Days of school and worry passed. Hazel hadn’t seen Stanley or heard any word about Teeth. Nothing in the papers suggested that Maxie’s murderer had been captured. Hazel didn’t want to think about any of it. Maybe if she ignored what was happening and stayed comfortably wrapped in her satin world, she wouldn’t end up in danger again—or like Evelyn.

Peggy didn’t seem to be around much either lately. Mumsy seemed to keep her busier than ever, and at night, she disappeared. Hazel longed to sit and tell her everything and let Peggy hug her and tell her everything would be all right in her soothing Irish lilt.

The Veiled Prophet Ball was only a couple of days away, and it overshadowed everything. Gabriel Sinclair had come to call after school twice. The visits consisted of small talk in the parlor with beverages and listening to music on the gramophone. He made Hazel feel shy and a little giddy now. She hated it.

After one visit as he said goodbye at her door, Gabriel leaned in as if to kiss her.

“See you soon,” he whispered, coming closer.

Hazel’s heart sped up and then paused when, over his shoulder out in the dimness of twilight near the front gate, she saw the shape of a person and the red spark of a cigarette. She drew back. “Yeah. See ya,” she muttered and shut the door.

Was Arthur out there watching her?

Hazel watched out the window as Gabriel walked away, shaking his head, and the figure by the gate moved away down the sidewalk. She wondered how often eyes followed her when she didn’t know it. What made that dirty bum think he had a right to stalk her? How would he like it? Hazel paced the gleaming, parquet floor of the foyer.

It was an hour until dinner. Hazel slipped out the front door, made her way across the lawn, and through the hedges. She wasn’t sure what she was doing. On a hunch, she headed toward the Schmidt’s house to see if her stalker was heading there too. Hazel and Sandy knew all of the gaps in the bushes and fences to get to one another’s houses without taking to the street. She hunched down in a honeysuckle bush that climbed the fence surrounding the Schmidt’s extensive garden. It always felt like reentering the summers of her childhood to push through the leaves, with a sweet aroma of the delicate flowers surrounding her. But there were no blossoms on it this time of year. Night was almost fully drawn down like a shade against the light of the descending sun. The air chilled, and Hazel shivered.

She scanned the flower-lined walkways and patios of the Schmidt estate. Her eye caught movement in the large gazebo situated in the back corner of the yard. Hazel crept quietly toward it and stopped behind a bed of orange, winter-blooming Canterbury Bells when she heard voices.

“You’re early.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

Hazel crouched and moved closer, careful not to scuff her shoes on the paving stones. Looking up through the bushes, into the shadowed gazebo, Hazel saw two figures facing one another, almost touching. The smell of cigarette smoke floated toward her.

“Where else you been? With Frisky?” It was Sandy, wearing a black dress and no hat. She had an angry pout on her face.

“Nah. It ain’t like that with her.” Arthur dropped his cigarette to the floor and stomped it out.

“Liar.” Sandy took a step backward.

“Say, what’s it to you?” Arthur grabbed Sandy by the shoulders and pushed her against one of the columns of the white gazebo. “Want to play in the dirt a little, swell? You liked it before.”

Sandy gasped. “Ouch. I oughta slap you.”

“Just you try.” He pressed closer to her. “What’sa matter, swell? Afraid you’ll get your hands dirty?”

“You’re an animal.”

“And you ain’t?” he growled.

Hazel watched her friend stare down the boy in the bowler hat, Sandy’s chest rising with every breath. The air seemed to crackle with electricity.

“I despise you,” Sandy rasped.

Arthur snorted and wrapped his arms around Sandy. Hazel almost jumped from her hiding place to defend her friend but stopped when the two smashed together in a rough kiss that Sandy was definitely not fighting.

Hazel looked away while the couple passionately gripped one another, making sounds that made her face burn.

“Artie,” Sandy gasped. “You send me.” His black bowler hat fell to the floor as Sandy moved her hands into Arthur’s hair.

“I’m no good,” he said while he kissed her neck—more like devoured it. Hazel tried not to stare.

“I know,” Sandy moaned.

They slid down the column to the floor of the gazebo. Arthur turned Sandy in his arms with a grunt, settling on top of her. She pushed the suspenders off his shoulders and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Say that you ain’t better than me,” Arthur breathed low. He slid one side of her dress off her shoulder and pressed his lips there.

“Yes. Yes. It’s true.” Sandy kissed him again, and he kissed her back. Then the intensity shifted, and Arthur pulled away and rested his head on her chest.

He let out a sigh. “You mean it, dollface?”

“Yeah.” Sandy ran her hands down his back.

Arthur raised up onto his elbows and gazed down at her, his usually stony face fracturing with emotion. “You with me?”

“Yeah.”

“They won’t like it.”

“I don’t give a hang. Let them squawk and lose their tail feathers over it.” She pushed up against him until he rolled over so that she rested on his chest.

“My plan for the ball? You’ll help me out?” He reached up and touched her hair, a fire in his eyes.

“Anything you want.” Sandy burrowed into his chest. “I don’t care what happens. They deserve what they get for what they did to you … and what they did to my sister and me. I hate them.”

“That’s right, baby. We’ll show ‘em. You’re like me—not them.”

“Maybe that’s why we hate each other.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said as their mouths met again.

A voice called from the back of the house. “Miss Alesandra! You out here? Dinner.” It was Flora.

Sandy scrambled to her feet and straightened her clothing. “Coming, Flora.” She put a finger up to her lips to hush Arthur. “Tomorrow,” she whispered.

“I’m gone,” Arthur said quietly. He picked up his hat and rose to his feet.

Arthur stood, looking at Sandy for several moments, and Hazel thought they would start into necking again. But he placed his bowler hat on his head, gave Sandy a slight smile, and slipped away into the shadows.

Sandy sighed to herself and wiped a hand over her mouth. She cleared her throat. The darkness seemed to hold her as she stared the direction that Arthur had gone. Hazel wondered what was going through her mind. Sandy tugged her dress back over her shoulder and stepped out of the gazebo, heading toward her house. Flora stood waiting for her. Light and soft music spilled out of the doorway to the kitchen, where servants laughed and talked while Bing Crosby crooned “Temptation.”

Hazel watched her friend go, wondering what to do. Arthur and Sandy. It seemed like some kind of mess. Sandy was not the same since her kidnapping; that was for certain.

 

 

 

 

Hazel had Jennings wait in the Buick as she walked toward the clinic the morning of the Veiled Prophet Ball. She would have plenty of time to get ready. The clinic had been the last place that she’d seen Teeth and the Sinclair’s maid, Maxie, and she felt drawn there.

“Lady Bananas.”

Hazel turned around. Stanley. His cap gripped in his hands, hair a mess, he examined her with his blue eyes.

“Stanley. Hi. What are you doing here?” She swallowed. Something about the look on his face made her nervous.

“Looking for you.” The shadow of golden stubble on his chin and the dark circles under his eyes made him seem dangerous and unhinged. Hazel had a flashback of Arthur and Sandy’s heavy smooching, and for a moment, she wanted to know what it would be like with Stanley.

“Don’t go there.”

“Huh?” Startled out of her vision of Stanley crushing her in his arms, Hazel blushed. “What? Go where?”

“The clinic. Stay away from it.”

Hazel sighed, relieved he wasn’t reading her mind, which he sometimes seemed to be able to do. “Listen, Snoopy, you have your way of helping the poor, and I have mine. While the idea of raiding trash cans may be alluring, I think I’d rather keep my hands clean.” She was being rude again and knew it.

His eyes darkened, and his face reddened. “I see. You think that’s all I do?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what you do.”

Stanley pulled a folded copy of what he’d typed up for The Knights Voice from his pocket and handed it to her.

Hazel’s head pounded when she saw that the articles were about Evelyn and her diary. “What’s this … I don’t want to know.”

“It’s for a paper. One that will print the truth.”

“This looks like trouble.”

“We got trouble. We were supposed to be a team. But you’re all screwy right now. Even your dad is helping. He’s behind this paper we’re gonna print.” He stepped closer, searching her eyes, as she rubbed her forehead. “Head hurt again, huh?”

Hazel nodded. Stanley’s face went from scrutiny to concern.

“They’re in your head.” He reached up to lightly brush her forehead with his fingertips.

She stepped away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Legion. They work with darkness … the occult.”

“No. That’s all nuts and superstition.”

“It isn’t.” His face was grim. “I saw it around Charles the night he killed Evelyn.”

“Charles is in prison. The others will steer clear of us, because people would start to suspect there was more to the story if anything happened to us now. Wouldn’t that be bad for the VP?”

“They’re not afraid of us or what it looks like, because they control the papers and the police. Look, we got all the info from the diary we need. There are other things I’m learning. Underground forces at play.”

Hazel shook her head. “What’s all this got to do with the clinic and their work for the poor?”

“The Winnowing. Eugenics. You know that word?”

“No …”

“Means they decide who lives and dies. They decide who breeds.”

Hazel thought of the pamphlets she had seen, and her head hurt again. “Oh … but this is where people come for help.”

“You know something isn’t right here. Nobody’s seen Teeth since he came to this place.”

Something stopped Hazel from saying that it was also the last place she’d seen Maxie. “Doctor Galton drove him home, himself. You can ask Teeth’s father, the doctor said he talked to him.”

“Teeth’s daddy? He’s with the CCC, working out west, Bananas. The doc lied to you.”

“Wait … the CCC?” Hazel shook her head.

“The Civilian Conservation Corps that Prez Roosevelt put together for men out of work.”

“But the doctor said … There must be a reasonable explanation.”

“For a lie? Sure. Deception is a fairly reasonable explanation. Especially when you’re hiding the fact that you’re evil.” Stanley’s voice rose and emphasized the last word.

No. It couldn’t be true. “Evil! Listen to you. You think everyone is in on some plot? Some of us are just trying to help.” Hazel’s heart sped up, and a splitting pain made her grab her head.

“Haze …”

She shut her eyes. “Stop! Don’t say anything else.”

Stanley’s eyes grew wide, and he stepped back with his hands up. “Okay, Bananas. Okay …” A look of fear passed over his face. He kept his eyes on her and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He held it out, a white flag of surrender. “Your nose is bleeding, Haze.”

Alarmed, she reached up and felt blood pouring from her nose that was now running down her chin. She took the handkerchief and pressed it to her face.

“I’m scared for you …” he breathed raggedly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Just a bloody nose that’s all.”

“Yeah … With horrible head pain, confusion, memory loss, and total personality change.”

“I need to go see the doctor.” She gestured toward the door to the clinic.

“Don’t …” Stanley stepped forward, eyes pleading.

Hazel wanted to tell Stanley to get lost—to leave her alone, so she could go back to a happy and uncomplicated life.

“Miss? Do you need assistance?” It was Jennings. He had gotten out of the Buick and was glaring at Stanley.

“Just a nosebleed. I—I’m okay,” Hazel said.

“She’s aces. Just take her home.” Stanley positioned himself to block her from walking toward the clinic. He lowered his voice and spoke to Hazel. “Just go on home and lay down, Haze. Okay?”

She was angry and confused, but exhausted. “Okay …” She raised her voice to her chauffeur. “All right, Jennings. I’d like to go home. Be there in a beat.” Hazel mopped around her nose with the handkerchief.

The older man bowed his head and walked back to the long, black automobile, waiting by her door.

Stanley sighed with relief. “I know you’re sore at me. But … I’m just trying to protect you. I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he said, choking up.

“Teeth will show up,” Hazel said, surprised by his emotion.

Stanley rubbed his face with a bleak expression. He shook his head. “Vinnie. He’s dead. They found him hanging from the rafters along with everyone else at the Rookery.”

Hazel gasped and lowered the handkerchief from her face. “Stanley.”

The tall, tough-looking newsie stared back at her, nodding, eyes washing over with tears. He pressed his lips together and swallowed before forcing out the words, “He’s gone, Haze. Funeral done … threw a handful of dirt over him, myself, just this morning …” He stared down at his hand and flexed it, as if clutching a handful of something.

“No … I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” Hazel wanted to grab Stanley and hug him tight until they both had all the answers, and the pain went away. He had helped her save her best friend and then lost one of his own without her even knowing it. It made her heart ache. “Everything is out of whack. I—I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Then you aren’t paying attention.” Stanley’s jaw clenched. “I need you back, Hazel. And I’m gonna figure out how to fix whatever they’re doing to you.”

“I’m confused—to me? Charles kidnapped me but—”

“Not just him!” Stanley’s face went dark. “I’ll take on the whole pack of swells on Lindell, the Veiled Prophet, and Legion, but I won’t let them have you. They won’t take your soul and mind while I’m around. Got it?” He punched his fist into his open palm.

“My soul and mind?” Hazel furrowed her brow and shook her head. What did he mean by that?

“Yeah. And it burns me to see them make you bleed again.”

Hazel didn’t know what to say to that nonsense. He was clearly not well—upset. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but her head felt as if it was in a wine press. She took a deep breath. “I need to lie down. I feel ill, and I have to be in the parade later … Sorry about the handkerchief. I’ll get you a new one.” She walked off-balance to the Buick, and Jennings opened the door.

Stanley watched her, his whole body tense, cap curled in his fists in front of him. For a moment, she saw him as an untamed lion. His unshaved face was aflame, strawberry blond hair scattered in a mess like it did when he fretfully ran his hands through it. His eyes burned like a hot summer sky.

Geez, but he was beautiful and fierce. Too bad he was out of his mind.