Bordello Dolls by Ellen Ashe

Chapter One
    Some storms rush in, overwhelm the sky with mountainous black clouds, gush wind and rain then vanish as quickly as they came. Others creep along silently, betraying their intensity, masking it in silence until the weary traveller is caught in a sudden onslaught, doomed.
    And then some are merely gentle, welcoming, almost passionate, suggestive in a mysterious way, as though they were quietly predicting that something unnatural was about to happen.
    These gentle storms were the ones Scarlet had come to fear the most. She knew that somehow, these temperate changes in the air are deeply rooted and can thwart the thin perception we call reality.
    These changes heightened the human psyche. Scarlet had eyes to see.
    Summer nights were not wholly dark. The heat seemed to radiate its own glow, and for two weeks in July, that heat, even during the early hours of the morning, was predictably relentless. Try as she might to prepare, the offence always took her by surprise. Not even the soft whirl of a fan could cool her restlessness so she rose, slipped on her dress and sandals and went for a walk along the city streets, searching for an elusive cool breeze that might rush out to greet her from an alley.
    By nature, Scarlet was a cautious person. She never took unnecessary chances. Not because any great tragedy had taught her a valuable lessons but because she relied securely on what many would call a ‘sixth sense’. Some faces, regardless of the smile, warned her of danger so she walked away. Some places felt wrong, so she avoided them and of course, she was not one to wander out into a city street during the early morning hours when predators might lurk in shadows, watching intently for their next victim.
    But this night the air hung heavy with the smell of rain. There was the perception of serenity. A storm slowly approached and with it was the comfort of quiet. She could walk leisurely without being anxious until the sky broke. And she could sort through her thoughts without interruption.
    Nights, despite their twilight heat, had recently brought a darkness of doubt to her. Uncertainty was a guest she didn’t wish to entertain but one that made itself comfortable with her anyway. The faithful—those who believed or wanted to believe in powers greater than themselves—came to her seeking answers to the unknown. As an advisor, Scarlet drew out her Guides, putting together what was past, what was relevant in the present and forming the best direction for her clients to take for the future. Not all paths were without predators or storms, so as gently as possible she would warn her anxious listeners of dangers that lay ahead, directions that were good choices, and dreams to cling to. Due to the accuracy of her results, word of mouth had spread, and visitors, the expectant and curious alike, to her small parlour doubled. Scarlet Boujois’s name had become fashionable. She had shown many the powers greater than themselves were worth searching for.
    But with the increased fame, she felt stretched, at times overwhelmed, that her own spirit was being squeezed and smothered. Clients and their pain crowded into her mind. She had no peace. She was restless, nearing panic driven, and in need of rejuvenation.
    Another reason she strolled the streets during the dead of night, the calm before a storm—it was then the gentle voices were the clearest. And freedom was a mere heartbeat away.
    Suddenly she was rewarded with the flutter of fresh cool air. Scarlet stopped, and sighed to the luxury of it. Without realising she had done so, she had even lifted her arms to embrace its pleasures. Fickle creature that it was, however, no sooner had she sensed its tease against her flesh then it was gone.
    She turned, reminiscing about the sensation of cool delight as the heat again swathed her. There, at the end of the alley, a door was ajar. Yellow light bathed the street, the perimeter clearly defined between it and the darkness on the