Sam will pay. And we will find Fagin.
That was the message from Oliver that Sam had intercepted, the one that scared him bad enough to make him hide his brother’s phone to show his parents. Only Quinn had left before they got home. Left for good.
Every other text on the phone had been deleted, except for the one Quinn had sent to Oliver half an hour earlier.
It won’t do you any good to go after Sam.
I won’t help you open the portal.
You can’t have the letter. You can’t have me.
I plugged Oliver’s number into my own address book so I’d know it if he called. Checked Quinn’s email folder. Cursed when it came up empty. Melvin gave me the evil eye.
“Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t. Quinn had scrubbed his phone clean. No mail, no other texts. But thanks to Sam, I knew the Children of Iblis were after Solomon’s ring, Abbi’s Shubaak, and a rich guy named George Fagin.
It was a start.
I switched to the computer and ran a search. Thousands of hits came back for the name George Fagin, but the more I went through them, the more I knew there was a whole lot of nothing there. Reclusive. Elusive. Mysterious. Those words showed up a lot. Billionaire, too. George Fagin didn’t give interviews and wouldn’t communicate directly with the press. Hell, he’d never even been seen. From what I could tell, the guy was a pro at three things: making money, giving it away, and keeping the whole wide world from finding out a damned thing about him.
No matter how many newspaper articles and bits of gossip column trash I read, each hit seemed to say less than the one before it. My eyes got so bleary I could barely see. One more, I thought, clicking on a link that read REWARD FOR FAGIN.
The page loaded.
A long whistle slipped through my teeth before I could stop it. Melvin looked ready to pass a kitten. “Shh!” he hissed.
Black words stood out against the screen’s bloodred background.
FIND GEORGE FAGIN
MILLION DOLLAR REWARD
Underneath that was a thick-lined image of Solomon’s knot, and, at the bottom of the page, in smaller letters:
The Children of Iblis
“Melvin,” I said, “if I were a millionaire, would you run away to Bali with me?”
Melvin put his book down and gave me his scariest librarian glare.
I told him I’d thought that was what he’d say.
He scowled. I got up.
“It’s your call, Mel, but you’ll be sorry when all you have to remember me by is a postcard.”
He scowled some more.
I smiled, blew him a kiss, and walked out, thinking what a good thing we had, Melvin and me. It was simple. Straightforward. Easy. And nothing—nothing at all—like the complicated world outside the library doors.
Out on the street, the wind had picked up, and Decker was on my mind. I hadn’t called or texted since the night before, because I wanted him keeping track of me like I wanted a fresh paper cut. But it had been a hard day, and I needed him, needed to feel his voice, not just hear it. To breathe in the soap and spice smells of him. For that, a phone call wouldn’t do.
I hoofed a circle two blocks wide around the Laundromat in case my tails were still there and headed north to the Rubicon. Deck usually worked the dinner shift on Sundays. With any luck, things would be busy enough for me to slip into the kitchen unnoticed. Just thinking about being next to him in the warm, tight space was enough to nudge me into a jog.
But when I got there and saw the General sitting in a room full of empty tables, I knew straight off that luck wasn’t doing me any favors that night. The General looked up from his meal, the one Delilah fed him every Sunday for free, and gave me a cheery wave through the window.
“Hey, General,” I said, pushing open the door. “What’s cooking?”
He never had a chance to answer. Delilah barreled out of the kitchen like a one-woman stampede.
“Scarlett!” She pulled me into a hug so tight I couldn’t talk. “You’re here!”
I saw our reflection in the front window, Delilah, short and sturdy, me all arms and legs. I looked surprised as hell.
“Play along,” she whispered in my ear. “Manny will explain everything tomorrow.”
Right after that, Reem came through the kitchen door, looking more relaxed than I’d seen her in a long time.
Delilah squeezed me even tighter. “The less Reem knows, the safer she’ll be.”
“I thought you were working tonight,” I said, flashing Reem a happy-to-see-you smile as Delilah finally let go.
My sister rolled her eyes. “I told you last week they changed my schedule, Lettie. For a detective, you’ve sure got a lousy memory.”
“Right,” I said, glancing back at the kitchen. Delilah noticed.
“Decker went home, hon,” she said. “Things were too quiet to make him stay.”
I was trapped, and I’d done it to myself.
“But I’m so glad you’re here,” Delilah went on. “Because I owe the two of you an apology.”
My lips clamped down just in time to keep me from smarting off, asking if the weather service had just issued a frost warning in hell.
“Like I was telling Reem,” Delilah said, “I’ve been in an awful state since my ex showed up again. Deck’s father, I mean.”
I started to point out that Deck’s father was dead, but Delilah cut me off.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve always let folks assume he died. But that was just my way of not having to think about him. See, he’s the sort that won’t leave ancient history alone, and I try to keep him away from Decker as much as I can. From the both of you, too. He was a friend of your folks once upon a time, but he’s got no business bothering either one of you now.”
Reem was watching Delilah with the intensely sympathetic look I imagined she got when she listened to her patients. It was no wonder they all loved her.
“Not that he’s a bad man, of course,” Delilah said. “Though I suppose he can come across that way. Truth is, Asim’s one of the good guys. He’s just a little hard to take.”
Asim.
The name spun through my head like a blown-out tire. Asim was Delilah’s ex. Delilah’s ex was Decker’s father. Decker’s father had broken into our apartment the night before and stolen Abbi’s bottle replica, which was somehow tied up with King Solomon and his missing ring and George Fagin and Quinn Johnson’s death. What the hell was going on?
Delilah shot me a look meant to keep me quiet. I was too busy wondering whether coincidence or Qadar was running my life to make a peep.
“I understand,” Reem said, even though she understood as much about what was going on as I did about open-heart surgery. “And I appreciate you trying to protect us, Delilah.”
Delilah waved her hand. “Bah! You’re tough cookies. You don’t need my protection anymore, even though I sometimes wish you did. Maybe that’s why I called you yesterday, Reem. I got real worked up thinking about Asim being back, and overreacted when Scarlett told me she had a new case. I upset you for nothing, hon, and I’m sorry.”
Reem smiled and squeezed Delilah’s hand. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I don’t know what I’d do if you and Mook weren’t keeping an eye on Scarlett for me. Before you know it, though, I’ll be done with my training, and Lettie will be off to college. She’s going to do great things once we get her out of Las Almas. Just you wait and see.”
“Oh,” Delilah said, “I suspect our girl here will do some pretty amazing stuff even before that. In fact, hard as it is for me to admit, something tells me she’s right where she’s supposed to be at the moment. Right where she’s meant to be.”
She looked at me, grave as an undertaker, then turned to Reem. “Each of you girls has a gift,” she said. “You’re a healer, Reem.”
Her eyes came back to mine.
“And you, Scarlett? You’re a warrior. It would be wrong for me or anyone else to try to hold you back. I see that now.”
A warrior? Asim had called himself the same thing in our apartment.
Reem laughed. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, Delilah. I’m only a resident, and Lettie’s just nosy and stubborn.”
Delilah’s face lightened a bit. “You’d be surprised, sweetie,” she said. “Besides, every girl needs to know that the people who love her believe in her, too. For the record, I believe in both of you. That’s why I asked Reem to come see me, Scarlett—so I could apologize for making her worry so much about you. I know you’re a good girl doing what you’re meant to do, and I feel bad for not making peace with that sooner.”
Reem stepped closer to Delilah and drew her into a hug of her own. “You’re one of a kind, Delilah. Mom loved you, and so do we.”
Delilah watched me over Reem’s shoulder. Perky as she’d managed to sound, her eyes were filled with a sad kind of knowing.
“So I guess this means I should lay off you some, huh, Lettie?” Reem said as she let Delilah go.
“Nah.” My voice sounded rough. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Reem laughed. I was a better actor than I thought.
“In that case,” Reem said, “I don’t suppose you got the laundry done today, did you?”
I groaned and smacked my forehead.
“Big surprise,” she said. “Good thing I keep a pair of underwear in reserve.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” I promised.
Delilah smiled. “You two go home now, before it gets too late. I’m gonna lock up early once the General finishes his supper.”
“Always happy to keep a lovely lady such as yourself company,” the General called.
“Ears like a fox, that one has,” Delilah said, tugging her shirt down over her waistband. “Now scoot.”
She hustled us out of the diner, flipping the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED behind us.
Reem adjusted her hijab and shoved her hands in her pockets. “It got cold,” she said.
“Sure did.” I turned right without asking Reem which way she wanted to go. Left would have gotten us home just as fast, but by way of the Laundromat. And since I wasn’t in a gambling mood, I didn’t want to risk running into my tails.
“It’s nice to be outside, especially with you here,” Reem said.
I thought of Sam, of how deep and awful the hurt of missing his brother must be.
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Other than the occasional metallic clang of shop gates closing and an echo of Cuban-tinted Spanish from the courtyard behind us, the street was quiet.
“And it’ll be good, saying the Isha prayer together,” Reem said. “When was the last time we got to start and end a day together?”
I took in a breath of cold air and looked past the lights of Las Almas, toward the stars they blotted out. Told her I couldn’t remember. And then we walked the rest of the way home in silence, two sisters alone under a hidden sky.
14
Reem must have left for the hospital too early the next morning to rouse me for the Fajr prayer, because it was well past dawn when I woke. After I’d scalded myself in the shower, pulled on a mostly clean pair of jeans, and choked down a stale croissant, I snagged our dirty clothes and headed for the Laundromat. It was still cold out. My wrist hurt. My client wasn’t safe from her own brother. And Deck hadn’t responded to the text I’d sent the night before, asking how he could have forgotten to mention that his father was not only alive, but an asshole, to boot. Put that all together, and I was one grouchy ladybug, looking for a fight.
Turned out I didn’t have to look very hard to find one.
I saw my tails before they saw me. Blondie was behind her paper in a new doorway; Shorty fiddled with her phone at one of the little tables outside DiSanti’s. Both were trying hard to look like they didn’t have a care in the world. Poor things, I thought, pining away for a glimpse of little old me.
It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but a few crocodile tears seemed in order.
I strolled toward the Laundromat, slow enough so there was no way they could miss me. Mook was on his stoop, lit cigarette burning its way toward his fingers. We hadn’t spoken since he’d ticked me off the other day, before Calamus. I still couldn’t figure how he’d known I was about to do something stupid. I still wished I didn’t care.
“Howdy, Mook,” I said.
“As-salaamu alaikum.”
“All right, all right,” I grumbled. “Wa alaikum as-salaam.”
He dipped his head in a little nod. “That’s better.”
“I’m just checking in,” I said. “Being so responsible and all.”
His sloe-eyed stare stayed on the street. “And where are you going today?”
“To do laundry.”
“And then?”
“City Hall. I’ve got a case to research while the washer runs.”
A corner of his mouth crept up into a knowing half smile.
“This case you’ve taken on… it’s a bit more than you expected, perhaps?”
Dammit, I thought. He’s doing it again.
But all I said was, “Nah. Not so much.”
The unsmiling half of his mouth twitched.
“It’s not easy, you know, being your mu’aqqibat. And I have a feeling it’s about to become more difficult.”
“I never asked for a guardian angel, Mook. I don’t even believe in them.”
He ignored that. Took a drag and looked across the street toward DiSanti’s.
“Have you spoken with Delilah lately?” he asked.
“Last night. At the Rubicon.”
“She’s a good soul, Delilah, and loyal. Sometimes to a fault.”
“Sure,” I said, doing my best to sidestep whatever point he was working up to. “I guess I better get this stuff in a washer.”
I started to push open the Laundromat door.
“Akht?”
I stopped.
“Yeah, Mook?”
“Watch your back.”
“I always do.”
He took another drag and blew the smoke out his nose. It was as close as he’d get to a good-bye.
I went inside. Loaded the machine. Went back out.
Mook was gone.
My tails were not.
As I moved down the street, the pair of them followed me tight. They weren’t keen on being seen, but I’d already ditched them twice, and they didn’t look ready to let it happen again. I crossed the street, waited until they’d done the same, then crossed back, just to mess with them.
Three blocks over, I turned into an alley and stepped behind a Dumpster. My blackjack was in my hand by the time Blondie caught up. She looked around, squinting toward the dead-end brick wall ahead.
“Ladies,” I said, stepping out as Shorty joined us. The gold in their eyes reminded me of toxic sludge. “How can I help you?”
Blondie let out something close to a snarl. Shorty looked insulted. Neither spoke.
“Not sure?” I said. “Then maybe you can tell me who you’re working for and where you learned to do such a crap job running a tail.”
“You little…” Shorty said. Blondie stopped her with a hand on the shoulder.
“You get one warning,” Blondie said in a washed-out, reedy voice. “One. Go back to playing detective with your slum-rat neighbors and leave the real mysteries to us grown-ups.”
“Is that all you were trying to do yesterday morning?” I said. “Offer me some friendly advice?”
Shorty didn’t appreciate my rapier wit. In fact, it hacked her off so bad she came at me.
I dropped low, batted away her fumbling swing with a forearm block. Grabbed her collar with my left hand, hooked my right elbow, and swung up and inward to smash the spot where her jaw met her neck. She dropped like a sack of hot rocks. It shocked the hell out of Blondie; I knew it from the look on her face. And it didn’t sit easy with me, either. Hurting people never did.
“Are you two part of the Children of Iblis?” I asked, tapping t
he blackjack against my palm to hide the shake in my hands. Blondie glanced at it nervously.
“That was a mistake,” she said.
“Let’s try again,” I said. “Tell me what you know about the Children of Iblis.”
Her lips curled back. Her eyes darted from the blackjack to Shorty, writhing on the ground.
“I’m not telling you anything,” she spat.
Something in her voice, in the way she held her body, let me know I’d gotten to her. My shaking stopped.
“Then I guess we’ll have to do things the hard way,” I said. “Because I’m real good at my job, and real bad at letting things go. Sooner or later, I’ll bust up your little freak show. And when that happens, I guarantee you’re not gonna like it.”
Her laugh was like metal scraping metal. “You’ll be dead soon, you know.”
“We’ll all be dead soon, lady.”
She shook her head. “You have no idea, do you?”
“Not usually, no.”
The gold in her eyes hardened.
“There is no death for us, little detective. Once the ring is ours, we’ll live forever.”
“Sure. You go with that,” I said, and walked out of the alley without a backward glance. She didn’t follow me, but at the next intersection, I could have sworn I caught a flash of Mook’s duster, turning past a building to my left.
“Mook?” I called out.
But there was no response, no sign of Mook when I rounded the corner.
Two against one and a death threat on top of that, I thought. And my guardian angel just walks away.
The downtown bus I needed pulled into its stop a few blocks up. Even if I ran, I wouldn’t catch it.
“Dumb freakin’ luck,” I said to no one in particular. And started to walk.
The doors to City Hall were still locked when I got there, which left me standing out in the morning wind for ten minutes, cursing Las Almas bureaucrats for not waking up early like the rest of the world. I was cold, I was impatient, and I needed more info on The Parker and George Fagin. That meant digging through the hellish stacks of permits, blueprints, and assorted useless documents they kept on file in the records office. It was slow, tedious, old-school detective work. And in a twisted sort of way, I liked it.
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