4

She was to be a married woman.

The thought was laughable.

“The Actias luna moth doesn’t even have a mouth to eat,” she’d told Kitty on one occasion when the girl had been dreaming of her own wedding. “Just dies after she lays her eggs. It’s what happens to women who are foolish enough to do the same.”

But Tom did not laugh when he’d told Molly the plan.

“They’ll know if you’re nervous. Speak clearly and plainly. Don’t let anyone else touch the package once you get it. And above all, if someone tries to take it from you, fight.”

Again, that small thrill of fear woke in her breast.

“Why would someone try to take my package?”

He looked at her grimly. “Let’s just hope they don’t.”

If she wanted to run, now was her chance. He wouldn’t dare stop her in a street full of people. She’d be free and, better yet, in possession of a new gown, however big, and shoes.

But after that? She’d have nowhere to go. Nowhere to sleep.

And there was something else. For the first time in a long time, she did not know what the next day held for her. It had been one of the worst things about the orphanage—there were no surprises. Her life was carefully and completely planned. Now all that routine had been peeled away like the skin of a carrot.

She wanted to see what was underneath.

Dressed in the oversized gown, the flounces making her bottom twice as wide as she was used to, Molly stumbled through the hotel’s door, feeling like an unwieldy sailboat.

The wealth inside was ostentatious. Everything, even the umbrella stand, was gilded, and the lavish new rugs might as well have come with their cost attached. To step into this hotel was to show that one could afford luxury.

She couldn’t figure out where to put her hands, so she tucked them into the velvet-lined pockets of her new dress. Her palms slippery with sweat, she found the knife and grabbed hold of its handle.

A beautiful woman in the lobby looked up as Molly passed. She wore a rose-pink gown and was freshening her rouge in the foyer’s enormous mirror. She met Molly’s eyes in the glass and gave her a curious smile.

“Madam?” The man at the desk cleared his throat. “How can I be of service?”

Molly took a deep breath. She had survived four years of Mother Superior’s wooden ruler. Surely, she could manage this.

The man’s large basset-hound eyes looked as if they could see straight through her. To the layer of poverty that no water could wash away. To the bones of her ribs, from the hundreds of nights she’d had nothing more than a stew of mealy potatoes.

“I’m here to pick up a package.” She tried to inject Mother Superior’s crisp coolness into her voice. What came out was a weak tremble. Kitty would have laughed to see her here, trussed up like a Christmas fowl.

“Excuse me?” Cupping an ear, the man craned across the desk.

The heavy silhouette of her dress was making her sweat more. She was afraid to take a step, lest she trip over the belled skirt’s curtain-like heft.

“A package,” she said louder.

The man frowned. “Your name?”

“Cline.” Tom had given her the made-up name. He said it was just smart enough to sound wealthy, and forgettable enough that no one would care. Though why she couldn’t have just used her aunt’s name—whatever it was—he didn’t say.

“Ah, yes.” The man’s face brightened. “I believe we have it for you here. Your husband left it this morning.”

He returned with a large box. “There. Shall I have someone help you to your carriage?”

“No, thank you.” Molly lifted the package. “I’ll manage fine.” She offered him a shaky smile and nearly tripped on her skirt as she turned, just barely managing to stay upright. At least the package wasn’t heavy. Whatever was inside weighed no more than a bag of flour.

“Would you like to check the contents?” The man hurried around the desk, stopping her. “I know some things tend to get broken in transport, and I’d hate to have the hotel blamed for negligence, especially if it’s fragile.”

She hesitated. Tom had said not to let anyone else touch it.

Sweat beaded inside her gown. She could feel it rolling down her sides.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s customary. I wouldn’t want there to be any sort of mistake.”

Not knowing what else to do, she set the box back on the counter.

The concierge smiled as he cut the string and carefully lifted the lid—strangely, lined with tarred paper and tea bags—to show her its contents.

His face changed in an instant.

According to his breeding and station, the concierge himself had not looked inside, but Molly understood his reaction immediately. The tea bags had been for the smell.

With the lid removed, an unholy stench wafted from the box.

Trying not to show her surprise, she peered inside.

A human head stared back.

Clapping a hand to her mouth, Molly stifled a scream.

“Are you all right, madam?” The concierge’s thin mustache twitched. Wrinkling his nose, he hurriedly slammed the lid back down on the box.

She closed her eyes, but it was still there, every grotesque detail.

The dead man’s forehead was stretched twice as wide as a normal one should be, the flesh blown up like a balloon. Large blue veins wound around the taut skin, like worms nestling into the discolored skin.

“Madam? Is it not what you were expecting? I must say, the . . . smell . . . did not seem quite right.”

Kitty’s head staring at her from the dirt.

Pretty skin, split and oozing . . .

Molly clenched her fingers onto the desk, trying to stay standing. Her nails dug so deeply into the wood she could feel one rip. Blood welled beneath the surface.

“It’s fine,” Molly said, her voice eerily bright. “Everything is just fine.”

The room began to spin, the walls pulsing like a heart.

“Are you quite sure? If you don’t mind my saying, you look rather . . . unwell.” He sounded concerned. But Molly also noted the first signs of suspicion lift the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps I should just take a look?”

“No!”

Before she could stop him, he reached for the lid.

“Is that Limburger?”

The woman in the pink dress suddenly appeared. Her perfectly manicured hand landed on the box’s lid, keeping it closed even as she leaned over, inhaling.

“Absolutely delightful. I’d know that scent anywhere. Limburger used to be me mam’s favorite.” She turned to Molly. “I’m Virginia, by the way. Ginny for short.” She spoke with a broad English accent.

“Ah!” Understanding spread across the concierge’s face. He leaned conspiratorially across the box. “I don’t mind telling you I have a weakness for the stuff myself. Is it a gift?”

“Yes.” Molly nodded, knees weakening with relief. If she was caught now, she’d be arrested. She needed only to get out of here, and then she would run as far away from this godforsaken city as she could. “Cheese for my aunt.”

“That’s certainly thoughtful,” the concierge said. “The ripest Limburger is not cheap, and from the bouquet of this one, you’ve got yourself a real treat!”

“Straight from Belgium, I’ll bet!” Ginny leaned across the desk, breasts nearly spilling out of her gown, which, Molly now noticed, was cut unusually low. “I hear the Americans are trying to make it now, but it ain’t nearly as good.”

The concierge’s face reddened, and he looked purposefully away. “I’m sorry, Miss . . . Virginia. What room did you say you were in?”

“I didn’t.”

He frowned. “Let me guess. You have an uncle staying here.”

“Nah. Three or four.” Ginny shot him a wink. “Listen, if you’ll excuse us, I believe I’ll follow this nice young lady out. Can’t be too careful these days, what with women disappearing.”

The man’s face shifted to one of concern. “No. I suppose you can’t.” He gave Ginny a hard stare. “But don’t bother returning. I think your uncles have had quite enough company for one day.”

Taking a deep breath, Molly picked up the package. She tried not to imagine the man’s head inside, rolling about, its eyes squished like tiny raisins.

Kitty’s eyes.

Kitty’s grinning face . . .

Ginny took her arm. “Hold steady, girl.” She whispered the words in Molly’s ear.

“You know,” the man’s voice called after her, “I shouldn’t let you leave.”

Molly stopped, frozen, in the middle of the foyer.

“Coming so close to such a delicacy, I should have demanded a taste.” He smiled.

Molly exhaled, hurrying with Ginny toward the door. Fresh air rushed at her in a welcome gust.

But halfway through the door, her enormous skirt snagged, yanking her backward.

For a second, she thought she would make it. Every muscle in her body tensed as she tottered like a child’s top, trying to stay upright. Wobbling, she steadied herself, but then her foot caught the edge of her skirt. Her teeth clacked painfully together as, with a sickening thump, she fell back into the hotel’s lobby.

The box fell with her.

“Madam!”

Molly watched in horror as the lid slipped loose.

Free at last, the head tumbled out of the box and onto the floor.

---

Ginny moved so swiftly that Molly hardly saw it happen. One minute there was a head, and the next it was gone, covered by the swishing folds of rose silk.

Molly scrambled forward on her hands and knees, frantically diving beneath Ginny’s dress with the empty box. It was like bobbing for apples. Crinoline brushed over her head in a wave, choking her with its fabric.

She was going to be sick. The skirt trapped the sweet, meaty smell of death like a hothouse.

Patting blindly, her palms brushed against wiry hair as her fingers dug into spongy, rotting flesh. It felt exactly like soft cheese, and for a horrible moment she wanted to laugh.

Grabbing the monstrous prize, Molly shoved it back into the box. Shaking, she extracted herself from Ginny’s skirts.

“Are you all right?” The concierge had rushed from behind his desk, his eyes wide with alarm. “I’ve been telling them to fix that entrance for ages. The tile’s uneven.”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Please accept my apologies. Is your package damaged?”

“Not at all.”

Molly scrambled to her feet, and before he could ask another question, she ran, pell-mell, through the lobby door and outside.

Her carriage pulled up to the hotel’s curb just as Molly exited. Its door swung open.

“Tom Donaghue!” Ginny’s voice rang gaily in her ear.

“You know each other?” Molly looked from one to the other, shocked.

“Tom’s an old friend.” Ginny grinned. “Asked me if I could keep an eye on you.”

“How’d she do?” Tom’s piercing stare raked over Molly in keen appraisal.

“Well,” said Ginny, her grin revealing the gap between her front teeth. “She kept her head. Mostly.”

“Ah, you’re a peach. Thanks, Ginny.” Tom slipped her a half-dollar, and Ginny tucked it neatly down the front of her well-endowed breast.

“No bother. I’d rather your lot get it than any of the others. There’s two new fellows who are keeping the stiffs’ clothes to wear. Stink to high heaven. Anyway, I’ll let you stand me a pint when I see you next.”

“Happily.”

Ginny turned to Molly. “Take care, girlie.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Remember—they can’t scare you if you ain’t afraid.”

Raising her hand, she gave a shrill whistle, and a man in a police uniform appeared from around the corner.

Molly tensed, but Ginny simply took the policeman’s arm and gave her a wink. “It’s like I told the hotel fella. Can’t be too careful these days!” The couple started off, the policeman’s hand happily resting on Ginny’s backside.

Molly’s nerves let loose in a rush. She shoved the box at Tom.

She wanted to scream. To be sick. To tell him how much she hated him. But she could only stand there, trembling with fury.

“I’m sorry.” Tom’s voice was soft. “I did tell you not to let anyone else touch the box.”

She stumbled past him into the waiting carriage.

“Was that some kind of a joke?” she choked out in a thick whisper.

He looked shocked. “Of course not!”

“Then what was it?”

He got in behind her, closing the door, and tapped on the window for the driver to start. “Hydrocephalic adult. Very rare. That head is worth a small fortune.”

Molly felt her insides heaving. “It stank.”

“We don’t usually take them that far along. But this was a special find.” Instead of disgusted, his voice sounded proud. “Half the sackmen in the city were out lookin’ for that head tonight! Which is why your aunt had it sent here. Quite clever, really.”

“Why would she want a head?” Molly whispered, unsure if the driver outside could hear her. She commanded herself to breathe. Small, shallow breaths that would keep away the threatening blackness.

“Come now,” Tom said. “Surely you’ve figured that bit out.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Your aunt. She’s the Corpse Queen.”