by Sarah Zettel
“It’s all set,” Jack said. “Mrs. LeRoux, the porter will come knock when the rest of the passengers have cleared out and help you with Mr. LeRoux. Callie can come on ahead with me to scope out the station.” The look Jack gave me then hushed my questions. “We’ll meet you both on the platform.”
The platform was a stretch of concrete in a long shed made of iron girders and frosted glass. The smell of diesel and hot metal filled the air and the platform itself was filled to the brim with passengers and porters trying to sort out who needed to be where. I glanced around, half afraid to open my magic senses, but more afraid not to. But when I did, all I felt was the tumult of the human beings surrounding us. I tried to stretch my awareness out, but I kept running into the blocking iron—in the trains, in the support beams and girders that held up the shed around us and framed the glass panels in its roof. This place wouldn’t give Papa much of a break.
Jack pulled me away from the train, toward a big marble archway I guessed led to the main station. With his usual instinct for navigating a crowd, he found what seemed to be the single empty spot near the wall.
Jack faced me. “Callie, there’s something I need you to do.”
“What?” Jack seemed anxious, which was not normal for him. I wondered for a second if it had something to do with being in Chicago. Jack had been born here, but he’d run away from his bootlegging family years before he’d met me. I could imagine all kinds of reasons he might not be so glad to be back.
Turns out I was wrong again. “I want you to fix my eyes so I can see fairies, like you can,” said Jack.
My first reaction was to tell him to keep his voice down. Then I realized nobody in the crowd could hear us. With the clash of voices, steam whistles, and train brakes, we could have planned a bank job without anybody hearing a word.
“Oh, Jack, I don’t know.” Everything Papa said about fairies sucking the life out of human beings came flooding back. “What if I get it wrong? I could make you go blind, or worse.”
“Then we’ll just wish me back the way I was,” Jack said breezily.
Somehow I didn’t think it’d be that simple, but I didn’t say so. Not that Jack gave me time to.
“Come on, Callie, you gotta. The Seelies have been one step ahead of us the whole way. They’re waiting for us around here somewhere, and they’ll be in New York too. If we can both see the magic it’ll be that much harder for them to sneak up on us.”
I really hated to admit it, but he had a point. I wasn’t going to be able to watch all directions at once and if the Seelies weren’t here now, they would be soon. Heck, it might even be the Unseelies. Uncle Shake knew where I was, and who I was with. It wasn’t going to take a whole lot of work for him to figure out where I was going.
“Okay.” I tried to summon my nerve. Then I tried to figure out how I could do what Jack asked. “You’d better … you’d better bend down.”
Jack brought his face level with mine. He smelled like coffee and Pepsodent. I laid my hands over his eyes. Touching him did not help me think straight. Instead, the warmth of his skin under my palms brought on butterflies in all kinds of new places. Especially when his breath touched my cheek. I needed to get past this. One thing I did know about magic was that if you didn’t concentrate while you worked, you could really mess up. The idea of hurting Jack stuck straight into my heart, and twisted. That sure didn’t help the whole thinking-straight situation any.
“Should I wish?” Jack asked. “Or sing something? Close your eyes.” He started warbling a tune we’d heard on the radio coming in. “When you open them, dear, I’ll be here by your side. Close your eyes.…”
I giggled, more than a tiny bit nervously, and he chuckled. Jack’s voice resonated through my fingers and that shared laughter was just what I needed.
Magic is warm when it’s working, and comfortable. It also has this nasty tendency to stop me from thinking clearly and make me believe I can take on the world with one hand tied behind my back. But right then my worries were more than enough to keep my head clear. I caught the feel of Jack’s laughter up and swirled it around and shaped it into light. Then I let that light flow into Jack’s clever eyes.
See clear, I wished for him. See true. No magic can fool your eyes now, Jack Holland, Jacob Hollander, and not ever again.
I closed off the magic, bit my lip, and lowered my hands slowly. Jack’s eyes hadn’t changed, except maybe they were a tiny bit brighter, and maybe a tiny bit bluer. Or maybe that was just because we were standing so close together. I wasn’t even touching him anymore and I could still feel how warm he was.
“Well?” I asked. “Did it work?”
Jack squinted around over my head. “Hard to tell. Nothing looks different.” He flashed a grin. “That’s probably a good thing.”
“How about me? Do I look any different?” I was part magic, after all.
Jack tilted his head a little sideways, considering this, and my cheeks started to burn.
“No,” he said softly. “You look just like you should, Callie.” He raised one hand and ran his fingertips down my braid, where it lay against my shoulder.
Those butterflies changed into woodpeckers, and they all started drumming against my heart. I might not have looked different, but he did, as if he was seeing something new, and he liked it. I would have given everything I had to stand there forever and have Jack look at me just like that. But as much as I wanted that, part of me was shouting I wasn’t ready. Why’d this have to happen now, anyway? We were on the run and we were going to stay that way for who knew how long. Plus, my parents were going to be out here any second now.
It was right then, in fact, that I saw Mama step off the Golden State Limited. Mr. Jones, the porter, all but handed Papa down the steps to her. Papa sagged hard against Mama and she half supported, half dragged him away from the train.
“We gotta get over and help.” I was saying the words, but they seemed to be coming from a long ways away.
“Yeah.” Jack lifted his hand away from my braid, and curled his fingers under before he stuffed his hand back in his pocket. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Jack followed me to my parents, keeping close the whole way.
The grand hall of LaSalle Street Station was the biggest place I’d ever been and still been indoors. Its glass skylight opened about fifteen stories overhead, bringing sunlight down into a great hall decked out in creamy beige marble and gold trim. Rows of wooden benches stretched down the center, like pews in the God Almighty grandest church ever. On the one side of the hall were shops where you could buy magazines, tobacco, candy—anything you’d need for your trip, really. There were sandwich shops too, where people stood elbow to elbow around little tables to eat their lunch, drink their coffee, and fill the air with a swirling fog of cigarette smoke. On the other side, would-be passengers lined up at about a dozen different windows where men in peaked hats and blue coats could sell a person tickets to anywhere from Milwaukee to Timbuktu. Voices on the loudspeakers announced trains. At least, I thought they did. There were so many other voices echoing through that huge marble hall, I couldn’t understand a word any of them said.
Jack and I walked ahead of my parents, clearing a way through the shifting crowd as best we could. Mama struggled to keep Papa upright and keep pace, the whole time staring around that overflowing railway hall like a lost kid. I found myself wondering if she’d ever even been out of Slow Run in her life, and then wondering why I’d never thought to ask before.
“See anything?” Jack bawled in my ear.
“Nothing,” I bawled back. “You?”
Before Jack could answer, the doors to the street flapped open and a flock of boys in knickerbockers and flat caps charged straight through, newspapers under their arms and held high over their heads.
“Extra! Extra!” they shouted. “Special edition! Ivy Bright vanishes! Get it while it’s hot!” The boys spread out through the crowd, ragged brown sparrows among the ghost-gray businessmen and ladyb
ird travelers, who all handed over their nickels and dimes to grab up that special edition: “BRIGHTEST LITTLE STAR VANISHES FROM MGM STUDIOS! POLICE BAFFLED! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!”
My stomach twisted up and the memory hit so hard and sudden I was almost sick. Ivy Bright was gone. She’d been the most famous girl in the country, right after Shirley Temple. Of course the papers would have the story. But she wasn’t gone where the police would ever find her. My hands shook, and my knees were getting in on the act too.
Jack, of course, saw the tight, sick look that scrunched up my face. “It’ll be okay, Callie.” He moved even closer, as if the newsboys’ shouts were a storm wind he could shield me from.
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” I didn’t believe him. Just the same, I knew I had to pull my head out of those bad memories. But it was slow going, and I was getting stuck on dumb little details. “How come they’re saying she’s vanished? They’ve got to know …” That she was dead. That she was shot. I remembered the weight of the pistol in my hand, the noise and the kick in my arm and my shoulder as it fired.
Jack cut me off before my babble could really get going. “There’s a whole department at the movie studio with the job of putting out the news the way they want it. Probably saying she disappeared off the back lot is better than saying how she was found up at the Hearst mansion. He wouldn’t want the police sniffing around there. Especially with … everything.” Mr. Hearst had made some kind of deal with the Seelie king. I didn’t understand it, but I did know that the king sometimes lived in Mr. Hearst’s house. Sometimes, the king lived under his skin.
“Look, let’s sit down.” Jack was pointing at the nearest bench.
I nodded. I told myself I couldn’t worry about what the papers were saying, or what anybody thought happened. There were more than enough things to worry about right here at hand. This didn’t help a whole lot, but it got my head far enough back in the present that I could help Mama ease Papa onto the bench. After a couple of hard breaths, he managed to sit himself up straight. He patted Mama’s hand and gave her a smile as he remembered to adjust his fedora to hide his eyes. Mama smiled back, tired and glad, her deep blue eyes bright despite their bags and dark rings. I looked around quick to see if anyone was taking special notice of our mixed bag of a family, but nobody did, not that I could see anyhow. An ache made up of equal parts hope and worry took up residence low in my throat.
“Callie, honey,” said Mama. “I’m going to use the powder room. You wait here.”
“No, Mama, I’ll come with you.” There was no way I was letting her out of my sight, not with who-knew-what-kind of fairies out there looking for us. Besides, it’d get me away from all the shouting newsies for at least a couple minutes. “Jack can stay with Papa.”
Mama looked like she wanted to protest, but instead, she pulled her manners and deportment over her and marched into the crowd. I followed, trying not to listen to the newsboys, or see the headlines on the papers people were holding up in front of their faces. I didn’t have much luck, but I did try.
The powder room was as full as any other part of the station, with women going in and out of the stalls or standing in front of the sinks to wash their hands and fix their lipstick. Mama shut herself into a stall while I waited for a turn at the sink. When I got there, I filled my cupped hands with cold water, slapped my face down into it, and stayed there until I needed to breathe again. When I finally lifted my face, the mirror showed my reflection with water running down my hollow cheeks where my face had pulled itself tight around my bones.
It’ll be all right, I told my reflection. Just gotta give it time. Just gotta hold it together until we get to New York.
But why was what happened to Ivy coming back now? I tried to tell myself it was just the news. It was nothing personal, like my bad luck hard at work again. But I didn’t believe that. I felt wrong, like there were eyes watching me out of the dark. I grit my teeth and shook the water off my hands, looking for a towel.
Calliope.
Movement in the mirror caught my eye and I whipped myself back around.
Hear me, Calliope. You must hear me.
Under the reflection of that marble room with the women putting on their red lipstick and adjusting their hats, there was another reflection. It was a room all decked out in jewels and silks, rich as a pirate’s cave. But there was something wrong with it, like it had been broken and put back together badly. I squinted. Then I stared, because in the middle of that shattered room, there was a ghost. A woman, as broken as the room around her. She looked as if she was made of obsidian and diamonds, and I knew her.
Granddaughter, you must hear me.
The shattered image of my grandmother, the queen of the Midnight Throne, crouched in the middle of that broken room. Why hadn’t I thought about this? If we could see in to them through the reflections, they could see out to us. She’d done it before.
Grandmother stretched out her hand, trying to reach right through the glass. I jumped back.
Callie! Her voice rang in my head. Granddaughter, run! Your father … Help us.… The reflection shuddered and it twisted. He’s here. He’s come back.
“Mama!” I shouted. The women at the sinks turned to stare, but I didn’t bother about them.
Mama came out of the stall, questions plain on her face. I didn’t bother about those either. I grabbed her hand and dragged her out of there. “They found us.”
7
Hellhound on My Trail
Mama caught my elbow up in hers, linking us tight together as we burst out of the powder room. Despite her high-heeled shoes, she broke into a run, and after a couple hobbling steps, I caught her stride. We barged through that train-station crowd, right up to the bench where Jack and Papa were sitting. Jack was white as a ghost, but Papa was on his feet, filled with a desperate energy. It was all but crackling out of the ends of his fingers.
“Something’s happening,” said Papa to me. “Something’s gone wrong.”
I nodded and Jack cussed hard. “I’ll go find out what platform the train’s leaving from.” He put on his hardened hobo-kid face as fast as Mama pulled on her manners and shouldered his way toward the ticket windows.
“Where are you?” I moved close to my parents, trying to see in every direction at once. “Come on, I know you’re here.”
But it seemed like everybody was holding a paper in front of them. Either that or they had their hats pulled down. I couldn’t get a good look at anybody, and I couldn’t feel anything clearly because I was buried by my own fear.
“Uh-oh,” breathed Papa. I whipped around and saw what he was looking at. Jack had made it up to a ticket window. He was waving his hands at a man in a blue coat and black cap. In response, the man shook his head.
I slid my elbow out of Mama’s grip and pushed her toward Papa. I didn’t wait to hear what either of them had to say about it. I just ducked into the stream of people and threaded my way toward Jack.
“Sorry, sonny, but there’s nothing I can do.” The uniformed man was handing our tickets to Jack when I got there. He was a white man with a blotchy red face and a brass badge that read PAULSON.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, trying to sound all worried and little-girlish. It didn’t take much pretending.
“Oh, there you are, sis.” Jack’s voice strained at the edges, and he rubbed the corner of one eye. My mouth went dry. “Seems there’s a misunderstanding about the tickets.”
Mr. Paulson pushed his cap back and sighed. I eased my magic open another notch. Enchantment lay like a bandage over the ticket man’s eyes. Jack met my gaze and nodded. He saw it too.
“Like I was telling this young man, these ain’t for the Limited.” Mr. Paulson handed Jack the tickets, long strips of paper that we’d already had punched four or five different times as we crossed the state lines. His wrinkly forehead was shiny with sweat and I could feel him wishing for a drink from the bottle back in his desk. “These are for the Union Pacific. I’m sorry, sonny, you�
��re a”—he consulted his pocket watch—“half hour late on this.”
Anger can clear your brain faster than any other feeling. Someone didn’t want us to make that train. Someone wanted to trap us here. I yanked the tickets out of Mr. Paulson’s hands.
“Oh, Jack! Silly! You’ve got the wrong ones!” I dug into my handbag. Inside myself, I pictured that bandage lifting off Mr. Paulson’s eyes. I thought hard toward him that the sooner he saw what I needed him to see, the sooner he’d get that drink he wanted. Then I handed him back those same tickets he’d gotten from Jack.
Mr. Paulson looked at them again, but this time he was all smiles. “Ah, there now. These are the Limited tickets. Trust a little lady to have it all organized.” He beamed at me. “Platform twenty-six, but you’d better hurry now. Train’s leaving in”—he looked at his watch again—“twenty minutes.”
“Thank you!” I grabbed Jack’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Jack made a beeline through the crush toward the benches, with me all but pushing him from behind. I wanted to hurry. Heck, I wanted to break the record on the forty-yard dash, but a new train must have just got in or something, because all of a sudden that huge hall was overflowing with people. Our “excuse me’s” tumbled over each other as we tried to find a way between the men in their summer suits, the ladies in their skirts and hats, and all the little kids being dragged this way and that by impatient parents. Their voices filled my head and their feelings pulled at my concentration.
A sharp bark cut through the crowd’s noise, and the backs and shoulders in front of me shifted and parted. A thin, old woman wearing a white suit and a diamond pin in her hat staggered forward, struggling to keep hold of the red leashes for six—maybe even eight—poodles, all white, all different sizes from a fluffy toy to one about as big as a woolly sheep. With my magic open, my gaze dragged itself toward them and warning bells sounded loud inside me. That lady with her poodles was the fairy kind, and those dogs were pulling her straight for my parents.