Green Fairy (Dangerous Spirits)

Green Fairy (Dangerous Spirits) by Kyell Gold Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Green Fairy (Dangerous Spirits) by Kyell Gold Read Free Book Online
Authors: Kyell Gold
book on his phone again. Here, at least, was someone with worse problems than he had.
     

Chapter 4
    I will confess that when Thierry told me he wished to introduce me to the delights of the Moulin Rouge, I was more inclined to accept than I normally would have been. I had been spending a great deal of time with Minon, the son of Jacques Delamarche of the Cie. Gle. Transatlantique ; perhaps you suspected that it was with Minon that I frequently sated my baser urges. In that safe harbor, I did not fear exposure or extortion.
    However, Minon had just a few days previous confessed to me that his wife, whom he referred to as “an unholy beast with the eyes of an eagle and the disposition of an arctic cod,” had begun to suspect that the more-frequent bouts of happiness he was experiencing were in fact unrelated to the ever-larger bills she was presenting him with for her clothing and maidservants, and he feared the scandal should she leave him. As a consequence, he wished to completely remove all joy from his life by abstaining from any pleasant evenings with me.
    I did not expect to find his replacement at the Moulin Rouge, but I hoped perhaps to find some companion whose beauty and grace might overcome the barrier of her gender. Indeed, my blood quickened as Thierry talked about the elegance of the dancers, the seduction in the music, and the heady aromas that awaited within from our private box. I am a slave to my body, and on that afternoon, it was my body that led me beneath the red windmill, and into the parlor that would prove my undoing.
    If the street had been empty before, it was a mass of bodies by the time Thierry and I made our way down there. It was at the same time terrifying and exhilarating to be one with the crowd, where none would know who I was, that I could do anything they did, that I could have anything done to me. In the halls of the Senate, when I walk behind you, everyone knows who I am. There goes Jean, they say, the son of the great Austere de Giverne. It opens doors, but also closes them.
    On that night at the Moulin Rouge, every door was open, and every door was crowded by the bohemian populace. Thierry took little notice of them; his bulk parts the crowd much as your esteemed presence does. Few people took notice of me, trailing behind him, or so I thought at the time. I would discover later that the small purse I carried was stolen from me, I presume in that crowd. At the time, I kept one hand on Thierry’s soft royal blue jacket, while my eyes scanned the people around me. There were wolves with their fur painted in midnight blue swirling patterns, foxes with teardrops and hoops of silver dangling from each ear, rams with their horns covered in every glittering color of the rainbow, black rats with eyes like starless night, and I even saw another chamois, scarves draped around her neck in a cloud of color that shifted with every movement she took. If anything, I stood out for being too plain in this mass of dyed fur, bangles, and bright clothing.
    Grumbles followed us through the queue of people and to the door, where Thierry quickly slipped a twenty-franc note to the bear standing guard. The way opened before us as in one of the tales of the thousand and one nights, and into that magical world I entered.
    From the moment I set foot in the Moulin Rouge, the grumbles and growls of the outside world disappeared, to be replaced by lively music and the thump of dancing feet. Gone was the miasma of a hundred different scents; the club had filled its interiors with the sweet smells of sandalwood and frankincense, with a musky undercurrent that warmed my blood. Welcoming us from the walls as we entered, hung over the red and gold wallpaper, were portrait upon portrait of beautiful ladies of every species, clad only in the fur God gave them. For most, it was the surprising elegance of the artwork that drew my eye and quickened my blood; though I was unfamiliar with the artists, it was clear that they

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