I peek around the corner. Esmeralda is at her usual post by the door to the parlor, her back to us. The lace ties of her dress look like they’re holding on for dear life in the back. The parlor is mostly full. Working girls perch fetchingly on velvet sofas while mildly inebriated men hang on their every word like lapdogs looking for a treat. Good. They’re all well distracted. I tuck my hair up under my hat. Kiki does the same. That’s about as incognito as we’re going to get.

Pulling my hat down low, I slip through the doorway. No one looks at us twice. Well, no one but a girl by the fireplace. She’s vaguely familiar. Maria or something. Half the girls in here use fake names, so who’s to say if it really is Maria or not. She frowns at me as Kiki and I pass. I put a finger to my lips, and though she looks confused, she nods subtly enough for no one else to notice. I’ve done more than one favor for the girls under Esmeralda’s roof since I left. At this point, I’m probably owed one or two myself.

Sneaking past Esmeralda herself is trickier than swanning through her parlor undetected. No one makes it upstairs without the lady of the house noticing. I pause, back pressed against the upholstered wall. Kiki draws up beside me, her shoulder pressed to mine. She asks the question with her eyes.

Now what?

But then, God himself smiles down on us, providing exactly the answer we need.

“Hey! Get back here!”

A commotion on the street outside draws Esmeralda’s attention. She shuffles from her post at the foot of the stairs to peek outside. Without wasting another second, I tiptoe around the banister and up the stairs, grateful my boots are worn enough to whisper silently over the plush carpeting.

With long strides, I take the stairs in twos until we reach the landing. The hallway stretches out before us, then curves to the right at the end. It’s empty save for a girl I don’t recognizing leaning against the open door next to Rosalita’s room. Rosalita’s door is closed. Not unusual in and of itself but the sight of it triggers something inside me, a thick coiling dread snaking around my ribs like an anaconda. Usually, when she’s in with a man, she leaves a red ribbon tied around the doorknob, signaling to anyone who might come calling that she’s otherwise preoccupied. The doorknob is bare. No ribbon to be seen.

I stride right past the girl, who studies me with barely a passing glance. Kiki keeps an eye on the stairs behind us, just in case Esmeralda or anyone else sees fit to follow us up.

“Rosa,” I call, knocking on the door also as loudly as I dare.

No answer.

I knock again. Wait.

“Rosalita?”

Nothing.