Dangerous Thoughts

Chapter 1

The battered red door was one many in the city recognized, but few ventured through unless it was in the wee hours of morning. A brothel, after all, was not a reputable place for anyone reputable. And yet, with the sun shining bright overhead on a warm spring day, a young man in a fine silk suit strode through the door without so much as a surreptitious look behind him.

The Madame who ran the business sat in the entryway behind an old wooden desk. She was running her fingers lazily along the inlay when she heard the door swing open. She hastily draped her shawl over her large bosom, but relaxed once she recognized the face. "Mister Abbot! Lovely to see you, as always."

Charles Abbot tipped his hat and smiled. He was young and handsome—no older than 25, with a curl of jet-black hair that crawled out from under the brim of his hat like wild vines—and a regular visitor to her brothel. But not in the usual sense.

"Good day, Madame. I've heard that Lady Melissa has an interesting one for me," Charles said, his eyes trailing to the space behind the Madame. The narrow hallway led to the rooms where the girls saw their customers, but there was also a set of stairs that led up to the second floor where many of the girls lived.

"Oh yes, she does. And she was in the room with all the mirrors—the angles you get will be absolutely lovely."

"Wonderful. Shall I...?"

"Yes, yes, she should be up in her room." The Madame gestured with her brightly painted nails towards the staircase.

Charles took his hat and briefcase and walked up the stairs to the second floor, a place where most guests were forbidden. But again, he wasn't here for the usual stuff. He had other business to attend to.

Melissa was waiting for him in the upstairs hallway. "Mister Abbot!" she said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. She wasn't done up as she usually was at night—no rouge or bright lips or dark eyes—but clean-faced with her curly blond hair wrapped up in a scarf and an old silk dressing gown around her curvy frame.

"Lovely to see you, Melissa," Charles said. He had never worked with her before, but he had seen her in passing on his other trips to the brothel. She had likely heard from the other girls about his talent. Or perhaps from other customers. Most people in the city knew who he was. His talents were unique, which made him a hot commodity.

"You as well, Mister Abbot. Please, come inside—and excuse the mess," she said, drawing him into her private chamber.

Her room was small. There was a tiny bed, a dresser overflowing with lacy things, and a vanity cluttered with make-up and perfume. She offered him the tattered stool beneath the vanity while she sat on the bed, cross-legged and waiting for his instruction.

Charles smiled kindly at the girl as he opened his briefcase, revealing several small glass bottles engraved with strange symbols. She looked at them with wide eyes—particularly the ones with swirling gas inside them that glowed blood red or river blue. But Charles ignored the glowing vials and instead pulled one of the empty ones out and set it on the vanity.

"So," he said, "let me explain just a little bit about what's going to happen. It's not a painful process, although it might feel a bit strange—intrusive is the word most people use to describe it. But if you take a deep breath and focus, it will be over quickly."

Melissa nodded quickly, clearly eager to begin.

Charles held in a chuckle. Most of his first-time clients were just like Melissa, a mix of nerves and excitement, which is why he did his best to put them all at ease. "All you need to do is focus on the memory. Think about it as best you can. That will direct me to it so I can grab a copy. And once it's here, in my little bottle," he said, waggling the vial, "I'll go through it in more detail and come up with a final price for you." He looked at her, inviting her to ask any clarifying questions.