how," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Joylin reached out, her touch gentle as she took the silk. "I'll help you, Maddy. Don't be afraid. Once the lights go dim and the music starts, you won't even feel like yourself anymore."
As Joylin began to unfasten Madeline's heavy cloak, the Tense, Rhythmic Music from the main hall grew louder, the heavy thud-thud-thud of the drums sounding like a countdown to a world Madeline was no longer sure she could escape.