Chapter Fifteen
That afternoon, as we’re hauling decrepit old desks and moldy accounting ledgers onto the street, a busker sets up shop on the corner. He’s an organ grinder, and atop his shoulder sits a small monkey in a bellhop’s hat.
Ah, a hurdy-gurdy man!
Any place with some happy music nearby is a good place.
Nirav’s eyes widen at the sight of the monkey. Pax cannot resist his joy; he squats in front of Nirav and produces a penny with a flourish.
“Go request a song,” Pax says.
Nirav shyly takes the penny and scurries across the road. “Any other coins in there?” I pretend to look in his coin purse. “Say, that nickel you still owe me?”
A grin chips its way across Pax’s face, carving his dimple. “Patience, Stella. I told you: I always pay my debts.”
Nirav pinches the penny and holds it aloft in front of the street performers. The monkey knows his job: He hops off the shoulder of the hurdy-gurdy man and snatches the penny from Nirav’s fingers. Nirav tosses his mane of black hair and laughs so joyfully, my heart practically bursts.
The monkey tips his tiny hat, and Nirav claps and bounces on his toes. The performer tugs on the tattered rope that tethers monkey to man, and the creature scurries back to his owner, climbs up his person, and sits on the boxy organ grinder.
The hurdy-gurdy man winks at Nirav and turns the crank on the side of his organ grinder. The monkey sways his head to and fro, a small dance.
The tune is peppy, and after a few short, springy notes, I realize: Music! I’ve missed it so!
Daisy loved music. She hummed and sang and turned anything she could get her hands on into an instrument: a set of spoons, or two sticks on a garbage can lid, or a puff of breath into a glass bottle. Daisy was music; when she was here…
My throat tightens. When she was here, Spirit would play a pippy little flute tune when we were together. It followed us about, these happy notes, like the music in a moving picture show. I didn’t realize until just now that I haven’t heard that tune since she died. Daisy was music.
“Stella, go dance,” Pax says with a wink. I can never tell if he’s teasing me or teasing me.
“I don’t dance.”
“You can’t dance, or you don’t dance?”
“I don’t.”
His eyes twinkle. “I don’t believe you. The only people who say they don’t dance are the ones who can’t dance.”
“I can. I don’t.”
“Two left feet is what they say. Oi, I can’t dance. I’ve got two left feet.” He says this in a silly, high-pitched accent, and I purse my lips to prevent myself from smiling.
“My feet are fine.”
“So you hate music, then. A disdain for music and mirth. Killjoy.” He’s rather enjoying this.
“No, I—”
“Nirav,” Pax shouts to the dancing boy. “Stella here says she does not dance. Do we believe her?”
Nirav grabs my hand and starts dancing a jig. He grins at me and tugs, Come on! I hesitate, very conscious of Pax standing next to me, watching. But I shrug that off and join Nirav: Music!
Nirav and I leap and twirl, and the monkey points at us and screeches, which makes us laugh.
I am soon gasping for breath. Music! This feels like a winding back of time.
We kick and dip and sway. Our very own dance party, here on the sidewalk, in the shadow of the rumbling el.
Spirit shows me twinkling lights and confetti—a true party.
Pax jimmies a bit, too, his long and lean body imbued with this tune. “May I have the next dance?” His silver eyes appear almost lit from within, and his grin is salty.
I cock my head at him. “I believe my dance card is full,” I say, swinging my hand, clasped in Nirav’s.
Pax narrows his eyes and pretends to glare at Nirav. “You steal all the pretty girls.”
Pretty? My core muscles clench.
Nirav chuckles silently but releases my hand and bows deeply, gesturing at me, then Pax. Go right ahead. Why does this young teen trust Pax so much?
Pax steps forward, hand extended, eyebrow arched. “May I?”
The organ grinder slows the music. I swallow hard and nod. Pax takes my right hand and wraps his other arm around my back.
The sensation of his warm hand on the small of my back—snick! The tumblers of the lock fall into place and unlock something undefinable. Something scary and worrying.
Is that a Spirit message?
Pax glides around the sidewalk in a smooth and practiced waltz.
I am awkward and a bit stumbly at first, not because of my lack of grace, but because Pax’s hand on my waist stuns me to my core.
But as we drift, I recall my dance lessons from Daisy: onetwoTHREE-onetwoTHREE-onetwoTHREE—that’s it, Stella! You’re a natural!
It is a memory, not her voice, but I am glad for it nonetheless.
We float together to the music, Pax and I. My whole body is alert, and the music wraps around us and lifts us and we soar. Timeless and suspended, we drift.
If Daisy was music, is Pax… the dance?
I am allowing myself this moment of joy, and Pax tilts his head at me.
His features are truly breathtaking: his dark hair and olive skin, his silver-green eyes.
Spirit gives me a flash of a marble statue, a bust carved from pure white stone.
I realize the meaning: each muscle, each cord is strong and lean and sinewy, but his eyes are so clear, they are almost translucent, as are the eyes in those masterpieces.
It’s not frightening, but it makes me wonder if Pax sees the world in a way that I don’t. Calculating and precise.
He leans in close, closer. Can he feel my heartbeat through my thin cotton dress? His whisper is a warm, gentle breath on my ear. A shiver runs down my spine.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me, Stella,” he mutters. “You barely know me and yet you’re here, helping me seek justice for my sister. No one has ever done something that selfless for me. I am so grateful. I am forever in your debt.”
I almost confess—my sister, too—but I can’t. I can’t trust Pax to know the truth. I can’t tell him about Daisy. If he discovers that I, too, have a motive for revenge, he will surely use that to manipulate me. He cannot know that we both seek vengeance. I will be swept away in his flood of wrath.
As if he feels my hesitancy, Pax pulls me closer still. He senses it, does he not? That we are bound together by something so much greater than ourselves? Something dark and mysterious?
Daisy. Her name is in my throat, on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t emerge. My sister, too.
The shadowy presences of the Dark Trio creep into the corners of my vision, their coldness leaching into my bones, setting my teeth on edge.
If I can maintain my motive as revenge for his sister Julia, and not my sister Daisy, will they stay at bay?
The buildings that loom around us seem to press in, as if breathing, threatening to topple and bury us all in rubble.
Suffocating. Smothering. My fingers tighten around Pax, gripping his shoulder, his hand.
He reacts to that with his hips, pulling mine closer to his.
Oh! I am breathless. Our gazes lock. My breath is stolen.
Daisy!
The Trio hisses.
She’s here, with us. Come see, Stella.
No. NO. It’s a lie.
Why don’t I say it? Why don’t I let him know this is personal for me as well?
No. It is too much of my heart to share with someone I just met.
His heart is against my heart, his pull is irresistible.
If he knew I want vengeance as badly as he does…
it would be too easy to mistake our lust for revenge as attraction for each other, would it not?
It would be even easier for him to persuade me to use my gifts in terrible ways.
I pull out of his embrace abruptly. He looks stung, so I muster up some playfulness. “You are forever in my debt, it seems. But you say you always pay.”
He smiles and offers his hand. I hesitate, but I take it. Pax twirls me, once, twice. Dizzy and disorienting. And his eyes have grown steely by the time I’ve spun back to face him.
“Max Blanck is about to discover exactly that,” he growls. “I always pay my debts.”
Yes. Pax is the dance.
I know I should keep my distance. But I truly love to dance.
THE WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH COMPANY
From W. Stead, Southampton, England
To P. Princip, New York City
9 April 1912
I BOARD SHIP TOMORROW STOP
THE FINAL LIST FOR JB AS DISCUSSED STOP
RECRUIT ALL STOP
THEIR REFUSAL IS UNACCEPTABLE
LADY ROSE BOHDAN
KIYOKO WATANABE
MLLE CLARICE DUBOIS
EDGAR CAYCE
DAVENPORT brOS
LEAH MAGGIE KATE THE FOX SISTERS STOP