I stood in an alley that smelled of rot and human waste.

  A man lay at my feet in expensive evening wear - silk cravat, tailored jacket, gold cufflinks that caught the faint light from a distant street lamp. His mask - ornate white porcelain worked with gold filigree - sat tilted on his face, revealing features slack with unconsciousness.

  Mud soaked into his fine clothes. He'd wake up with a headache and considerably less clothes.

  Beside me, Dominic stared at the unconscious noble with something between shock and moral crisis.

  "Ah, excuse me milord for my insolence, but remind me again, why you knocked out a noble?"

  I knelt to check the man's pockets, pulling out a folded letter sealed with red wax. An invitation, which is exactly what we needed.

  "Because infiltrating the brothel is easier than confronting it directly, just in case the girl we're searching for didn't have the brains to leave yet. We need information, not a fight. And the easiest way to get inside unnoticed is to intercept someone who already has access."

  "But why do I have to come?" Dominic's voice climbed half an octave.

  I pocketed the invitation and stood, brushing mud from my knees. "Because you have a deductive eye I don't. You notice details. Patterns. Plus I'd like to talk as little as possible, for obvious reasons." I turned to look at him. "You're useful, for now. Lucky for you."

  He swallowed hard. "Right. Of course milord. But what am I going to dress as? I don't exactly-"

  A low whistle echoed from deeper in the alley.

  I looked left.

  Leonard emerged from the shadows, dragging another unconscious body by the collar. This one was younger, closer to Dominic's build - same expensive clothes, same masked anonymity.

  Leonard dropped him next to the first with casual efficiency.

  "A is on watch. I'll be joining her once I help you change." He looked at me, mask tilting slightly. "You're sure about this? This boy will see most of your face."

  I placed my hand on Dominic's shoulder. He jumped.

  "Dominic will just have to keep his eyes averted at all times," I said, voice carrying the weight of a command rather than a request. "Isn't that right?"

  "Yes, milord!" The words came out too quickly, too loud. The next words, he whispered to himself.

  "What have I gotten myself into..."

  I smiled beneath my mask. "Good. Now-" I started unfastening my cloak.

  "Let's have a word with the staff."

  ---

  We walked side by side through streets that grew progressively seedier, yet smelled infinity better than the alleyway we left.

  I glanced down at the letter tucked into my stolen white jacket pocket, then at Dominic in front of me. He wore the other noble's clothes with visible discomfort - the fit was close but not perfect, and he kept tugging at the collar like it was strangling him. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the evening chill. His eyes covered by the small mask stayed fixed straight ahead with the rigid focus, desperately trying not to look at something forbidden.

  Now with the small mask of the noble, I was just another young man in expensive clothes. Black hair. Average features. Nothing particularly memorable except the eyes - and those were mostly hidden by the mask, my only form of privacy.

  It's not like I expect to see anyone in this place every again, so the risk is acceptable.

  But lets keep interactions to a minimum, just in case.

  I tried to deepen my voice, pitching it lower to disguise the natural tone Dominic could recognize later.

  "Try not to seem nervous. Otherwise it'll be harder for us to ask questions."

  He twitched. "What if I start getting approached by women?"

  "I'll help you out if needed. But just decline politely." I kept my pace measured, casual. "I'll keep an eye on you just in case. But remember - they may have information. Ask around about the Viscount's death. Don't be obvious. And worst comes to worst, we can confront whoever runs this little business directly. That's when I'll come in."

  We turned into a discreet alley market area.

  Street vendors had packed up for the evening, leaving empty stalls and the lingering smells of cooked meat and spices. A few people hurried past, heads down, unwilling to acknowledge what everyone knew existed here.

  The plaque was small. Tasteful. Easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.

  Maison de Plaisir Masqué

  Two men flanked the doorway. They wore simple suits, polite smiles, and the kind of massive builds that suggested their real job had nothing to do with hospitality.

  Bouncers dressed as doormen.

  "Papers, gentlemen?" The one on the left extended his hand.

  I produced my stolen invitation. Dominic fumbled with his, nearly dropping it before managing to hand it over.

  Both men examined the letters with professional thoroughness - checking seals, reading contents.

  After a moment, they handed them back.

  "Welcome to the Maison, gentlemen." The right-side bouncer opened the door with a practiced flourish. "Please, enjoy your evening."

  The door opened onto stairs leading down.

  Down into darkness lit only by flickering gas lamps set into the walls at intervals. The air grew warmer as we descended. Heavier. Scented with perfume and tobacco.

  Dominic led. I followed close behind, already cataloging details.

  Stone walls. Expensive carpeting to muffle sound. Soundproofing between floors - couldn't have customers hearing things that might disturb the illusion of 'refined' pleasure.

  The stairs ended at a large receiving area.

  Red and pink lights filtered through colored glass lampshades, casting everything in shades of rose and crimson. Plush furniture arranged in intimate clusters. Paintings on the walls - tasteful nudes, mostly, the kind that suggested sensuality without crossing into vulgarity.

  How... tasteful. No matter how you wrap hedonism, it still looks like hedonism to me.

  A counter dominated the far wall.

  Behind it sat a woman in her late twenties, scantily clothed in silk that left very little to imagination. She smoked a thin cigar, eyes tracking us with professional assessment as we approached.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I leaned close to Dominic's ear.

  "You'll have to make do without your notepad for now. Mental notes only. Take notes of everything, no exceptions."

  He nodded, jaw tight.

  The woman smiled as we reached the counter - all white teeth and red lips. "It's nice to see such handsome faces here." Her voice carried a sultry quality that sounded practiced rather than natural. "It's been a bit lonely as of recently."

  I returned the smile, pitching my voice deeper carefully.

  Bingo.

  "Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

  She blinked, surprised. Then her smile widened. "Ah, it makes sense you wouldn't know." She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, cleavage on full display. "Have you heard of Viscount Devereux's death?"

  Damian and I both nodded.

  "Well..." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It was actually with one of our girls when he died. In the act, I heard."

  I feigned shock, letting my eyes widen. "What? Which girl?"

  She shook her head, straightening. "It was a girl named Annie. Poor thing. Haven't seen her since it happened. Only the Almighty knows whats become of her."

  "Tragic." I murmured.

  The receptionist leaned back in her chair, the moment of seriousness passing. "Ah, I've made the room gloomy. My apologies, gentlemen." Her professional smile returned, clasping her hands together. "So - what or who will it be today?"

  I kicked Dominic lightly, out of the woman's line of sight.

  He jumped. I almost thought he was about to give a salute with how rigid he was.

  "Ah! Just - just wanting to see who catches our fancy. Browse, that is."

  "How cute." She smiled at Dominic's nervousness, motioning to a door further to the right. "Feel free to mingle in our main parlor - the room of pleasure and beauty. But remember - you pay the girl directly, and you settle your tab here before leaving. Understood?"

  We both nodded.

  I guided Dominic away from the counter, toward the indicated doorway.

  Once we were out of earshot, he whispered urgently.

  "She was telling the truth. And they're not trying to hide it either."

  "Mm." I straightened my jacket, scanning the corridor ahead. "And they don't know where Annie is. Let's hope she has a friend willing to talk."

  Entering the room of pleasure and beauty, my mind drifted unbidden to a certain blonde girl with golden eyes and strong opinions about propriety.

  Mary.

  If she ever found out I'd been here...

  I could already envision her reaction. That particular expression of rage she rarely showed me - the one that meant I'd crossed a line she considered sacred. Her face would go pale, then flush. Her voice would drop to that cold, controlled fury that was somehow worse than shouting.

  "You went WHERE?"

  I smiled wearily beneath the mask of noble indifference I was wearing.

  She could be a fiery person when properly motivated. In my opinion, one of her more endearing qualities, even when directed at me.

  I shook my head, clearing it of any thoughts.

  Let's just hope she never has to know about this particular investigation.

  Otherwise I forfeit my life.

  Dominic pushed open the door to the main parlor.

  I followed him through, immediately cataloging the scene while keeping my face neutral.

  The room was larger than the reception area - maybe forty feet across, decorated in the same red and pink lighting that made everything seem softer, more forgiving. Plush couches and chairs scattered throughout, creating semi-private spaces. A small fountain stood in the center - a naked marble woman with water streaming from her mouth into a basin below.

  Tasteful. Expensive. Designed to make wealthy men feel sophisticated rather than decadent.

  You have to a certain level of stupid or depraved to believe such bullshit.

  Dozens of half-naked women moved through the space with practiced grace. Some sat alone, reading or doing needlework. Others clustered in small groups, chatting quietly. A few engaged with the male patrons who'd already arrived - bringing drinks, laughing at jokes, maintaining the carefully cultivated illusion that this was about companionship rather than transaction.

  An equal number of men occupied the room. Most wore masks like ours. Some sat drinking expensive liquor. Others smoked cigars while admiring the women like one might browse artwork in a gallery.

  I positioned myself near the doorway, leaning against the wall in a posture of casual observation.

  "Remember the plan," I said quietly to Dominic. "You ask the questions. I wait here. And if I even see you catch a glimpse of my face..."

  I let the threat hang unfinished.

  He nodded quickly and moved away, approaching the nearest woman with visible nervousness.

  I watched him work while pretending to admire the assortment of near-naked women.

  He wasn't bad at this, I realized. Awkward, yes - but that worked in his favor. The women responded to his obvious discomfort with maternal indulgence rather than professional distance.

  I smiled a bit.

  If this wasn't a mission, I'd probably be as nervous as he is.

  The first woman he talked to was flirtatious. Leaned close, touched his arm, clearly trying to steer the conversation toward business. Dominic, though still visibly nervous, guided the conversation without seeming obvious. The woman's expression slowly shifted to something more guarded, talking to him but her guard remained throughout.

  The second woman was anxious once the conversation geared Annie's way. Her eyes darted around the room when Annie's name came up. She excused herself quickly, retreating to the safety of other girls.

  The third woman became condescending when Annie was mentioned. It was clear she was jealous of something, to the point where she outright refused to talk about her after a while.

  The fourth woman was weirdly excited. Gossip was clearly her sin in the chamber of vices. She leaned in conspiratorially, whispering details I couldn't hear from across the room but that made Dominic's eyes widen.

  I couldn't help but notice the other girls glancing at her with worry.

  Twenty minutes passed.

  Dominic worked his way through maybe eight or nine different women, gathering fragments of information with each conversation.

  Then he gave a small thumbs-up while pretending to adjust his collar.

  I pushed off the wall and moved toward him, circling around to approach from behind. We ended up in a corner near a potted plant that provided minimal privacy.

  "So?" I kept my voice low.

  Dominic glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "She apparently kept to herself. No real friends among the other ladies. They described her as blonde, pretty, young, friendly - but that's it. Nothing else is known. Other than the fact that anyone who talks about her and is found out," Dominic motioned behind him, towards the outside where the guards would be standing. "gets a stern warning from the guards of the establishment."

  I nodded.

  Seems the administration of this place knows more than the girls.

  "Anything else?"

  "The only person who would know where she might have gone is the Madam." He stressed the title. "The woman who runs this place. She's on the third floor in an office. Keeps records, handles problems, apparently knows everything that happens here. An older lady of the night who worked her way up the ranks."

  I rubbed my chin, thinking.

  "Now that we know the girl's gone, I don't have to worry about hiding our tracks."

  "What if she comes back?"

  "She won't." I was certain of that much. "If my hunch is correct, she didn't belong here to begin with. This was just... cover. Or something else entirely."

  I straightened my jacket. "Follow me. We're going up. It's time for me to do my part."

  We moved through doors marked Staff Only with the confidence of people with authority.

  The second floor was more utilitarian - plain hallways, numbered doors, the actual business side of the operation. A few women looked at us oddly as we passed.

  "You can't come up here," one said, eyebrows scrunching in annoyance.

  Dominic stammered. "Sorry, we were just-"

  "Hurry up." I told him, brushing past the girl without breaking stride.

  She called after us but didn't follow. Probably fetching someone with more authority.

  We climbed to the third floor.

  More protests from staff. More ignored warnings. Dominic growing increasingly flustered while I maintained forward momentum.

  Finally we reached a door at the corridor's end.

  A bronze plaque read three words.

  Madame Roux - Propriétaire

  Two men stood guard. Larger than the doormen downstairs. Less polite in their postures.

  "What are you doing here?" The one on the left spoke with open aggression.

  I pulled the revolver from inside my jacket - pointing straight at the man who spoke.

  "I want a talk with your Madam. Move aside or die."

  Both men's hands shot up immediately.

  "What kind of fucking noble is this?" one muttered.

  "Kneel. Hands behind your heads." I motioned them to the left side of the door.

  They complied, getting on their knees with their hands behind their heads, facing away from us.

  I tossed the pistol to Dominic, who caught it with fumbling panic while trying to keep his eyes away from my face.

  "You know how to use this?"

  His face went pale. "Y-yes! I-I've received basic training..."

  I interrupted him quickly, stopping him from revealing anything about himself.

  "Good. Keep them at gunpoint. Shoot them if they're hands drop an inch."

  I turned the door handle and walked inside, closing it behind me before anyone could follow.

  The office was surprisingly refined.

  Dark wood furniture. Bookshelves lined with ledgers and what looked like genuine literature. A fireplace crackling with real wood rather than coal. Thick carpets that muffled sound.

  Behind an ornate desk sat a woman who defied easy categorization.

  Old - certainly past fifty, maybe closer to sixty. But beautiful in the way some people managed to be despite age. Long white hair arranged in an elegant style. Fine clothing made from fox fur that probably cost more than most people earned in a year. She smoked a pipe - an actual wooden pipe - with the casual sophistication of someone comfortable with her own eccentricities.

  She looked up as I entered.

  Her eyes traveled over me with the assessment of someone who'd spent a lifetime reading people.

  Then she smiled.

  "A youngster so full of vigor." Her voice carried traces of an accent I couldn't place. "Mon Dieu... Just my type, unfortunately."

  Her smile covered in red lipstick turned colder.

  "Though your manners leave much to be desired, entering unannounced like this, Jeune homme."

  She set down her pipe.

  "So, young man. You're not a Noble, I assume?" Her eyes locked onto mine with uncomfortable intensity. "So, I guess the question I should be asking is,"

  Her hands intertwined as her chin rested upon them, her bewitching smile still ever so present despite the threat.

  "Who do you work for?"