R. Malice
Tony handed the note back to me. “Who does he think he is? You had nothin’ to do with it.”
I gave him a weak smile. My stomach felt queasy. I’d caused that explosion somehow. Hopefully there was no way for Mr. Malice to pin it on me.
“Yeah,” Leo piped in when I stayed silent. “He’s lucky you weren’t hurt.”
“I’m just happy I still have my job,” I said.
Tony put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll help you with the extra tabs, Avery.”
“I help, too,” Geeno added. Leo nodded in agreement.
“No, Mr. Malice told me to do the extra tabs and—”
“Avery,” Tony said. “Us weld rats stick together, remember?” He smirked.
I smiled at the three of them. “Thank you. I’ll divide them up. We can likely finish during lunch.” I wished I could tell them what was going on, but I didn’t know if I could begin to explain it. Besides, they were safer not knowing. I kept thinking about the fear on my mother’s face after she ripped the needle from her vein, the blood puddling onto the floor.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” I pulled out the folded-up paper. “Look what else Mr. Matteo gave me. His crew chipped in for Oscar.” I showed them the banknote.
Tony let out a low whistle. “Hey, what’s this?” He took the piece of folded paper and opened it all the way. It was a printed poster. He and I read it to ourselves while the boys waited for us to tell them what it was.
“It’s nothing,” I said, opening my eyes wide at Tony.
“Yeah—nothing. Just scrap,” he agreed.
I did not want them to know Mr. Matteo had covertly given me a notice announcing a secret meeting of the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers. It was going to be held one evening next week at a warehouse on Wallabout Place. Is he inviting me to attend? I quickly stuffed it back into my pocket. I would never go—the very idea was preposterous. Union unrest could only lead to trouble. If Mr. Malice caught wind of this meeting, I was sure he’d fire every employee involved.
Then, I thought about the pride I’d felt when the men recognized me for standing up to Mr. Malice. Mr. Matteo must really believe in the idea of a union if he was willing to risk his job for it. If enough people joined, the unions would grow strong. What if they were strong enough to make a difference? Would that make it worth the danger?
The boys and I ate at our stations for the next few days, working our way through the extra tabs. I didn’t tell them I was also staying late each night. I couldn’t ask them to do that. But when I left work each evening, I ran home as fast as my injured foot allowed. Being out on the street alone filled me with dread. I was hypersensitive to every movement or sound from behind.
I barely saw my father, as he spent more and more time working in the basement. We exchanged pleasantries when we crossed paths, but his eyes were sunken and faraway. I gnawed at my fingernails. I should never have gone to the Tombs.
When Khan knocked on the door Friday evening, I felt a rush of tension release from my muscles. I hadn’t realized I’d been wound up tighter than a clock spring.
We went up to the roof. Seraphine hopped back and forth on the wall, trying to get Khan’s attention. I winced as I loosened my shoelaces. The top of my foot and side of my ankle had turned black and blue. Thank goodness for the steel in my boot or the horse would surely have crushed my foot.
“Sorry I didn’t come check on you sooner,” Khan said. “I’ve got too many irons in the fire, as they say, and I can only stay a few minutes. Are you all right?”
“No,” I said, “I’m not. It was horrible, running out and leaving my mother there. Khan, all these years I thought she was insane.” I folded my arms over my knees and laid my head on them. “I’ve been so wrong. And my father? He’s still furious—he barely speaks to me.” I held back the tears trying to form in my eyes. Three years she’s suffered in that place. I balled my fists until my nails dug into my palms, the prickle of pain a welcome distraction. “I wish I could talk to her again, Khan. She said she and I are aura seers, healers. I don’t even know what she meant. Dr. Spector must want her because of this, but why?”
Khan shrugged. “I can’t imagine,” he said.
My mother’s words about going to see the Gypsies echoed in my mind. My family used to visit their camp on the twenty-first of June for the Midsummer’s Eve festival, the same night as my birthday. We’d last gone three years ago. After what happened that night and the next, I swore I’d never set foot in the Gypsy camp again. Besides, my father forbade it.
But my mother had told me to go. How could I ignore that? And Oscar was there. I could check on him at the same time. A shiver along my skin reminded me there was someone else at the camp I might see, but I tamped that feeling down, thinking only of Niko.
If Father won’t answer my questions, I decided, I’ll find someone who will.
“Khan, there’s something I didn’t tell you, but it might be important. My mother said I should go see the Gypsies. There is someone there I should talk to.”
“The Gypsies?” His eyes lit up, and a wide grin spread across his face. “I can certainly help you with that, Little Bird. I know the Gypsies well.”
“You do? How is that?”
He laughed. “You’d be surprised at the connections I’ve made. You don’t work for the leading steamboat builder in New York and not meet all kinds of folks.”
“All right, but please don’t mention anything to my father. Tomorrow’s Saturday; he’ll be out late. He won’t even know.” I spoke wildly, grasping at straws. “Maybe the Gypsies can tell us something that will help get my mother out of the Tombs.”
A sinking feeling settled over me as I fiddled with a gear on my necklace. I couldn’t believe I was about to disobey my father again, after angering him so. But this wasn’t happening to him, it was happening to me, and he’d refused to help.
Khan flipped open his pocket watch, then jumped up. He adjusted his hat and held out his hand to pull me up. “I have to go. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
He disappeared into the darkness, leaving me to fetch the lantern.
“Wait,” I called out after a moment. “Tell me how you hid us from the guards!”
But there was no response. I wished I’d asked him before he’d rushed off.
When I got home from work Saturday evening, there was a note on my door. It said,
Meet me at the overlook by Plunder’s Neck at half past seven.—K
Plunder’s Neck. I shuddered. I’d have to go into the marshland. It must be the latest location of the Gypsy camp.
Chapter Eleven
The Gypsies
I followed a path through the forest, thick with pine needles, the sinking sun slanting through the trees. Seraphine clung to the heavy glove that protected me from her razor-sharp talons. My mind drifted to the night three years ago—the last time we went to the Gypsy camp as a family. It’d been much closer to the border of town back then but still had felt a world away. I recalled every detail.
It was my thirteenth birthday and the Midsummer’s Eve festival; the night felt magical. The monstrous bonfire, visible for miles, infused the air with the smoky scent of applewood and laurel. Every breeze held the promise of hot buttered popcorn, wispy sweet spun sugar, or fried cinnamon dough. Revelers and performers alike concealed their faces behind elaborate masks. I wore a green tunic adorned with feathers and leaves, iridescent fairy wings, and a green velvet mask over my eyes.
In one tent, a blindfolded woman in red hurled knives, one after the other, to land—thunk, thunk, thunk—inches from a man she’d pulled from the audience and told to stand very, very still against the wall. My parents were so engrossed in the demonstration they did not see me slip away.
A small tent surrounded by torches caught my eye. I entered quietly, not wanting to disturb the show in progress. A boy in a double-breasted waistcoat and the mask of the Greenman—or was it Shakespeare’s Puck?—faced the crowd. H
e asked a woman to dance for him. She laughed and refused.
But the strangest thing happened. Clearly against her will, she stood and began to dance. Faster and faster she twirled, a stringless marionette. She shrieked. Her husband, presumably, yelled, “Stop this nonsense!” and stomped forward. He raised his fist to punch the boy—but clocked his own jaw instead. He fell onto another man, and a brawl broke out. People backed up to watch or hastened out of the tent.
Amid the commotion, the boy was perfectly still, staring at me. He had thick wavy brown hair and eyes that sparkled behind his mask. I moved toward him, no longer hearing the tumult of shouts and shoving. The only sound was the ticking of my timepiece and my own shallow breath.
When I reached him, he took my hand in his, bowing deeply to press his lips against it. His hair fell across his face, softly brushing my arm. A wave of heat rolled up my neck, and my face felt hot behind my mask.
Still bent over, he looked up at me. His eyes took my breath away: deep blue with flecks of violet, like stars reflected on water, like the kaleidoscope my father made me as a little girl.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his tone playful, “so very long.”
I shook my head, trying to break the spell. “You seemed to be having fun in the meantime—at the expense of others.”
A flicker of amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. He stood. “Today is your birthday, is it not?”
He was taller than me, and he watched me through the lock of hair that fell across his mask. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, so I ignored his question. “What is your trick?” I demanded.
He laughed. I noticed his dimples and perfect teeth. “It is no trick, my lady love.” I realized he still held my hand. He was so close I could smell him, like muskwood and spice and the scent of the bonfire. “I can make you do anything I want,” he said, flashing me a crooked smile.
I pulled my hand away and raised my chin, glad of the mask. “I highly doubt that.”
His smile was taunting and contagious. “I won’t, though,” he said. “If you promise to come back tomorrow night.”
I suddenly felt reckless. “And if I don’t?”
“I will make you kiss me,” he said, leaning closer. “Right now.”
I didn’t know what came over me then. Maybe it was the magic of the night. Or maybe I knew, deep down, that I would probably never see him again. I whispered, mostly to myself, “You can’t make me do something I already want to do.”
I looked up into his face—the smooth skin, wild hair. He had an untamed look about him, and I felt myself drawing closer, lost in the mysterious eyes behind the mask. I felt his breath. As I closed my eyes, his lips pressed gently to mine. His kiss was soft, tentative at first. My pulse quickened. I knew both of us felt a current, like water flowing between us. His mouth became urgent. His hand brushed my neck. Heat coursed through my body. I was on fire. He pulled me closer to him, until I could not tell if it was his heart I felt or mine. They beat in perfect unison.
I let go of the world. But in the next moment, reality came crashing down around me. I heard my father shout, “Avery!” as he burst into the tent.
The crack of a branch underfoot broke off my daydream, but it was one I’d relived often.
The Gypsy camp came into view, its saturation of hues unlike anything in all of New York. The billowy silk tents glowed in the dusky sky, reflecting in the dark waters of Jamaica Bay like magical lanterns. I named the colors in my head—fiery crimson; turquoise pool; dreamy yellow, like the sun encased in gauze. By comparison, my world was gray.
The Gypsies kept to themselves, the Midsummer’s Eve festival and their brief trips into town to sell copperware or tinsmithing services being the exceptions. But it was the Gypsy women who folks journeyed to see. They told fortunes and sold charms. People were both fascinated and terrified by their knowledge.
I looked at my timepiece. Eight o’clock. Damn. Where was he? Khan was never late.
It’d taken me over two hours to get here, first hidden under the hay of a farmer’s wagon, then walking—or rather, limping—the rest of the way, with Seraphine swooping in to keep me company. Brooklyn became a very different place out in its far reaches, a wild place called the Flatlands. Buildings gave way first to rolling hills and farmsteads, and then finally to old-growth forests and marshland that could swallow you whole.
And yet, somehow, I felt safer out here in the desolate dark than in the crowded streets of Manhattan Island, where crow men and street gangs lurked. The only structure I’d passed since I left civilization was the wall of stone surrounding the Cemetery of the Evergreens.
A figure emerged from the mist, his long black coat flowing out behind his broad-shouldered silhouette, unmistakable in his Stetson hat. I set Seraphine free and grinned as she flew straight at Khan, causing him to duck. My little huntress was also a prankster.
“You’re late,” I said.
“Nice to see you, too, Little Bird.”
“Don’t call me that.” But I smiled as I punched his arm.
He pushed me back. “Oh, so now you’re tough! Lucky for you I showed up to save you last Saturday.”
“What?” I huffed. “You’re the one who’s lucky. I was this close”—I held two pinching fingers out in front of his face—“to slitting your throat.”
“Ha!” He laughed, and soon I was laughing, too. He glanced down at the Gypsy camp. “I realized after I sent the note that I should have come to get you. I didn’t think. I’ve had so much on my mind lately.”
“I’ve noticed.” I remembered Khan with the gang of boys in the city.
He rubbed his bristly chin. “Next time we’ll come by boat. It’s just that I was nearby. . . .”
“Never mind. But you have to tell me now—what was that . . . that thing you did?” I thought back to how close the guards had been. “It was like we disappeared!”
“It is just something passed down to me.” He shrugged.
“Your grandmother taught you how to do that?”
“Yes. I suppose it’s like when an animal hides in the forest. You think they’re gone, but they are right in front of you, invisible to your eyes because you do not know how to look.”
I shook my head, not understanding or believing it could be that simple.
Khan put his arms around me. “I’m glad I wasn’t far away,” he said. “Avery, promise me you’ll keep your wits about you. It’s been a week now; have you seen any men in crow masks?”
“No. My father is convinced no one can find us in Vinegar Hill. He doesn’t even have his name on the shop. But Khan, how did you know I was in trouble at the Tombs?”
“You won’t believe it. I happened to look up and I saw Seraphine doing frantic loops over the building. I knew something was wrong.”
“You’re right, that is unbelievable—and lucky.” I dropped my gaze; our boots were touching toe to toe. “Well . . . thank you. You saved my life.”
“It was my pleasure.” He grinned. “Really.”
The way he said it made heat rise to my cheeks. I remembered the feel of his muscular body pressed up against my back, his tattooed bicep rippling under my palm . . . how later I could still smell him on me, sweet, like cloves and earth.
Flustered, I turned away and started toward the camp. “Khan, you never told me what you were doing in the city.”
“We don’t have time for this, Avery,” Khan said, walking by my side. “Do you want to talk to the Gypsies or not?”
“Yes, I do. And I want to see Oscar.”
“Good. I spoke to a Gypsy friend of mine. She’s willing to help you—”
“What?” I stopped walking. “You already told someone? Don’t you think you should have asked me first?” Resentment smoldered under my skin. “Khan, I’ve been agonizing all week about whom to trust. My father would be upset if he knew.”
“Avery, I’m sorry.” Khan let out a long sigh. “I should have asked, but you said you
wanted answers and my friend is something of an expert on visions. You can trust the Gypsies. Your mother told you to come here, for goodness’ sake.”
“Yes, but my father has kept us hidden, all this time, by being careful. I jeopardized that by going to the Tombs without him. I just don’t want to do anything else that will put us in danger.”
“I understand, but your father is also hiding from you. You tell me how he’s always in his workshop or out drinking.”
“You have nerve, saying that.” I took a step back and glared at him. “My father saved your life.”
Khan hung his head. “You’re right. I am indebted to your father. But Avery, you obviously have some kind of rare ability that he can’t help you with. You said this started around your birthday? It’s been four months! I think you’re afraid to embrace what you can do. Instead, you’re letting it control you.”
Khan was right; I did keep things inside. I always had, especially things I was afraid of. I supposed I was like my father in that way.
He cupped my chin gently in his hand, the touch of his fingers on my skin sending flutters down my neck.
He nodded toward the camp. “Are we going to do this or not?”
The colors were even more brilliant up close. A soulful harmonica tune floated by on the breeze, the sound entwined with soft singing in another language, but I couldn’t see anyone in the darkness. The air was thick with the smell of campfires that flickered in the distance, and roasting meat—pig, perhaps. My mouth watered. My father and I’d eaten stewed potatoes and cabbage all week.
“Looks quiet, doesn’t it?” I said.
Khan held up his hand and whispered, “Don’t be fooled. You surprise any one of these folks—men, women, and children alike—you can expect a knife in your throat before you say ‘good evening.’” He cupped his hands to his mouth and made a sound like a whippoorwill, waited, then did it again.
A moment later, a flap lifted in the side of a red tent and a striking girl emerged, holding a kerosene lantern in one hand and a slender cigar in the other, its bright red tip flaring in the dark. Her black dress matched the long hair cascading from under a silk top hat, of the kind men often wore. As she sauntered closer, I noticed she moved with feline grace. I immediately felt awkward.
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