Chapter Seventeen
Pax dives into recruitment mode: “Job security. Safety. Steady clientele.” This was the plan: Hire them first, grow their trust, slowly recruit them to do crimes.
But Pax has no idea how miserable safety and security sound to a nomad like Kiyoko. She listens to Pax and says a firm no. She turns back to me.
“Did you know that the Hawaiian word for pet ownership is kahu?” she says, almost dreamily. “It’s an entirely different concept than being an owner. It means… guardian. Protector. Steward.”
Her gaze meets mine. “Snuff told me that. I think maybe your sister told him?”
My throat tightens. Tears sting my eyes.
Daisy loved languages; she spoke French fluently with Maman.
This word, kahu, and its meaning; Daisy was my protector.
My guardian. This is Daisy’s way of telling me that Kiyoko can indeed be trusted.
If Kiyoko sees animals in such an honest and respectful way, she is trustworthy.
Kiyoko points at Pax’s crotch, says “Button your fly,” and turns on her heel.
I can’t let her walk away—she’s heard from Daisy! I shake off being flustered at the brief mention of nether regions and I shout (a little too loudly): “Would you help us with a heist?”
Pax looks like he might fall into cardiac arrest, and his eyes scan our corner of this train station. But Kiyoko stops. Spins slowly toward us. She returns to our trio, bringing the bright honey scent of tulips with her. “What are we talking?”
I take a deep breath. I can’t believe what I’m about to say.
“The Hope Diamond.”
Kiyoko doesn’t blink. “It’s cursed.”
“Could be,” I say with a shrug. “If you believe that sort of thing.”
Her lips flatten. “You can’t imagine the wild shit I believe.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Nirav giggles silently, too. Pax grins wickedly, that dimple of his grinning with him, and Kiyoko, too, laughs at last.
“This is a much different proposition.” She seems to be considering the offer, but says, “I’m very good at reading animals. I’m not sure I could be useful.” She pauses. “And how do you know I can be trusted?”
I look her in the eyes. Is she quirking an eyebrow or is that her scar? “I don’t. But I’m hoping I can.”
Her gaze barely skitters over Pax, but it lingers a moment on Nirav. He grins.
“What the hell,” she says with a shrug. “I’m in.”
On our way out of Grand Central, we pass a flower cart. Kiyoko dumps the tulips she’s been carrying in a tall metal bucket. The wrinkled, gray man behind the cart spits a brown stream of tobacco juice. “Where you been, Esther?”
She says simply, “I quit.”
He mutters a curse word at her back. She doesn’t dignify him with even a glance.
“Esther?” I ask.
“It means star. I like that.”
We leave the hustle and bustle of Grand Central and enter the hustle and bustle of New York City sidewalks. Kiyoko reaches over and squeezes my hand briefly.
“I’m sorry about the loss of your sister,” she says. “Snuff told me all about it, that your sister was in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory when it—well. That’s awful.”
She walks ahead, catching up with Nirav, pulling my heart further out of my chest with each stride.
Pax narrows his eyes at me, and they are the color of storm clouds, gray and ominous. Shadows swarm his aura, conceal half of his face. His stride never falters, and his voice is strained: “YOUR sister?”