Chapter Forty-Nine
Pax and William wait far up the street from the main post office, while Nirav and I approach. The post office looks a tad like a squat wedding cake, frilly and overwrought, and it sits in a wedge of land in the same park as city hall and the courthouse.
We decided it would be foolish for all four of us to stroll about this area together, exactly across from where we stole the world’s most infamous gem just hours ago.
And indeed, the area is still crawling with curiosity and those seeking our arrest. Spirit shows me an image of an anthill, a mound of scurrying creatures.
Nirav’s gift is needed to find the correct post office box, and we discuss the fact that I, minus the ridiculous clairvoyant getup I wore to Blanck’s party, look the least like I did last evening.
Was that really only last evening?
And also, I take a bit of offense to that conversation. Pax told me I looked beautiful last night. Perfume and makeup and coiffed hair—indulgences I don’t enjoy often. Now Pax suggests I look the opposite?
He positively vexes me. I just want to find Kiyoko, find this stash, and get away from him. Being around him is too painful and confusing.
Nirav trails his fingers lightly along the rows of post office boxes, searching for the correct one.
The boxes are ornate leaded glass, and each is marked with a gold-painted number.
Because they are clear, I can see on the opposite side of these boxes that a postal employee is moving row by row, placing contents inside some, removing contents from others.
I realize with growing concern that if that postal employee finds the stash before we do, we lose everything.
Nirav moves to the next row.
The postmaster moves to the next row.
Nirav moves toward the center of a row.
The postmaster moves toward the center of the same row.
Closer, closer…
Nirav stops at last at post office box number 3264 and taps it lightly. I shuffle to gather the key. The postmaster reaches in—
I swing open the box and see the black satchel inside. It’s there! I lift up a quick thank-you and a deep admiration for Kiyoko. I grab the satchel. On the other side of these boxes, I feel the postmaster tug back.
I yank, hard, and the satchel breaks free from his grasp, but it rips the drawstring closure. “Hey!” he shouts through the box. “That is not properly packaged material for the United States Postal Service!”
“I’m aware!” I shout through the box. “We’ll repackage it properly and return!”
“See that you do!” he shouts through the parcel box.
The black satchel is dusty and has smears of blood on it. I shift the bag around on my hip. It’s heavy—far heavier than I expected—and it jangles like money.
I tug at the draw string and it tangles. My heart races, but I manage to open it.
Spirit sends a burst of blinding light shooting forth from the satchel, and a church choir singing the “Hallelujah” chorus.
Thank you, Spirit, I chuckle. I needed that.
There are dozens and dozens of diamond necklaces, brooches, hatpins, bracelets, wallets, money clips, fancy writing pens, watches, pocketknives—the sheer amount of stuff surprises me. It’s as if my pickpocket friends and I had raided three parties and not just the one.
And there, at the bottom of the bloody bag, in the depths of a dirty satchel in the middle of the main Manhattan post office, sits the largest diamond in the world. The Hope Diamond.
I gasp. I hadn’t yet seen it up close. It is so much larger than I realized. I can’t resist it. I ease my finger toward it…
And when I touch it, I get a rushing, windy sensation. I picture stars and the fuzzy purple-pink line of the Milky Way and the Earth spinning and quaking and grinding stone against stone, until there, at the heart of it all, a massive blue diamond is born.
The gem is cold and the depth of its color surprises me.
And then, another sensation washes over me.
It’s unfamiliar at first; it feels like hunger.
Like need. And I realize—it’s greed. I could take this bag and walk out the opposite door.
I could screw over the others, take this heavy bag of wealth, and literally hide on the other end of this continent, living out the rest of my days.
I withdraw my hand. How quickly greed fills us. How empty it leaves us.
The drawstring is tangled again, the bag gaping open.
I shift the heft of the bag onto my shoulder.
We swing the door shut, lock it, and bring the key to the front desk. I toss the key on the counter and mumble, “We found this.”
And we leave.
And we jangle. Loudly.
And we smile.
Oh, do we smile.