Viktor had been dragged to balls when he was in university, but they had not been like this. No one danced like this. The instruments played music similar to the gentlemen’s club, in how it was unique and would never be found in smart society. The pace was quick, making the air stuffy with perfume, heat, and alcohol.

His eyes darted back to the bar, where he spotted Jaq behind it, shouting to be heard over the music and mixing drinks. The doctor approached, totally out of his element. He bumped into someone and he lurched away, only to stare dumbfounded at the man fucking a woman against the wall.

Fucking. Sex. In a public place.

His eyes lifted and met his butler’s. She came right over, shoving the couple off the wall. “You’re making people jealous! Get out of here!”

The woman whined and the man threw back a curse but was laughing, fondling himself and following the woman up the stairs to finish elsewhere.

Jaq faced Viktor, hands on her hips, but not angry. “I did not think you were capable of stalking. You were loud coming through the window.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he said anxiously, eyes still darting and taking in this alien scenery.

Jaq shrugged. “First timers are always clumsy. Come back here. You’ll be safe. Just stay out of the way.”

He followed her behind the bar, where a woman just as dark as the club singer was building drinks. She glanced over and did a double take at him. “Well well, you are too cute for words. Where did you find him?”

“He’s my boss,” Jaq answered simply, and then sharply, “Don’t scare him. He spooks easily.”

She leaned over the bar to hear a drink order until her comrade hooked her arm around her neck.

“Introduce us!” she declared.

Viktor stared as the woman leaned on his butler, arm around her and cheek to cheek. Something about libertines echoed in his memory. “A-are you…?” he stammered, pointing between them.

“She’s not,” the woman whined, casting her eyes accusingly at Jaq. “But I am.” She released Jaq to hold out her hand to Viktor. “The name’s Saara. Not Sarah. Get it right.”

He shook her hand, his eyes wide and only nodded. Saara’s dark, almond eyes analyzed him. She peered at Jaq. “I thought you were a butler?”

“I am.”

“He’s awfully quiet for a gentleman—fuck off, twat!” Saara made a rude gesture to someone reaching over the bar and then went back to pouring drinks. Viktor saw that she also wore trousers and the back of her shirt was strangely open, revealing a lengthy scar along her spine. It was not without staring that he realized it was a tattoo.

“Feel free to read it all you want, sweet pea,” she crooned, noticing where his eyes were. “That’s my certificate of freedom. I earned my place here. Got the deed to myself inked up so no one can put me in chains without skinning me.”

“Take it easy,” Jaq smiled. “He spends his days with cadavers, mostly.”

Saara grimaced and handed him a glass. “What is this?” he asked.

Jaq noticed and immediately took it from him. “You don’t want that.”

“What was it?” he repeated.

“A little treat from the homeland,” Saara chimed.

“It’s distilled junk is what it is,” Jaq reiterated.

“You drink it!” Saara retorted.

“When I’m desperate!” Jaq shouted back, laughing. She grabbed a bottle behind him and asked while she poured, “Do you want something?”

“I’m a knighted doctor,” he said nervously. He felt exposed.

“Fine, Sir Doctor, can I get you anything?” she returned.

He frowned at her. “Pardon?”

“What is your official title?” she wondered, handing over the drink and collecting money. “Is it Sir Viktor Teagan? Doctor Viktor Teagan? Sir Doctor Viktor Teagan, Esquire?”

“Must you say my name so loudly?” he questioned.

“Loudly is the only way to speak in here!” she replied. “Try to relax. You hate the title so much, but there’s no point in using it as a shield here. You might notice, Sir Doctor, that no one cares who you are.”

Viktor knew that the proper reaction would be offense, but as he examined everyone huddled around the bar and beyond, she was right. They shouted at each other, japing with Jaq and Saara, grasping their drinks and then wandering off without giving him a second look. He began to feel relief.

“Do you come here every night?” he asked.

“When I can,” she replied. “ ‘Scuse me.” Jaq moved him out of the way so she could access more glasses in a lower cabinet. She touched Saara lightly on the arm. “We’re almost out. I’ll round ‘em up.”

She nodded and took over the bar. Viktor followed his butler as she squeezed through the crowd, gathering empty glasses piled in corners and along the walls. Never before had he come into contact with this many people.

Jaq must have noticed how uncomfortable he was. She gave him the dishware and pointed back to the bar. “If you want something to do, there’s a sink under the bar. Wash them and put them in the cabinet.”

He looked skeptically between the glasses, the bar, and his butler. “You’re telling me to wash dishes?”

That defiant glint filled her eyes, but this time, it was evident across her face. “We say Please and Thank you around here and leave the hierarchy at the door. You’ve cleaned medical equipment, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have!” he scoffed, then his expression fell as he grasped her meaning. If he could clean a scalpel or steel table he could wash out a glass.

Saara showed him where to put his coat. Rolling up his sleeves, he cleaned and piled the dishware in the cabinet. Jaq disappeared repeatedly in the crowd, returning with more empties, before dashing back into the fray. At one point the cabinet was full but Jaq was absent. Saara yelled, “Go find your butler! I need a break!”

Viktor lumbered between clusters of people chatting, waiting at the bar, and dancing. He walked by her twice before he realized it was his butler dancing out there. She was moving from dance partner to partner, man or female. Most of the time she was moving with the music, but sometimes an arm wrapped around her and it was no longer a mystery how she knew what a tour of one’s lap was.

When she came near enough for him to reach her, she came back to the bar as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Saara smacked her ass playfully and disappeared into the hoard. Jaq peeked over at him. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be.”

“Are you telling me to leave?”

“No, but I’ve never seen anyone look as uncomfortable as you,” she replied.

“What is the purpose of this place?” he inquired.

“Therapy,” she said again.

“I’m trying to understand, but I don’t,” he admitted.

“It gets exhausting, bowing and scraping for someone day after day,” she explained. “Here, they can have a drink, let their hair down, dance however they want. It’s escapism.”

“But you are still serving them,” he observed.

“I like to think I’m a master of poisons,” she mused. Ice rattled when she shook up a beverage. “Physical activity relieves me, and I’m not chained back here. I can go out and dance whenever I want.”

“What about Isabelle’s journal?”

“I think the person to ask is the person who drew it, but since I’m involved, harassing the teenager isn’t an option. Besides, nothing happens until I find something worth investigating,” she reminded. “So I’m taking my time, and I thought you could use a break from Mrs. Wroll’s whip.”

Viktor reacted. “She does not control me.”

Jaq frowned dubiously. “Are you sure about that?”

“She and I have witnessed unfathomable things together,” he explained.

“If you say so,” she replied.

He was not comfortable discussing this. His only option was moving to an equally disconcerting subject. “We need to talk about last night.”

“Do we?”

His mouth opened, but he found he was not sure how to respond to that. Before he could, Saara grabbed him and yanked him toward the dancers. “Oh! No, I don’t—” he tried to say but she placed a finger over his lips.

“Follow me,” she urged, putting his hands on her waist. His palms were on the fabric of her shirt but his fingertips touched the soft skin of her back. She laughed. “Don’t stand like a statue! Follow me! It’s not hard. Don’t you have rhythm in your soul?”

“I doubt it!” he blurted.

She grasped his hips, guiding him, but he was still gawky and awkward. “You need a drink,” she informed, grabbing some one else’s and taking a swig before handing it to him.

“That’s not sanitary,” he shook his head, repulsed.

“Nothing about life is sanitary, sugar.” She closed his hand around the base of the drink. “So grab it and drink!”

He had little choice before he smelled something like orange juice and whiskey. He coughed and blinked. The alcohol hit his empty stomach and quickly clouded his mind. After a few minutes, and another drink, he realized he was dancing. Saara guided him and taught him how to move with her. Sometime later he looked through a gap of people, and saw Jaq dancing as well. He vaguely considered how she moved differently than Saara. A glance from her brought her over, where she kissed Saara’s cheek and then pulled him back to the bar to grab their coats.

The night air was cool against his face when he emerged out of the building. He took in the waxing moon and its light on the water before looking down at his butler tugging him in the direction of home.

“Mrs. Wroll will call soon,” he warned as she opened the door.

“I’m sure,” Jaq acknowledged, locking them safely inside. “Go rest those rosy cheeks.”