Chapter Forty-Six
After we dash through the gates of the cemetery, I unwind the bloody bandage that binds my foot and tie it to one of the wrought iron fence posts.
My blood on the paisley-patterned belt that bound my waist earlier this evening. Hopefully it’s enough to tell Clarice and Kiyoko Stop. Do not enter.
Pax pauses to rub the fraying, bloody belt like a talisman. My heart twists; it’s quite the fitting metaphor for our torn, soiled relationship.
I slide my ballet slipper back on with a wince. There’s not much time; I limp away with the others quickly. Tonight’s events thunder through me like a raging headache.
I know now that Kiyoko did not leap, but is she safe? Spirit is giving me nothing on the whereabouts of my friend, but I sense in my soul that she’s alive. I would’ve felt our connection change otherwise.
How will we find her now?
Nirav yawns, rubs his eyes. I suddenly feel heavy and dry-eyed and oh-so-tired. I glance at the slender wristwatch on my arm, the one that thrilled me earlier, when I thought about it in sync with Pax’s timepiece. I had nothing in sync with Pax. It’s almost 2 a.m.
“We need sleep,” I say. “Where should we stay this evening?”
“Go back to the boardinghouse,” Pax says. “I don’t think anyone could track you there in one night. But yes, this will be our last night in each of our respective homes.”
We’re temporary, Pax had said. This is the beginning of the end. Where the merry band disbands. I allow myself no remorse. If I weren’t so tired, if I knew how to find Kiyoko on my own, I’d likely take Nirav’s hand and hide in another part of the city.
We plan to meet at Pax’s apartment in the morning. William says a quick goodbye and heads to wherever his home may be.
I’m too bone-tired to argue. We trudge back to the boardinghouse. Nirav enters silently.
I am alone with Pax for the first time all day. Yesterday, my heart would’ve sung at this opportunity. Now, I am confused and galled. I saw this heartbreak coming. And still, I leapt. What a fool I’ve shown myself to be.
Pax appears to feel similarly wounded. We’ve been similarly wounded this whole time. But these wounds—our freshest wounds—were inflicted by us, on us. I cannot trust him. He does not trust me.
We don’t hold each other’s hands. We don’t hold each other’s eyes. We both feel it: This was a mistake, us. It’s painful, but it was inevitable. Loving someone only leads to heartbreak.
“Goodnight, Pax.”
“Goodnight.”
I sneak into the house, up the stairs, and collapse into bed.
Goodnight, Stella.
I’ve been asleep for what feels like mere minutes when someone barges into our room. I bolt awake; memories of folks letting themselves into my living quarters aren’t pleasant ones. Nirav is even faster: He leaps to his feet and snatches up the sharp shard of glass he keeps next to his mattress.
“Easy, kids,” Miss Beverly hisses. “I’m here to save your arses.”
I blink, and there’s Miss Beverly, standing in our doorway. She holds a lantern, and she’s wearing a nightgown. Her face is covered in white goo. Cold cream.
“Get up and get out,” she loud-whispers. “There’s a trio of burly fellas down there asking about the two of ye.”
Nirav, again, is one step ahead of me. He’s already thrown on his jacket and is dumping his things into pockets.
I leap out of bed, too, and start packing, but I’m still so groggy. “Who?”
Miss Beverly scowls. “Dunno. Not wearing uniforms. They said they’re searching all the boardinghouses in this neighborhood, near the racing stables. Anyways, they showed me this.”
Miss Beverly holds out a newspaper, folded to showcase a photograph. It’s Hedda Hopper’s column from a few days ago and features Max Blanck and his coiffed wife ducking into a Rolls-Royce. And there, plain as day in the background: Pax, Kiyoko, Clarice, Nirav, and me.
The day we were scouting our routes. Drat the paparazzi. They’re as pestilent as the zealots.
“He asked me if I knew any of y’uns.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Listen. Folks come pounding on my door in the middle of the night, I don’t ask if they’re friend or foe. I assume the worst.”
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Five thirty a.m. Too damn early for these fellas to be messing with the likes of me.” Miss Beverly scowls. Or maybe… she doesn’t. Hard to tell. “Now you and him follow me—down the back stairs.”
We do, and I whisper, “Him? You knew Nirav—?”
Miss Beverly grunts. “You think I’m some kind of idiot? Kid’s practically got a mustache.”
I slide my eyes at Nirav, who puffs his chest and grins.
“But I can tell yer family of some sort.” She shrugs, and my heart fills at this odd moment. We’re running, Nirav and I, but we’re running together.
We follow Miss Beverly down the back staircase, through the kitchen, and out the back door. The screen door makes far too much noise, but I’m comforted by the bat Miss Beverly has resting over her shoulder.
The edges of the sky are light purple. We look around like we’re seeing New York for the first time.
Miss Beverly swallows hard and waves us away with her fingertips. “Now git. Don’t come back for a while, you hear? And don’t worry. I’ll take care of that ratty-ass cat of yourn. But you—”
Her voice catches, and it takes me by surprise. “You should come back. Maybe in three or four months? I’d like to know you’re okay. You two were good company.”
Aw, that’s as much as she can love, Stella-girl.
She slams the door behind us.
Nirav and I wander for a bit, then find ourselves in a doorway with a view of the ever-climbing Woolworth Building. I imagine both of us are thinking of what we did in the shadows of that steel skeleton a few hours ago. We’re silent awhile. I blink back tears.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen after tonight, but I’d like for us to stick together, if that’s all right with you.”
Nirav sighs, nods, and leans his head against my arm.
“I mean, we’re family of some sort.” It might be because I am worn out, but I giggle, and Nirav giggles silently, and then we lose ourselves to laughter mixed with tears.
When we settle, Nirav is asleep in moments. I wriggle out of my shawl, drape it over him, lean my head on his, and doze until morning.