Steven sucked in a breath, the next words out of his mouth somehow the truth. “Strange though it may sound, we need your help.”
“My help?” Magdalene’s lips parted in a mischievous smile, a lone eyebrow raised in question. “And what precisely is it you think I have to offer?”
“That’s,” Steven stammered, “a bit hard to define.”
Grey and Zed had each, directly or indirectly, helped them along their way by simple virtue of their knowledge of crossings and the intricate workings of their respective mystical artifacts. Whatever this “Magdalene Byrne” of 1936 might be, immortal wizard and purveyor of an eternal Game of good versus evil, she was not.
“Miss Byrne.” Milo’s dull gaze shifted from Steven to Lena and back. “Sorry to interrupt, but shouldn’t we be having this conversation in a bit more secluded location?”
Magdalene retreated a step, taking a moment to glance up at the darkening sky. “Ever the careful one, Milo. I suppose that’s why I keep you around.” She spun on one heel and proceeded down the alley. “Bring them.”
Shoved forward perhaps a bit harder than Milo intended, Steven and Lena shared a conflicted glance before following the woman in green. Milo shuffled along behind them, the potent mix of cologne and cigar wafting off him all but pushing them down the pebble sidewalk. Another block passed beneath their feet before Magdalene stopped at a set of stairs leading down into darkness.
“Be it ever so humble, eh, Milo?”
“You know it, Miss Byrne.”
Magdalene disappeared down the shadowy subterranean stairwell. Steven’s every instinct screamed for him to run, but the return of Milo’s vice-like grip to his shoulder drove all such foolishness from his mind.
“Down the steps. Both of you.”
Steven obeyed the grunted command without question and crept down the dimly lit stairs with Lena at his side.
“Don’t worry, Lena,” he whispered. “Just follow my lead. I’ll get us out of this.”
The girl nodded bravely, but a flash of fear in her eyes reminded Steven yet again that no matter how much of a fighter the girl next to him had proven to be, she was still just that: a sixteen-year-old girl.
At the bottom of the stairs, Magdalene stood before a black door. She rapped twice and then twice again. A few seconds passed before a small window at eye height slid open.
“It’s us, Jimmy.” Magdalene shot a dithering glance back at Steven and Lena. “And we have guests.”
The eyes behind the window flicked in Steven’s direction and then the window slid shut. The trio of deadbolt locks clacked in sequence, and the door opened on a dazzling vision, far from the dismal dungeon Steven expected to lie across the threshold.
Low tables lit by candlelight stretched in every direction, all surrounding a half-moon-shaped raised platform at the far end of the room. Atop the stage, a grand piano shone beneath a lone spotlight beside a metal stand holding one of those bottle microphones from all the old black-and-white movies. Three chairs on the opposite end of the stage sat paired with trumpet, trombone, and clarinet. Empty except for the four of them and the man Magdalene had called Jimmy, the space appeared ready for an evening of revelry.
Unlike Milo, who looked very much like a shaved gorilla in a rumpled suit, Jimmy appeared very much a gentleman’s gentleman. A muscular chest and arms filled out a short black tuxedo complete with spats atop highly shined shoes. A pencil-thin mustache decorated a scarred upper lip, the scar made all the more prominent by the man’s pursed lips.
“And who exactly are these two ragamuffins?” he asked.
Magdalene sighed. “The girl is the one I told you about who’s been tailing me after work every couple of days.” She gave Steven an appraising look. “Tall, dark, and almost handsome here, however, is new to me.” The hint of flirtation in her gaze went cold. “He was with the girl, though, so he’s fair game.”
And…right back where I started. Steven worked to keep any emotion, fear or otherwise, from his face. Being chatted up by the Black Queen at a night club in Chicago. A quiet groan escaped his lips. Where this Game is concerned, history does tend to repeat itself a bit.
“Fair game, huh?” Lena crossed her arms, sheer defiance driving the fear from her gaze. “And what exactly do you plan to do with us?”
“Lena.” Steven grasped her arm just above the elbow. “Let’s don’t—”
“Listen, girlie,” Magdalene spat, cutting Steven off mid-sentence. “I’m not sure what you think is happening here, but I recommend you watch your mouth.”
“And if I don’t?”’
“Lena.” Steven squeezed, gently. His young friend was clearly scared, but, unfortunately, not quite scared enough. “Stop.”
“On the contrary, Steven.” Magdalene laughed. “Let the girl dig her own grave.”
Jimmy checked his watch. “This joint opens in a couple hours, Mags. You think we can wrap this up?”
She bristled at the diminutive of her name. “How many times must I remind you, Jimmy? My name is Magdalene.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jimmy let out a solitary chuckle. “Star of the show in every way that counts, right?”
Her eyes drew down to slits. “And don’t you forget it.”
Another set of double knocks at the door drew all their attention and, for some reason, elicited a flurry of metallic wings at Steven’s chest.
“Expecting someone, Jimmy?” Magdalene asked.
Jimmy inclined his head in the direction of the door. “Milo, go see who it is.”
Milo peered out through the sliding door window. “Huh. It’s a bunch of old dames.”
“Ah. The cleaning ladies.” Jimmy again checked his watch. “They were due hours ago. Had to do most of the heavy lifting myself.”
“Should I let them in?” Milo asked.
Jimmy strode over and peeked out himself. “Looks like the usual crew. Let them in.”
Milo unlocked the trio of deadbolts and ushered in the quartet of women, all well into their seventh decade. A plump Latino woman led the way, followed by a slender black matron with hair the color of a snowy sky, an Asian woman whose unwrinkled face didn’t match the wisdom in her gaze, and a freckled Irish lady whose hair still retained the red of her youth.
That’s going to be Audrey someday. Steven’s fingernails dug into his palms. But not if Magdalene ends us right here in 1936. His eyes slid shut. How could I have underestimated, of all people, the Black Queen of this stupid Game?
Jimmy pulled the four women aside to discuss what remained to be done to get the club ready for the evening, leaving Steven and Lena with Magdalene and the hairless ape who served as her bodyguard.
“So,” Magdalene whispered, “whatever shall we do with the two of you?” She pursed her lips in concentration. “It’s clear you know more about me than the fine people down at Pioneer Trust & Savings.” Her gaze flicked back and forth between Steven and Lena, her green eyes as cold as the Arctic. “I have no idea what it is you believe about me or how you may have come to be in possession of such knowledge, but I really don’t like having people nosing around in my life.” Her voice dropped a few decibels. “Not now.”
Steven stepped in front of Lena. “Look, clearly we made a mistake seeking you out. Let us go in peace and you’ll never see either of our faces again.”
At least…not for another few decades.
“Please.” Lena’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m…so sorry I bothered you.”
“Yes.” Steven couldn’t guess how much the feigned apology cost Lena. “We’re sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Magdalene chuckled. “That and a nickel will buy you exactly nothing in this town.” She pulled in a full breath, straightening up and drawing her shoulders back proudly. “You mess with Franco Abbadelli’s girl, you don’t just walk away scot-free.”
“Someone say my name?” The voice, colored with more than its fair share of Italian overtones, echoed from the far end of the room. There, framed by a
n open doorway, stood a man with tawny skin and chestnut hair slicked back and glistening in the low light of the room. His white tuxedo shirt lay unbuttoned halfway down his chest while his black pants, impeccably pressed, just brushed the tops of his highly shined black wingtips.
Magdalene’s face broke into a beaming smile. She made a beeline straight across the room for the strikingly handsome man who in turn swept her into a passionate kiss. Steven and Lena both looked away, and even Jimmy and Milo found other places to focus their attention during the half-minute spectacle.
When they were done, Abbadelli cast an appraising look in Steven and Lena’s direction.
“And who, my darling, might our new friends be?”
Magdalene squeezed Abbadelli’s hand. “This ‘Lena Cervantes’ is the girl I’ve been telling you about who’s been tacking herself on to the end of my shadows the last few weeks after work.” Her dismissive stare fell upon Steven. “And her friend, Mr. ‘Bauer’ here, chose a particularly unfortunate day to tag along.”
“Truly unfortunate, indeed.” Abbadelli shifted his gaze to a point across Steven’s shoulder. “Milo, take them out back.” He turned and disappeared back through the door with Magdalene a step behind. “You know what to do.”
“You got it, boss.”
A second later, Abbadelli poked his head back into the room. “Know what? I’m feeling merciful. Let the girl stay.” He ogled Lena from across the room. “I’m sure we can find a use for someone with her obvious talents.”
“But, Franco—” Magdalene began, her words cut off by a squeeze of her fingers that nearly took her to her knees.
“My club, sweetheart.” Abbadelli released her hand. “My rules.”
“Yes, Franco.” The two words, barely a whisper, represented the most vulnerable Steven had ever seen the woman standing before him. “Of course.”
“And what about him?” Milo directed a fat thumb in Steven’s direction. “The usual?”
“He looks pretty resilient.” Abbadelli steepled his fingers below his chin and smiled. “Use your imagination.”
27
Mobsters & Molotov Cocktails
The alleyway behind Franco Abbadelli’s night club sat empty save for a small dumpster, a pair of rickety metal chairs, and a half-starved cat that regarded Steven as if he might be on the menu for later. Milo threw Steven to the cold cobblestone wet with melted ice.
“You know, Mr. Abbadelli said to be creative, but if you want to know the truth, I don’t enjoy this part of the job all that much.” He cracked his knuckles. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m all about quick and painless.”
Boy, are you in the wrong field. “You could always let me go.”
Milo laughed. “I said I didn’t enjoy my job at times, not that I wasn’t good at it.”
Steven pulled himself up, his confidence swelling with his feet again firmly planted on the ground. Studying Milo’s massive form, he guessed the man outweighed him by a good hundred pounds. No way he was winning that fight. Trying to outrun him was an option, but he had a nasty feeling the mob enforcer was quicker than he looked.
“Maybe we can make a deal. You tell Abbadelli I’m finished, and you’ll never see me again. I can pay—”
“Stop.” Milo groaned in exasperation. “Look. Even if you had the money to pay me better than Mr. Abbadelli, you’re crazy if you think I’d betray the boss. He’s one of the most powerful men in Chicago, period. He wants you dead, you die.” Milo pulled a snub-nosed handgun from inside his coat and directed the business end at Steven’s chest. “Case in point.”
“Wait.” Steven raised both hands before him. “There’s something you don’t know.” Audrey’s face filled his mind’s eye. “There’s a girl.”
Milo shook his head, never taking his eyes or the gun off Steven. “Isn’t there always?”
“She’s sick.” Steven took a breath. “I mean, real sick. If you don’t let me out of here, she’s going to die.”
“So, you’re keeping two little chickadees. One sick at home as well as the girl in the club.” Milo’s lips spread in a knowing grin. “A man after my own heart.”
Heat rose in Steven’s cheeks, even as his hands balled into fists at his sides. “You don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know what? You’re right.” Milo dropped another iron grip on Steven’s shoulder and forced him to his knees. “We didn’t come out here to talk.” He stepped around Steven and pressed the barrel of his pistol into the back of his head. “Any last words before I—”
A loud thunk echoed in the space, cutting short the mobster’s question. The cool metal at the back of Steven’s head fell away, and a moment later, the ground all but shook as Milo’s massive form crumpled to the ground. The man’s skull remained mercifully spared from the cruel cobblestone at their feet, his shoulder taking the brunt of the fall.
Steven craned his head around, unsure of who or what he might see. A friendly face brought a wave of relief.
“Emilio.” He allowed himself to breathe again. “Thank God.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Emilio’s hand, still holding the section of now-bent pipe that took Milo down, shook like a leaf in a hurricane. “We barely made it here in time.”
Niklaus stepped from behind the dumpster where Emilio must have hidden moments before. “You didn’t think we’d let you get taken out by a gorilla in a cheap suit, did you?”
“But how the hell did you two even know where to look for us?” Steven glanced in the direction of the door leading back into the club. “We only just made it here ourselves.”
“Another letter, just like the one Lena received weeks ago. Same handwriting and everything.”
Before Steven could spare the revelation another thought, Emilio reminded them all they had a more pressing concern.
“Lena.” Emilio let the pipe drop to the ground and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a second, Emilio.” Steven caught him by the arm. “You go in there half-cocked, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“And Lena, too,” Niklaus added.
Emilio resisted for a couple of seconds and then stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Fine.” He shook Steven’s grip from the sleeve of his coat. “What’s the play, fearless leader?”
Steven considered for a moment. “The guy who owns this place, not to mention sent me and Milo there out here to have our little talk, decided five minutes ago to spare Lena’s life. Considering the man’s line of work, it isn’t likely his reason for doing so is anything any of us would like to consider. For the moment, though, Lena is alive, and we can work with that.”
“And Magdalene?” Niklaus asked.
“She’s in there. The big guy’s moll, it would appear.”
Niklaus strode over to the door. “So all that stands between us and Lena is this poor man’s Al Capone and his little woman?”
Steven gestured to Emilio’s discarded weapon. “And however many gangsters he has in his employ, each of them most likely armed with more than a lead pipe.”
“We’ve faced worse odds.” Emilio retrieved Milo’s pistol. “Come on, Steven. Time’s wasting.”
Steven cast his mind back a few minutes, recreating a map of his forced exodus from the dining room of Abbadelli’s club to the frigid alleyway behind the building: The kitchen, filled with white-hatted cooks, sous-chefs, and wait staff. The dark hallway that connected to the stairs leading up to street level. The sign on the small door they passed just before Milo had dragged him up those very stairs and out into the cold.
“Hold on.” Steven narrowed his eyes at the door leading back into the club. “Unless I’m way off base here, I have an idea.”
“You’re going to get us all killed.” Emilio stood watch at the corner of the hall while Steven worked to pick the lock on a small door marked with an admonition against smoking in the next room. “You know that?”
“What do you think they hav
e in there?” Niklaus asked.
“Something too flammable to let anyone light up.” The lock turned with a triple click and Steven opened the door. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
“How’d you learn to do that?” Niklaus asked as he followed Steven into the dim hallway beyond the door.
“When I was a kid, there was a year or two where I became obsessed with escape artists. Read everything the library had on Houdini and the like. Wanted to prove I could do everything those guys could. I even saved up and bought myself a set of lockpicks along with some handcuffs, padlocks, and the like. I practiced till I could get myself out of pretty much any room in the house.” Steven shook his head. “Never dreamed I’d be calling on those skills again.”
“None of us dreamed any of this would happen.” Emilio pushed past Steven and into the darkened storage room. “Let’s get to work.”
The three of them split up, each taking one of the three narrow aisles beyond the door. Shelf after shelf of canned tomato paste, olive oil, and other ingredients were all that Steven found. Niklaus similarly reported bins of fresh vegetables and various spices. It wasn’t until Emilio’s whispered “jackpot” that Steven allowed himself a moment of hope.
“What did you find?” He joined Emilio at the room’s back corner.
“Something we can use?” Niklaus asked, joining them a moment later.
“Just this.” Emilio held up a pair of bottles of liquor labeled Rhum Caïman. “Highest alcohol content this side of Everclear.”
Steven cocked his head to one side. “And what do you know about Everclear?”
“Don’t worry.” Emilio worked at the foil at the top of the bottle. “I didn’t start drinking till I hit 1890 with my favorite whiskey-slinging priest, but trust me…” A sad smile spread across Emilio’s features. “With a brother like Carlos Cruz, I inherited more than a passing knowledge of the wonderful world of alcohol.”
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