A sharp pain radiating down her neck woke Eve, and she came to the next day with it already being early afternoon, her cheek on a notebook. She rubbed the crease that had been imprinted there and rolled her stiff shoulders.
Eve had slept so deeply she remembered nothing, but there was one phrase she’d managed to parse out from the constant murmurs emanating from the spirit world before the effects of the tea took her. She had managed a sloppy scrawl on her journal page.
Pieces. Put our pieces together. In heaven and hell.
And never forget; don’t let anything in.
The pieces were clear enough; that had to mean the bits and tokens Dupont had stolen. They had to be recovered. She was chilled by the latter caution, a direct repetition of spiritual warnings from the first moments Maggie had disappeared had returned to haunt her again. She couldn’t help but think of the figure outside her window, that terrible shadow. What if it tried to get in? If it was in her mind, it already was….
She shook herself loose from the grip of the words and listened to the sounds of the house. It was very quiet.
Cora was out visiting an ill relative and had taken Jenny with her, who had never seen New Jersey and was curious. Eve tried never to work her colleagues on weekends unless there was an emergency, and with no clear picture on Greta, it made no sense to keep anyone. Considering the precinct spent so much time together, it had been agreed that everyone would go their separate ways if a breath was needed.
Antonia was in the parlor with a new deck of tarot cards when Eve came down for breakfast, frying herself eggs and preparing a steaming mug of coffee. She didn’t want to disturb Antonia, so she nearly slipped by her once she was finished.
“What’s on your docket for today?” Antonia asked as Eve passed in the hall.
Thinking about the night ahead, Eve paused at the threshold and realized she had no idea what to wear. Nerves flooded her in a mixture of exhilaration and terror. “Family friends are in town, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing them at a charity function.”
“That’s nice!”
“And you?”
“I’ve been invited to do a reading for some artists near the university this evening. I’m hoping that if they don’t know about Arte Uber Alles they might know someone who does. I’ll be sure not to encourage anyone to it, that’s certain.”
“Brilliant. Are you advertising your services?” Eve took a step closer, narrowing her eyes. “How did they know to contact you?”
Antonia laughed. “You’re delightful when you’re overprotective!”
Eve thought a moment about how she must have come across. “I’m sorry,” she began, contrite. “You’re your own woman, and I want you to have a life outside of our work. I’m just—”
“I left a note on a community poster-board in one of the commons last week,” Antonia reassured her with a gentle smile. “That was before you brought in that pamphlet, but the timing’s just too perfect. I must get better at readings, and I can’t just use you three as subjects.” She waved a hand in playful disdain. “I feel like I know everything about you, and that’s not good for progress.”
“Fair. Just—”
“Be careful, I know, I always am. You too, dear. Now go get ready. You look green, and I can’t say that will go well with any of your gowns.”
“Do I? Oh God.”
Glancing into the oval mirror in the hall, she made a sour expression. Her black hair was haphazard atop her head, and her face was indeed a pale, sallow green. Though thankfully the dark circles usually under her eyes were just a slight shadow. Sighing, she harrumphed up the stairs. In addition to getting ready, there was something else she needed to do, but it slipped her mind. Addled. That’s what she was. She needed to pull herself together, for everyone’s sake.
Perhaps that realization was what summoned little Zofia into the hallway. The young shade wavered, her white dress with its singed hem buffeted in the slight breeze wafting off all spirits—the eternal chill. The girl’s mother had perished in the same shop fire and her father had died in Warsaw long before that, but her parents’ souls had gone on to peace. Zofia chose to stay in the city to help other children find ways out of desperate ends.
Zofia had met Eve on her first case, haunting the same place a child was in need. In some cases, Zofia would appear to point a child toward an exit in an emergency; in others she’d try to inspire escape from myriad torments. Eve tried never to pin Zofia down to one mission. The child fiercely chose her own. But right now, it seemed Zofia just wanted a friend.
“Hello, dear,” Eve said, taking her time washing up in front of a basin and mirror in the large upstairs water closet. The cool water helped her nerves and pallor. “What’s on your mind? You’ve that thoughtful expression you take on when you’re trying to solve some difficult problem.”
“I feel the same worry I felt when Maggie disappeared,” the child replied, wringing her small hands. “About Vera. I want to go find her, and I feel…like I’m being pulled. I feel we haven’t done enough for Vera.”
“I know, love. I trust you. Whatever you think to do, just don’t put yourself at risk. Don’t go chasing after people who can see and who might want to hurt you. What happened to Maggie is a warning to us all that some people who don’t want ghosts around may have discovered ways to hurt them.”
“Do you think Vera got hurt too?”
“I don’t know,” Eve replied, “but we’ll keep searching for her however we can. We’ve all reached out with no luck. Remember, she is old. She might want rest.”
“But she’s like Maggie— I can’t imagine she didn’t want to say goodbye.”
“I agree. But then again, I can’t always fathom your spirit ways, your needs or sense of time.”
Trying to reassure the little girl helped Eve calm the nerves that threatened to shake her off every surface she sat on or stood upon. Thoroughly combing her hair, she managed to work out a few tangles.
“I know we’re not supposed to be in your room,” Zofia murmured, “but…can I watch you get ready?” The child looked pained. “I will never experience going to a ball. Having a suitor. Trying to make myself beautiful…”
Her plea hit Eve like a blow, and she blinked back tears. “Of course, dear. We can experience all this together, then.”
Opening the tall wooden wardrobe in her room, she stared at the dresses therein. There were only a few, nothing ostentatious, a couple of ball gowns Gran insisted she have ready for moments like these where work would be accomplished while socializing. Other area performers might know about Mulciber, and she needed to know why his name had rotated into their notice. Staying on task helped Eve counterbalance the butterflies that threatened inelegantly to topple her over. There was waltzing to worry about too. The aerial flips her stomach had been doing now plummeted. She dreaded dancing; she wasn’t any good at it.
“Zofia, come here, practice a waltz with me. I’m hopeless.”
She hummed some Strauss and practiced the box step in her room with the little girl, thankful there were no corporeal feet to trip upon, laughing with the child until Eve felt she had made herself safe for contact.
“Who will you be dancing with, the detective?” Zofia asked excitedly. Almost too excitedly, as if it were a foregone conclusion. Eve pursed her lips.
“Perhaps. And if the detective demands a waltz, I can’t step on his feet, or worse, trip the poor man.”
“He’d be a good sport about it even if you did,” Zofia posited. “He’s very nice.”
“Yes, yes he is,” Eve said. “Now I have to choose a dress. I’m a disaster at this.”
Back to the wardrobe again. Nothing gaudy. This was a working-class theatre circuit. But she couldn’t wear her black uniforms. There was a simple royal-blue evening dress, nice taffeta with elegant gathers. When she put her hand on it, Zofia nodded her approval. Starched lace along a high bodice line provided modesty, and that would be wise. She was meeting his parents, after all.
There went the stomach again. She removed her outer layers, keeping on her chemise, bloomers, and petticoat, and lifted a long-waisted whalebone corset around her, cinching it tighter to accommodate the dress, an act that didn’t help her stomach in the least. She slipped into the body of the dress, folding her arms into it, double checking all of the hooks and eyes on the side that kept her swathed. When Gran had insisted Eve own a few fine dresses, Eve had said she wasn’t interested in wearing “a thousand ties and tribulations” and agreed to be fitted only on the condition that she could get into an outfit entirely on her own.
Dashing rosewater about herself, she carefully swept up her hair in her favorite marcasite hair combs and debated about a necklace. A tiny sapphire on a whisper-thin silver chain, a gift from her father, completed her ensemble. The stone was an important one.
Powder, a faint dash of rouge, and a slight tint of lip balm made her less green. She stared in the mirror and tried to bolster herself. For someone who was so confident about her work, she felt terribly awkward being a lady in polite society. Zofia wafted her little hand over Eve’s temple and utilized the cold breeze generated by her spirit to brush a stray wisp of hair back in place.
“You look beautiful,” Zofia commented. “Thank you for not minding me.”
Eve’s eyes watered as she smiled at the girl, wishing she knew what to say when the ache of a life cut short was an unmitigated melancholy. “As if I could ever mind you,” she murmured, a lump in her throat.
“It all seems a bit magical,” the child continued, wistful romance in her voice.
Magical. In all Eve’s daydreaming, she’d forgotten a critical task.
“Damn,” Eve muttered. “I forgot to write to Harry Houdini!”
Rushing to her writing desk, she took out a few sheets of writing paper and began a note to the man she’d met a few weeks prior, a man whose fame was widening as he traveled through Europe. She’d try to match his performance schedule and send it ahead to where he’d be next.
Mr. Houdini,
I hope this note finds you well and charming audiences in Europe as much as you charmed our police precinct a few weeks prior as you managed to escape an old cell. We had a wonderful conversation about Spiritualism after the fact, and I hope you meant it when you said we could keep in touch.
I recently saw Mulciber, a levitation, psychic, and mesmerism act in one of the Astor theatres. I’ve no doubt you’ve many ideas about how the man got up to all that, and I’m sure it’s all very clever, but that’s not why I’m writing. There’s just something off about the whole thing. I wish I could describe why I was so unsettled, but I can’t.
The second act shifted focus onto mind reading and mesmerism. There was a level to his mesmerism that was domineering to the point of troubling, going so far as to literally drive people to their knees.
So, he’s either a very talented psychic and gifted Spiritualist in ways I’m not, or there’s a new brand of tricks on a level I’ve never seen. Any thoughts would be a boon to my investigation. I have a hunch this performance is somehow wrapped up in my current cases and that something sinister lurks behind the curtain. I’ve no wish to know the secrets of the trade, per se, but I would love to know what I’m dealing with.
Sincerely,
Eve H. Whitby, formerly of the now-shuttered Ghost Precinct, wrapping up final case material.
She supposed she’d better cover her tracks about the department being closed, especially to someone of prominence, but she knew he’d be disappointed seeing it. Perhaps she could tell him in confidence what had occurred and why they were keeping an even lower profile. She sealed and stamped the envelope, gestured to Zofia to accompany her, and wandered down to the parlor, where Antonia had shifted from reading tarot to reading newspapers.
“Antonia, my dear, since you’re in the papers, could you check London and Paris to note Houdini’s schedule? I’ve a letter for him. I’d love his insight on that Mulciber fellow.”
“Of course. Shall I address the letter to an appropriate place when I find out the schedule? Do we know where he’s staying?”
“He’s got a booking agent in London. Call Ambassador Bishop. I’ve got to run out.”
“Will do. Have fun with the detective,” she said with a smirk.
“How did you—”
Antonia laughed. Her laughter was often a lovely, tinkling sound, but this one was a deeper, more resonant amusement. “It’s abundantly clear you’re unused to courtship. I’d have thought you’d have gotten better at blocking your energies and intentions from gifted psychics. Once one gets to know you, you’re not terribly hard to read. That, and the rosy blush on your previously green cheeks, and the extra effort you put into your appearance— You never spend that much time if it’s only family.” Antonia clicked her tongue a glint in her dark eyes. “It’s all very telling.”
Zofia giggled, and Eve shot her a warning look. “Not you too. Cora will admonish me as well,” Eve grumbled. “She already thinks I make too much effort to spend time with him.”
“We’re all scared new people will unseat us, especially when you’re treasured.” Antonia reached out from her chair, patting Eve’s hand. “And you’re treasured, Eve.”
“As are you all, please don’t forget that,” Eve said, looking both at Antonia and her youngest ghostly asset. “I’m forsaking none of you—”
“I begrudge you none of this. Cora, I’m not so sure.” As Eve must have appeared uneasy, Antonia smiled and reached out in a reassuring gesture. “But I can ease the edges, I promise. At least, I’ll try.”
“Forever my diplomat.” Eve bent to kiss Antonia on her high forehead. This made her giggle, that tinkling laugh the echo of some ancient fey land.
“If I’ve any trouble tracking down Mr. Houdini,” Antonia added, “I’ll let you know if the escape artist also eludes the mail.”
“Bless you.” Eve paused. “Zofia here remains worried about Vera.”
Antonia turned to the spirit. “Would you like to call her via a séance tonight, you and me, once I’m back from my reading?”
Zofia put her hands together, darting to and fro as she answered. “Yes, but first I want to see a ball, and Eve promised me I could watch.”
“As long as you stay out of the way and safe, dear,” Eve countered, putting on her best cloak at the door, black velvet with lace trim. “I can’t have any trouble or awkward moments.”
“I know,” Zofia said to Eve, then turned to Antonia. “But after, yes, please.”
“See you later.” Eve waved to Antonia, and Zofia wafted out the closed door after her. “Now, if you don’t mind,” Eve said, striding toward Washington Square Park, “I’d like…”
The little girl intuited her and gave her space, disappearing from sight.
Eve continued ahead until she saw a distinct figure. For the next moment, the man before her at the corner of the park and the sudden race of her pulse were all that existed in her world. She smiled to see him looking dapper in a fine black suit with a burgundy waistcoat and black silk ascot, sitting on a bench with two cups of something savory and steaming in hand. Once she approached, he handed her the small paper cup of cider, augmenting autumn’s rich scent.
“Hello, Detective.”
“Still averse to calling me Jacob?” he asked with a smile. “Even on a soiree night?”
“I…” She thought about it a moment. “I don’t know. I suppose I am. Perhaps I’m trying to reinforce a certain distance, for our safety.”
“Our safety? Am I endangering you?” he asked with sincere curiosity and slight hurt.
Eve stared at her steaming cup, not sure she read him correctly. Only my heart, but— “No…”
Horowitz chuckled. “You don’t sound convinced. Have it your way, Whitby, but if you don’t want my mother hounding me about why on earth you keep calling me ‘detective’ and not the cherished name she gave me, written in the book of life itself, well—”
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” Eve said, blushing. “I don’t mean to be difficult.”
“I know the work comes first,” he said gently. “I’m not here to challenge that. In fact, that’s the whole premise here, that we, together, won’t challenge that. But we do have to act like there’s a closeness.”
“Well, there is, I mean, a closeness here, with us, of course, only if you think so too, I think—” Eve stammered and gestured too boldly, spilling cider on the detective’s black coat. “Oh, goodness.” She looked down at the leaves at her feet. “I’m a disaster. Sorry.”
The detective laughed heartily. “Who doesn’t need a splash of spiced cologne? And to be clear, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time with a disaster before.”
Eve glanced at him sheepishly and chuckled. “You’re too kind.”
Once they finished their cider, he carried their empty cups to a bin and went to the corner to hail an enclosed carriage. Helping her up, he grasped her hand and steadied her before climbing in across.
“Rachel has agreed to meet you and I outside the Thalia,” he said. “We exchanged a letter ahead of the event.”
“I can’t wait to see her. It’s been too long.”
“And she you. She told me endearing things about you as a child,” he added.
Eve groaned. “Embarrassing, I’m sure.”
“No, she wrote that you were the most passionate, driven little girl she’d ever met, a force of nature, and I can’t say I’d disagree.”
“I’ve had to be so, for survival,” Eve said graciously. “And so did she.”
“I’m ashamed she and I were never closer. She’s such a brave person.”
“There’s always time. It feels destined for us all to be reunited,” Eve said, and gazed out the window, not wanting to look into his eyes for any further talk of destiny.
The carriage slowed and the detective hopped out, paid the driver, and helped Eve down. She wasn’t used to so many layers or quite so much constriction, so she leaned a bit more on the detective than she’d planned descending from the step, but he sturdily and patiently held her.
Within view, the event was held in the colonnaded Thalia Theatre—called the Bowery Theatre in rowdier days—just down Bowery from Canal. More recent theatre communities like the Yiddish theatre and Italian immigrant productions sought to elevate the intellectual offerings.
Even just approaching the grand Corinthian columns gave Eve a thrill that raced along her spine, though this was mostly due to the detective’s close stride. Her cloak, open and billowing to the side, meant his hand absently landed on her back, his palm grazing a triangle of bare skin where the back of her dress plunged.
As she paused to navigate a cluster of pedestrians and the trestles of the elevated rail line grating and squeaking above them, she was jostled, and his hand darted around her waist to nimbly steady her. Once they regained their stride, he returned his hand to that spot on her back, and this time his thumb traced her back in the subtlest of caresses. It was the most exquisite sensation Eve had ever experienced, and she had to bite her tongue not to gasp.
As she turned to stare at him, he remained entirely focused ahead, but she saw the angles of his face curve into a brilliant smile.
Ascending the wide steps to the front door, Eve followed his gaze until her eyes fell upon Rachel Horowitz, beloved friend of her mother’s, standing in a lovely powder-blue dress, a charcoal cape over her shoulders and her brown hair up in a small feathered hat.
“Thank you for waiting for us!” the detective declared, holding out his arms for his long-lost second cousin. He said while embracing her, “It’s been how long, cousin?”
Rachel gently pushed him back and pointed to his mouth and then to her eyes, reminding him that she could understand him only if she could see his mouth so she could lip-read.
“Ah, right, yes, so sorry.” He blushed. Careful to make sure he had her eyes, he continued. “I’m so happy to see you. My family was very worried when you disappeared.”
If you work with Eve now, I’m sure you understand why, Rachel signed and Eve translated. I had to get out of this frenetic city and I wanted to start a new, fresh life.
“He’s warming to Spiritualist talent,” Eve said to Rachel. “He’s not fully won over yet. He’s still a skeptic, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. Keeps my ghosts and I on our toes.” At this, the women shared a smile.
“Shall we?” the detective said, gesturing to the open front doors.
Glancing behind her, Eve noticed Zofia had reappeared, and she subtly gestured that the little girl go on ahead. Excitedly, Zofia flew through one of the grand first-floor windows.
The living trio entered and took in the spectacle of happy people in finery, drinks in hand, with quiet chamber music wafting in a pleasant ambience.
A banner that hung across a back wall above a small dais read:
Welcome, all ye who seek to lift thy lamp!
Eve thought this was a reference to Emma Lazarus’s poem “The New Colossus,” which had been written to raise money for the pedestal for the Statue of Liberty after the great fight to put her up in the first place. There was talk of putting the poem on the statue itself, but that too was controversial.
A gentleman in a suit and tails welcomed them and whisked champagne flutes into their hands.
Bells sounded somewhere from the recesses of the building, quieting the chatter into a dull murmur. A russet-haired man with a neatly trimmed mustache, in a tailcoat and a tall top hat, took to a dais overlooking the wide room.
“Thank you all for coming tonight! I’m Benjamin Heifitz, social chair of Artists Against Intolerance, and I’m very grateful you’ve come out to support our cause. Throughout the night, our colleagues will be making rounds with hats; donations of any amount are welcome as we create educational programs, opportunities, and safe havens for new New Yorkers and lifelong residents alike.”
Polite applause followed. Heifitz was handed a piece of paper.
“Ah! The Great Houdini sends his regards and wishes he could be with us tonight!” the toastmaster declared. A cheer went up from the crowd. “He wrote this note to all of you.” He began to read:
“The joy of magic and entertainment brings us all together tonight, as it has since the dawn of time, but there is something far greater that binds all people at all times: our common humanity and better selves. May we all stand proud of building community, strength, and hope for all people in the beautiful city of New York, a haven and refuge, a shining light.”
Heifitz lifted his glass. “To the noble cause of a fair world. L’chaim! To life!”
The crowd lifted their glasses and repeated the toast, Eve chiming in enthusiastically.
Horowitz leaned over. “Your Hebrew isn’t half bad,” he said with a smile. “At least, one word in.”
Have you told him we lit Shabbos candles together? Rachel signed to Eve, who nodded. It meant a lot to me to sit, to share that with you, Rachel continued. That your family became an extension of my lost immediate family, proving tradition can live vibrantly with new friends who are willing to learn.
The detective watched his cousin closely. Eve supplied Rachel’s poetry and care as best she could.
“That’s a lovely thing to share,” the detective said as his smile widened. “And I want to learn to sign. I don’t want to miss anything.” Eve believed that; he was so invested in the world around him that he didn’t want to miss a single expression that might otherwise be lost in translation.
Rachel signed that she’d be willing to teach him, and they shook hands on the proposal. She then turned to Eve and signed, And Eve can help you. Not to mention, her sign isn’t half bad either.
Eve laughed and signed her thanks. “Yes,” she added for the detective’s benefit. “I can help.”
“You always do,” he replied with the simple, clear kindness that shone like a beautiful light.
On cue, warmth flooded her cheeks, and she turned to her champagne glass. Rachel eyed them carefully and pursed her lips, holding back a smile of delight.
Well, at least Rachel wouldn’t object to their close acquaintance, Eve surmised, ruse or no. Rachel made her way over to a couple Eve assumed were Jacob’s parents, and there was embracing, happy reunions, and “where on earth did you go” questions. While Rachel could read lips and hear their fondness, as they didn’t know sign language, the exchange stilled. Eve wanted to rush up and help facilitate conversation as a translator, but she didn’t want to appear overbearing. She needed to wait her turn and be introduced.
Mr. Horowitz glanced over and caught his son’s eye. The tall, dark-haired man with a black goatee turning partly grey was dapper and magnetic as he broke into a wide grin. Radiating geniality, he gestured them over with enthusiasm. At his side stood an elegant, stoic looking woman: Mrs. Horowitz.
“Well now, the moment of reckoning,” the detective said ominously. Eve must have looked startled, for he laughed and added, “Oh, come now, they’ll be nice to you; I made them promise.”
He placed that gentle hand on her lower back again, and they stepped forward. Rachel beamed, watching them.
“Mother, Father, I’d like you to meet Miss Evelyn Whitby,” the detective said, and everyone bobbed heads.
Eve didn’t want to seem too forthright, so she didn’t present her hand and demand handshakes, but she was glad that everyone seemed to be genuinely smiling. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as strained as she had feared.
“A sincere pleasure, Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz,” Eve stated. “Your son has been an incredible colleague and one of the best men I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.”
“Well, we tried our best,” Mr. Horowitz said, his big grin infectious.
“I am glad the force is employing women,” Mrs. Horowitz said carefully. She wasn’t as tall as her husband, but she had an imposing air that added inches just in power. “And Jacob has told me you’ve been very helpful in his cases, not to mention stood up for him. That is very good of you.”
“It’s infuriating that anyone should have to bear the brunt of prejudice,” Eve replied. “Your son has stood up for me the same. And I’ll never back down should I have to make a defense again. This cause of yours tonight honors everything I believe in. Strength, education, and safe havens.”
Mrs. Horowitz looked at her son and then at Eve. “Good,” she said after a long moment, her expression warm. “That is very good, thank you.”
“Don’t I know you?” An elderly, bearded gentleman who had clearly already taken to the punch tables and had a few too many clapped a hand on Mr. Horowitz’s shoulder.
“I was the Amazing Antoine, once,” Mr. Horowitz said, wincing. “I hope that’s not how you remember me. I’ve done many better things since.”
“Why on earth did you give up the stage?” the gentleman asked Mr. Horowitz.
“You ask as if the world shouldn’t be grateful that I chose another career. I was so amazing I set myself on fire. I’ve the scars on my leg to prove it.”
“Surely you exaggerate,” the man declared.
“I was a terrible magician,” Mr. Horowitz retorted bluntly. “If I’d have gone on, how many watches taken from trusting audiences would have gone missing, unrecoverable? Rabbits maimed, doves trapped—and my poor assistant, now wife, I might have actually cut her in half. Believe me, my turn into academia saved lives.”
Eve laughed heartily. Seeing that she was enjoying him, Mr. Horowitz turned to her with that delightful grin as the old man grumbled and walked away to accost another failed performer.
“I’m glad someone finds me entertaining,” he said to Eve conspiratorially, gesturing to his wife and son on either side of him. “I’ve grown tiresome to these two.”
Mrs. Horowitz pursed her lips and batted a hand at him.
“I’m so glad the Veil family was invited tonight,” Eve offered. “It’s lovely we’ve all these wonderful connections of dear family friends between us!” At this Rachel nodded.
“The Veils have always been supportive of any network for good; they’re notoriously generous and inclusive,” Mr. Horowitz said. “I leave the grand theatrics to folks like them, to be mastheads for education and philanthropy. I’m better off behind the scenes making sure the paperwork is sound. Back in the days of performing, I never could quite close the distances between my ideas and audience.”
Nodding, Mrs. Horowitz drily punctuated the moment. “He’s better in theory.”
Everyone laughed at her academic dig.
Rachel touched Eve on the shoulder, gesturing toward a beaming man at the side of the stage who waved at them. Would you explain to everyone that I’ve a friend from my days at the Connecticut Asylum who works the prop department here and would like to give me a backstage tour? I don’t want to seem rude going off. Eve signed back that she’d be happy to and turned to the company to explain as Rachel darted off.
“It’s truly wonderful that you know American Sign, Miss Whitby,” Mr. Horowitz said. “The Connecticut school, that’s how your family knows Rachel, yes?”
“Yes. My mother spent her whole life, up until she was nearly my age, unable to speak due to Selective Mutism from a childhood trauma. But she made sure I learned to sign. She said finding ways to communicate and making friends like Rachel saved her life.”
“L’chaim.” Mr. Horowitz raised his glass to that, and all toasted.
“I want to learn too,” Jacob said. “Rachel and Miss Whitby said she’d help. Thank you, Eve,” he added.
“You’re welcome, Jacob,” Eve replied, bowing her head. “I am here to help.”
“That’s simply fantastic,” Mr. Horowitz said enthusiastically.
Mrs. Horowitz exclaimed at something Eve couldn’t see, and the woman turned away for a moment before turning back to her son.
“Jacob, I’ve brought you a surprise all the way from Paris,” she said and stepped aside. Behind her stood a breathtakingly beautiful young woman.
“Sophie? Is that you?” the detective asked incredulously, his lovely eyes widening. The young woman was a vision: fair and rosy cheeked with red-blond hair and a dazzling smile.
“Oui! Bonjour, Jacob! Surprise!”
“Oh, my goodness, look at you!” he exclaimed and gave the stunning woman an enormous hug as they kissed one cheek then the other.
Eve felt something sharp pierce her insides.
“Our families have long been keen on one another, and on our children,” Mrs. Horowitz explained matter-of-factly to Eve before turning to her son. “I’ll leave you all to chat. Jacob, I promised Sophie you’d save her a dance. I’m sure Miss Whitby won’t mind, will you, dear?”
Eve swallowed hard and rallied a smile. “Of course not, Mrs. Horowitz. How lovely to see so many old friends reunited!”
She smiled and scrutinized Eve for an uncomfortable moment before gliding away with her husband, who was laughing beside another comedian. Jacob was asking Sophie how long she’d been back in the city.
This was clearly deliberate, Eve thought, but there was no time to feel hurt or accusatory; this was all to be expected. She couldn’t blame Jacob’s mother for wanting him to continue tradition, for their families to have had a history, regardless of his new circumstances. Besides, everyone was just friends, yes?
Jacob seemed to suddenly have remembered Eve and whirled around to make introductions.
“Eve! Meet Sophie! Sophie and I were childhood sweethearts, you could say, before her family whisked her off to relatives in Paris. Sophie Perlman, this is my departmental colleague and dear lady friend, Miss Evelyn Whitby.”
“Enchantée, mademoiselle,” Eve said, bobbing her head. Miss Perlman beamed and replied the same. The music changed to a tune Sophie was clearly enamored of; her already bright face lit even further, and she gestured to the floor with a graceful hand.
“Ah, I am obliged,” Jacob declared, “and we’ve much to catch up on. If you’ll permit me, Eve?” He offered his arm to Sophie, whose radiance was undeniable.
All Eve could do was nod, and they were off.
Childhood sweethearts versus a “dear lady friend.” She was outmatched. Everything was against her. The sudden, sharp pain of this turn widened its scope.
She blinked a few times as she was left alone. Watching them, she wasn’t sure how much of their beaming smiles at one another she could take, so she searched for some sight of comfort.
Little Zofia was over by the dessert table, glancing in awe alternately at the cakes and at the dresses of elegant ladies she would never get the chance to become. Another aching sight, that, and Eve let the child be. Tears stung the corner of her eyes, and she looked up, forcing them back.
The heavens were merciful in granting Eve a respite. At that moment, who should enter but the Veils. No one ever forgot a Veil family entrance.
A little cheer went up when attendees recognized the Veils. Nathaniel Veil wore a voluminous black cape, black brocade suit, and an onyx helmet bearing open raven’s wings on either side. Long black hair trailed out from under the helmet, and his dark eyes pierced the crowd, his lips in a smirk. The ensemble made him appear a sort of mischievous divinity from some yet unnamed religion.
He made his name and infamy as a Gothic performer of literary works adapted for the stage, with a generous helping of Poe, monologues from Minerva Press novels, and traditional staples, from the seminal Castle of Otronto to Wilde’s recent Dorian Gray. As he strode in, the cape billowed as if there were a wind-device positioned somewhere. Perhaps there was.
Lavinia Veil, Nathaniel’s red-headed wife of seventeen years, strode in at his side, herself a fantastical queen in a huge period gown of deep burgundy and black brocade and a tall standing black collar embellished with jet beading: a Gothic Queen Elizabeth.
Nathaniel Veil had befriended Eve’s father when they were young men in England. Eve’s father had run a health clinic for those in need, and Nathaniel had founded a society to help melancholiacs, celebrating darkness rather than letting it rule them. Her Majesty’s Society of Melancholy Bastards, he’d called his witty, self-effacing club. The two of them had managed to avert quite a few suicides during their time running the clinic, one of them being Lavinia’s. They’d all spent a great deal of time in America but traveled back and forth to their native England.
The Veils’s son Daniel, now seventeen and devastatingly handsome, trailed behind them in a subdued black suit with red neckwear. The blush on his pale cheeks made it abundantly clear he’d rather no one be looking at him. Danny had not inherited his parents’ theatricality. He was a gentle, shy soul, and this sort of entrance mortified him as much as it delighted his parents. Eve rushed up to her old friend. It had been several years since she’d seen him, and he’d grown up beautifully.
“Danny, dear!”
He turned at the sound of his familiar name. Only family could call him Danny. At the sight of Eve, his discomfort vanished.
“Eve!” he cried, rushing into her arms for a tight embrace and happy laughter.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” she exclaimed. “You’ve rescued me.”
“I’ll say the same of you, dear one. I wish they’d let me slip in a side door,” Danny said. Eve laughed. “But from what have I rescued you, Eve? You’re the knight in shining armor sort—I thought you never need to be rescued!”
“Ah, well, remind me of that. Keep me strong,” Eve begged, sliding her arm through his.
The young man had inherited both of his parents’ ethereal beauty; his father’s long black hair combined with his mother’s flame-red locks made a rich auburn, kept long and down around his shoulders in waves. He was the very picture of a Raphaelite angel.
“Shall we dance?” Eve asked, eyeing the floor where Jacob and Sophie were taking yet another turn. She may not like dancing but she needed to keep an eye on them and she’d be damned if she was going to be a wallflower disappearing from Jacob’s sight.
“We shall,” Danny agreed.
“How are you, dear? It’s been too long. What now, three years?”
“I am well,” he replied. “No, two years and five months.”
“You’ve a better memory than I.” she smiled. “It’s sentimental of you to have counted the months.”
“You’re the only friend in the city I miss.”
Eve squeezed the hand he held as they danced. “Ah, but you’ve been remiss,” she chided gently.
“In what?” He appeared horrified.
“You’ve not sent me any poetry in ages.”
“Oh…” He blushed and looked at the floor. “I’ve been so busy with school.”
“I know, of course, and your schooling is tantamount. I’m only teasing. I just don’t want you to ever forget how gifted you are. Your parents might have a gift for the stage, but you, my dear, are a poet of the ages.”
His blush widened to the tips of his ears. They enjoyed their dance in comfortable quiet until Danny broached a new topic, his voice hesitant.
“Do you remember once, when I last visited and we took a walk around the park, that you understood me? That you understood what I meant about who I was…”
Eve thought back. When he’d last visited, he’d seemed haunted. Withdrawn and worried, and that wasn’t like him; a quiet soul, he’d always been a vibrant one. When they’d taken a walk, Eve had pressed him to be honest about what troubled him. He had asked for her confidence, terrified about that year’s trial of Oscar Wilde, his imprisonment, and the injustice of it all.
“When you asked me if I could keep your secret?” Eve asked gently. Danny nodded. Eve remembered that he had been so scared that what had happened to Wilde could then happen to him, too. Eve had taken his hand and reassured him, though she could not speak for the world but only for herself, that he had nothing to fear from her or anyone they held dear. “Yes, my dear, of course I do. I remember and I understand.”
“Well.” He blushed again. “I’ve met someone. A schoolmate. I’m very much in love, and it seems he is too. The kind of love that…well, is the stuff of poetry. That’s why I haven’t written you. All of my work has been about him, and I… Well, I wasn’t sure what you’d think, and I didn’t want anyone to find the poems.” He bit his lip.
“Oh, my dear heart. Danny, you are an incredible poet, and if you have fallen into an epic love for the poetic ages, then what could I possibly do but wish you all the best?”
He smiled. “It is very complicated. But we’ll find a way.”
“Yes, you will,” Eve encouraged.
“I’m so glad I have you,” Danny gushed. “That you understand.”
“I take it you’ve not mentioned this to your parents?”
“Perhaps I will, someday. But they don’t know now. They might suspect, but they’ve never asked. You know how sometimes you can think you know someone, and know they love you, but they still can’t accept your truths, and sometimes even the things they do out of love for you, that you know are out of love, end up harming anyway?”
“Yes…I do,” Eve murmured. “Nothing about my paranormal life has been anything but a curse, in my parents’ eyes, when to me it is a gift. It is not the same as your situation—”
“But it is a certain parallel. You can at least empathize.”
“Your dear, beautiful heart that loves so big and so strong, who could ever deny that?”
“Oh, plenty could,” he said mordantly. “The world is cruel. But this event tonight gives me hope. I… There may be others like me here who take refuge in the arts as I do. I know my parents have friends who are…like me; they just don’t ever make it an issue.”
“Which is heartening, in an age that seems too curious about people’s private lives. It isn’t anyone’s business but one’s own. I believe your parents will be good to you. If they are not, you have refuge in me. And in Gran, I promise. If things ever get bad, I even have room in my townhouse. And it’s my townhouse, which I pay for with my salary, so I get to say who comes and goes. You, and your love, will always be welcome there.”
Danny was overcome and kissed Eve on the cheek. “My angel,” he said. “That is generous of you, and it is a comfort.”
“It is part of my calling—doing what’s best for loved ones.”
“I love you too, my shining-armored princess.”
Eve laughed and spun beneath Danny’s arm in an artful turn. As they spun, Eve nearly stumbled when she caught another glance at the detective, who seemed to have made Sophie laugh as she tossed her head back in glee. Another few steps brought Eve within view of the Veils, who had taken up a lively dance themselves not far from her. They waved and blew kisses.
“How can I be here for you in turn?” Danny asked Eve. “I can tell many things are on your mind and in your heart. You’re always thinking, but you’re not usually so distracted. For one, I can tell that attractive man you keep eyeing over there is troubling you.”
Eve loosed a pained chuckle. “Ah. You think he is? Attractive?”
“Don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I… He’s a dear friend, a colleague. And, yes, he is a suitor of mine,” she said. “Well, at least…we have been… It’s hard to explain.”
Danny furrowed his brow and looked at the man in question with a flash of consternation. “If he is a suitor of yours, then why aren’t you dancing with him?”
“Because I’ve missed you!” Eve exclaimed. “I’d never miss an opportunity to spend time with you.”
“You’re a darling. But you mustn’t let me take away from a work in progress,” Danny said, nodding toward the detective.
“He is clearly preoccupied,” Eve said with a bit of vitriol. “And has been for a while now.”
Danny watched them a moment. “Ah. Yes. Well, one can have many suitors, and they may call upon many. She’s very pretty, but so are you. You’re young— And besides, I thought you didn’t want to settle in with anyone.”
Eve squared her shoulders. “I don’t.”
“So then play games, darling. Isn’t half the fun of attraction the game of flirtation? A good chase?”
Eve arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re too young to be so experienced a sportsman.”
“I’m only two years behind you—and volumes of poetry ahead of you,” Danny replied loftily. Eve laughed. Danny leaned in. “Maybe you both could do with a bit of a push.”
“We need no such thing,” Eve said with a sputtering chuckle. “It was my idea, his being my suitor, to push back against family pressure to take on callers. This was our solution to bide time and continue as professionals in our fields.”
“So you figured he could be a cover, masking the truth that your true lover is your work,” Danny supposed, almost as if he didn’t entirely believe it.
“In a way,” Eve said, squirming a bit. Danny could read her too well. “Nothing is going on. He is a convenience. A ruse, we’ve said.”
“Eve, before everyone fussed over our entrance, I swept the place from the back, looking for you specifically, and I saw you two standing together. You’re terribly awkward. Knowing you, and guessing about the detective, that means something is, in fact, going on—”
“We are dear friends,” Eve declared before tossing her head in their direction. “What that is between them… I don’t know. She’s a childhood sweetheart. Evidently. A relationship his parents seem very keen on maintaining.”
Eve felt deeply hurt and knew she had no right to. She had no legitimate claim to him other than the pretense they’d been playing at. She couldn’t expect him to keep himself from someone he truly cared about…. The pain twisted again.
“He’s at ease with her because he’s known her,” Danny surmised, watching and murmuring his assessment. “Like you’ve known me. I confess, I’ve been staring at him from the moment I saw him because I found him so striking. All angles and sweet elegance. He seems so earnest. Reminds me very much of my love.”
Queasy, Eve was glad for the subject to shift to someone else. “I’d like to meet him, your dear one.”
“You will, someday,” Danny said wistfully.
Mr. Veil appeared as if from nowhere and lifted his son up by the waist, deposited him neatly to the side, and picked up Eve and continued dancing without even missing a beat.
“Dad!” Danny pouted, folding his arms at the side of the dance floor. But there was no circumventing the force of nature that was Nathaniel Veil; one simply had to get out of the way or be pummeled by capes and melodrama until relenting.
“Uncle Nat!” Eve cried joyously.
“My Little Bat!” Nathaniel Veil cried in turn.
One of her earliest memories, a purely happy one amidst constant night terrors, was a rhyme Nathaniel had made up when her father shared his concerns about her state. As Mr. Veil whirled Eve around, they recited it together:
“Uncle Nat and his Little Bat
Befriended spooky this and that
When they found a little spider
Nearing harm they rushed to hide her
When they found a starving snake
They fed it bugs from off the lake
When they found a crying ghost
They cheered it up with jam and toast!
Uncle Nat and his Little Bat
Were loved by spooky this and that!”
Eve threw her head back in a little girl’s giggle, transported to the time he’d made the poem up to help her; her godparents had reframed what was scary into something lovable and gave her things to celebrate instead. It helped Eve deal with the ghosts and infinitely more.
“How are you, Little Bat?” he asked.
“I’m…very busy with work.”
He narrowed his dark eyes. “Is there enough play involved in this work? You’re too young to be such a serious businesswoman.”
“Uncle Nat, tell me, are you familiar with the magician Mulciber?”
As Nathaniel bounced her about in a quadrille, he thought a moment. “Can’t say I am. I admit, I’m a bit rusty on the upcoming talents; I’ve been very involved in my society’s educational ventures.” His voice was very nearly like her father’s crisp upper-class London accent, but occasionally the merchant-class sound of his upbringing slipped through. “I’ve had to step everything up— Sending Daniel to the best school hasn’t come cheap.”
Veil hadn’t come from much, and the fact that actors weren’t a respected class had been hard on their family. But they were the picture of grace, charity, and having fun with hard work.
“I wish I could have seen you and Father in your early days at the clinic,” Eve exclaimed. “I’d have been so proud! Did you hear he finally got the job at Bellevue?”
“No! Goodness. I’m so thrilled. Give him my regards; I wish he were here.”
“I certainly will. I ask about Mulciber because there’s something wrong with the show and I can’t put my finger on it. It uses a Divine Comedy theme; the extremes of Heaven and Hell. The first act is all levitation.”
“Levitation relies on tricks of the eye and carefully placed plates for the performer to stand on,” Veil explained. “Raising and lowering is hidden by fabric, sets, black wing curtains, and smoke effects.”
Eve nodded, recalling that there had been many effects present. She explained the second act of psychic recall.
“That’s likely someone planted out in the house,” Veil explained. “Someone innocuous who takes cues from people as they’re coming in. Might rifle in the pockets of coats, ask questions in the lobby, eavesdrop on everything. It’s never just one person, these things.”
“Do you think Mulciber could have a legitimate psychic gift?”
“If it’s as decisive as you say, then no, can’t be. There’s at least a second person in the house, working it over. Generally, in my opinion, the real psychics, the real Spiritualists, aren’t the ones out performing. Ask the Bishops, ask your Gran, ask yourself—you all know.”
“I’m…trying to keep Gran out of this one. She got too close to a case recently, and she became a target. Abducted. Hurt. I don’t want her left out, but she’s getting too old to be the soldier she was.”
“Good God!”
“I’m trying to keep a low profile myself and trying to distance her.”
“And you think you’ll have any luck with that?” Nathaniel chuckled.
“There was a mesmerism sequence where he drove volunteers to their knees. It was…discomfiting to watch.”
“That sounds like someone’s vain fantasy of power and dominance,” Veil declared. “Likely paid plants in the audience.”
Eve frowned. The control had seemed very real.
“Does a group or a philosophy known as Arte Uber Alles mean anything to you?” she asked next.
“Arte Uber Alles?” Nathaniel made a face. “From what I understand, folks gravitated to that notion are troubled extremists. I’ve had a few devotees rotate through the society and try to give me one of their pamphlets. Taking one look at it, I deterred them and said never to contact me or my society again. Art saves lives, but one shouldn’t live solely for it. Nor should one give their life entirely over to art without sparing care for oneself.”
“We’ve a couple of cases, the detective and I….” Eve made the mistake of looking over at him. He and Sophie were laughing, and she raked her hand through his curls fondly. Eve had yearned to do that same fond gesture to him, and Sophie’s intimacy hit her like a punch to the gut. Nathaniel followed her eyes. Eve coughed and stumbled a step in the dance. He righted her, and she continued. “We’ve reason to believe the group has led to at least one death if not others in related tragedy. Mulciber was a name mentioned in the notes of one of the deceased.”
“Then it bears looking into, but keep an eye out for those behind the scenes. They’re the ones making the magic happen while you’re focused on the spectacle.”
“Noted, thank you.”
“Now what was that about?” Nathaniel asked, nodding his head in the detective’s direction. “You looked over at that man and it’s as if you were a kicked dog. I’ve never seen a single thing ruffle your feathers once you truly embraced your gifts, and if that man—”
Eve stopped his protective rant with a chuckle. “I’m all right, Uncle Nat. He’s a colleague, we’re close, it’s… We’re…” Panicked, she had to recover herself. She had to maintain the ruse of courtship to keep her parents from forcing anyone on her, and anything said to Nat could be fodder for discussion with her father. “We’re courting.”
“Well then he’d better come dance with you if you’re courting,” Nathaniel declared.
“We’ll get there,” Eve said, trying to remain hopeful.
Veil whirled her back to Danny, who waited, admittedly bemused, with his arms still folded.
“In the meantime, take care of my boy, Little Bat,” Veil exclaimed. He vanished into the crowd in a billow of black satin, disappearing as suddenly as he’d arrived.
“You got to be the Little Bat,” Danny opined. “I had to be the Wee Warlock.”
“A wee warlock is far more powerful than a little bat, Danny.”
“But I love bats,” Danny whined.
“And this little bat loves you,” Eve said, kissing him on the head, which made him grin.
“See, don’t you feel better?” he asked with an eager smile. Eve made a motion to see where the detective had gone, but Danny reached out and shifted her face back toward him again. “Pay him no mind.”
“I…can’t help it.” Eve’s heart spasmed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the detective still staring at Sophie, still dancing—and from what Eve could tell, clearly enamored. The pain she was felt was distinct, utterly foreign and wholly dreadful.
“Oh, dear heart. You’re truly a goner for him, aren’t you?” Danny smiled. Eve scrunched her face up, blocking back sudden tears. “I understand. We can’t control who we fall for—”
“I have not fallen—”
Maddeningly, Danny just giggled at her. “He’s handsome and seems charming. Play the game. I believe in you.”
Kissing her hand in an exaggerated fashion, her childhood friend twirled her away and toward the punch bowls, perhaps as a hint. Eve realized she could use a bit of cordial to take the edge off her unease. She downed a glass more quickly than she should have.
A voice behind her made her jump.
“It would appear nearly the whole night has gone by and we’ve not even had a dance,” came a familiar, gamesome voice at her ear. Jacob’s voice so close and soft had an unmistakable effect on her. “That’s terribly unseemly for a ‘courting’ couple.”
Eve turned to his playful half smile, raised her head, and squared her shoulders. “Well, you were dancing.”
“So were you. Every time I looked over, you were entirely preoccupied.”
“So were you.”
“Well, now, may I?” He offered his hand. Eve gave it.
“You did demand a waltz,” she said.
“I did, and I intend to take it,” he replied confidently.
He placed his hand upon her back, there in that spot that had felt so exquisite. His commandeering of this moment at any moment until now would have thrilled Eve, but having seen him so lively and at such delighted ease with another woman, it didn’t feel so special anymore.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Eve said, trying to keep an edge out of her tone and failing miserably.
“As did you,” the detective countered.
“Childhood friends,” Eve stated.
“Is that why you were so friendly?” he queried, trying to search her face. She kept her expression blank.
“Is that why you were?” she countered. “You did refer to yourselves as childhood sweethearts.”
“Childhood friends carry a great deal of weight in one’s heart, do they not?” he asked. She couldn’t tell if he was making a declaration or gauging her. Their verbal fencing had a distinct bite.
“I should introduce you to Daniel Veil,” she said. “He’s a brilliant poet. I’ve so many poems he wrote to me.”
“Ah, I see. Well, very good then,” the detective said. There was something detached about his response. It was almost as if they were back to a first conversation, an alien and cold one at that. Perhaps she shouldn’t have tried to be coy, to use Danny as a foil to Sophie. She wasn’t good at games. Not when it actually mattered. She didn’t know what to do next, afraid she’d already made mistakes.
“Your family seems kind. Jovial. I…I wish they liked me as much as they like Sophie.”
“Well, Sophie has the advantage of time and—”
“Being Jewish, I know,” Eve murmured. “I don’t begrudge your mother wanting you two together. I should just get out of the way—”
“You should just what, be so easily put off the pursuit?” he asked, a bit sharply. “A convenient excuse?”
“This isn’t a game. I don’t want games,” Eve said, almost numb. She felt all energy leaving her; the entire experience had deflated her, and she wanted to crawl away.
The music stopped. Everyone bowed as they withdrew. The detective slowly put his hands down, as if still trying to grasp something, looking at her with a furrowed brow.
“Eve, I don’t—” Jacob was cut off by the host of the night’s festivities. The man rang a bell and thanked everyone for coming, saying that distribution buckets would be coming around again for any donations for the cause of a just and caring city, and he encouraged everyone to have a safe trip home.
“Shall I call a carriage and escort you back?” the detective asked. Whatever he’d been about to say, he must have thought better of it. Eve had no idea if she’d have wanted to hear it or not. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“No, I… I’ll be all right. I’ll call one from outside; there are several lined up.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a smile that appeared forced.
“Please give your parents my warmest regards.”
“I will. Until next time, Whitby.” He waved. She waited for him to reach for her hand, to regain even a moment of the heated, breathless physical brushes they’d had amidst their work. There was none. There was a hesitation in his eyes. Still searching her. She didn’t know what he wanted to find.
Squaring her shoulders, Eve held her head high. “Until next time, Detective.”
Eve got out the door and hurried down the steps before anyone could see the tears stinging her eyes.