by Debra Dunbar
“Ya like dem?” Leon asked as he set her drink in front of her. “I hear dey don’t do requests.”
Hattie squinted at them. They seemed familiar, somehow. The young man on the right flowed up and down the keys with an almost bored grace. The older man beside him only played with one hand.
She straightened on her seat, then glanced back at Leon.
“What are…”
Leon shrugged again with a smile, leaving Hattie to slide off her stool and approach the piano.
“Mister Mancuso,” she said as Lefty eyed her quickly. “What brings you to a low-brow establishment like this?”
Lefty focused on his playing. “A favor for a friend.”
“And where might this friend be?” she asked.
The door to the kitchen opened, and a tall dark-skinned man in a chef’s hat pushed a service trolley bearing a large silver dome into the room.
Hattie rolled her eyes. “You, too?”
Raymond grinned at her, folding a towel over his arm with a bow. “My lady. If you would?” He gestured to the corner, where a single table was set with two candles.
Hattie gathered her gin and gave Raymond a curtsy, crossing the room as he followed with the service trolley.
She sat and looked around once more. “Alright, then. Where’s my boy-o? All this drama had better be worth it.”
“I hope it is.” Vincent walked out of the kitchen wearing a tuxedo, his hair trimmed and combed back. She watched as he approached, and thought back to the first time they’d been here. She’d been soaked from the rain, still worried that Vincent might turn her in to Corbi, and more than a little jealous when Fern showed up.
One year ago. Her life had changed so much in just one year.
Vincent took a seat across from Hattie, nodding for Lefty and his accompanist to continue.
She leaned forward. “Why, Vincent Calendo, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying too hard.”
He shook his head, that cocky smile on his face that she loved so. “But you know better, right?”
Hattie laughed. “Oh, aye. This is precisely the fussy nonsense I’ve come to expect from you.”
He lifted his hands. “Guilty.”
She glanced back at the bar. “You seriously called Leon in all the way from Chicago?”
“Lefty’s making inroads with Capone’s organization. I took advantage of an opportunity.”
Hattie shifted in her seat. “He said this was a special occasion.”
Vincent looked down to his plate as a blush rose on his cheeks.
“What’s going on, boy-o?”
Vincent nodded to Raymond who reached for the service trolley, pulling the dome away from the plate. Instead of dinner, the trolley held a single plate—a plate with a ring at its center.
Hattie sat dumbstruck for a second, then fidgeted with her clutch as Vincent slid off his chair to one knee, reaching for the ring.
“Hattie Malloy, I’ve been carrying this damned ring in my pocket for almost a month, now.”
She lifted a hand to her mouth.
“Even in New York,” he added. “Which, well… I figured it wasn’t the right time. We were, you know, about to die. Or get captured. Anyways, I couldn’t figure out how to even talk about the future, and us. It always seemed so impossible. But it occurred to me, if I wait for the right time…”
“It’ll never come,” Hattie finished.
He smiled. “Hattie Malloy, will you marry me?”
She looked around to find the music had stopped. All eyes were on her. Then she looked back down to Vincent, who still had that adorable cocky grin.
“It’s about damned time, boy’o.”
Hattie placed her hand in his. Vincent slid the ring onto her finger, then held her hand tight. It was a beautiful ring—silver filigree nestling a diamond in the middle. Gorgeous as it was, the man who’d put it on her finger was what she wanted the most.
Vincent stood up and scooped Hattie into his arms. “I love you. I think I loved you that first night.”
She smoothed a hand down his chest. “Even after I insulted you and slapped you.”
He grinned. “Yes. Even after you shot at me. And I seem to recall I insulted you, too.”
“I love you. And yes, I loved you from the first moment I saw you.”
He bent his head to hers, kissing her. Applause filled the air, accompanied by a few hoots and whistles. When they finally pulled apart, Lefty and his assistant began to play once more, pounding out a bouncy tune.
Vincent wrapped a hand around Hattie’s waist and she took his other hand, admiring the ring in the candlelight, as they swayed with pep to the jazz.
“I have dinner and drinks for everyone,” he murmured in her ear, his breath brushing against her hair. “Afterward, we should go over to your parents’ house. I asked your father’s permission, you know? Your mother’s, too. I was never so scared in my life. I was sure she’d say no, and I’d have to bribe her with a phonograph or something.”
She chuckled at the thought of Vincent sweating as he asked her for her mother’s blessing. “Very proper of you.”
He kissed the side of her head. “And I’m about to be very improper. Hattie Malloy, I’d like it very much if you spent the night at my house.”
“Before we’ve exchanged vows?” she teased.
“Well, I hear Roscoe is an excellent chaperone.”
The doors to the Fontainebleu suddenly swung open and a cold breeze flooded into the room, sending the candles into a wild flicker. Hattie turned to see a figure stagger inside, dropping to his knees with a grunt.
The music stopped. The smell of soot filled the room, and something more acrid. Raymond rushed forward and Lefty jumped to his feet, hand inside his jacket.
Vincent lifted a hand for him to hold as Raymond bent over the man.
“He’s alive,” Raymond turned the man over.
Hattie released a gasp as she stared into half of the face of Assam al Ghasawi. The other half of his face was burned beyond recognition, his chest rising and falling with a sick rattle.
“Leon!” she shouted.
Leon swept around the bar, gripping the dram of Aqua Vitae as he joined Raymond on the floor beside the Janissary. The water pincher pulled the stopper and fed three drops of the elixir into Ghasawi’s burned lips.
The man’s chest jerked with a spasm of coughs. His eyes fluttered open, and he reached out for Hattie.
“The Hell Pincher. He’s here.”
Acknowledgments
A huge thanks to our copyeditor Kimberly Cannon whose eagle eyes catch all the typos and keep Debra’s comma problem in line, and to Damonza for cover design.
Special thanks to all our readers who have individually followed us to Hel and back, and enthusiastically cheered us on during our first collaborative project. May there be many more ahead!
Debra and J.P
About the Authors
Debra lives in a little house in the woods of Maryland with her sons and two slobbery bloodhounds. On a good day, she jogs and horseback rides, hopefully managing to keep the horse between herself and the ground. Her only known super power is 'Identify Roadkill'.
A Louisiana native, J.P. relocated to the vineyards and cow pastures of Central Maryland after Hurricane Katrina, where he lives with his wife and son. During the day he commutes to the city of Baltimore, a setting which inspires much of his writing.
For more information:
www.debradunbar.com/white-lightning or
J.P. Sloan’s Author page
Debra Dunbar’s Author page
Also by Debra Dunbar
Accidental Witches Series
Brimstone and Broomsticks
Warmongers and Wands
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Hell and Hexes
Minions and Magic ( July 2019)
Fiends and Familiars (2019)
Devils and the Dead (2019)
White Lightning Series
Wooden Nickels
Bum’s Rush
Clip Joint
Jake Walk
Trouble Boys
The Templar Series
Dead Rising
Last Breath
Bare Bones
Famine’s Feast
Royal Blood
Dark Crossroads (Fall 2019)
IMP WORLD NOVELS
The Imp Series
A Demon Bound
Satan’s Sword
Elven Blood
Devil’s Paw
Imp Forsaken
Angel of Chaos
Kingdom of Lies
Exodus
Queen of the Damned
The Morning Star
Half-breed Series
Demons of Desire
Sins of the Flesh
Cornucopia
Unholy Pleasures
City of Lust
Imp World Novels
No Man’s Land
Stolen Souls
Three Wishes
Northern Lights
Far From Center
Penance
Northern Wolves
Juneau to Kenai
Rogue
Winter Fae
Bad Seed
Also by J.P. Sloan
The Dark Choir Series
The Curse Merchant
The Curse Servant
The Curse Mandate
The Dark Interest
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Yea Though I Walk
