“For the record, they were both very rude,” said Miriam. 

“Don’t take it personally—they’re like that to everyone.” Georgie urged her onto a stool at the bar and then motioned the bartender over. “A gin for my friend here.”

“What?” Miriam frowned as the bartender—an androgenous individual wearing a jumpsuit—poured the drink. “No, thank you.”

“Take a drink,” Georgie insisted. “You need to calm down.”

“But I am calm—”

“Your hands are shaking.” 

Georgie drew Miriam’s hands around the glass to prove it to her; the alcohol sloshed back and forth. Miriam stared, not quite understanding at first. “I’m not scared,” she said, though now that she was away from Joey and his small entourage and should have breathed easier, she found it even harder to settle. She swallowed and looked at Georgie. “I’m fine.”

Georgie gave a little smirk, though not with as much scorn as Miriam expected. “Just take a sip. It’s good stuff and it’s on me.”

That’s a bad idea, Miriam thought, but her emotions were all out of sorts, her courage scrambling to reconstruct itself. She took a long gulp of the gin and then grimaced, fighting not to cough. 

“That’s the spirit,” Georgie congratulated her. “Feel better?”

“Well, no.” Miriam took another moment to catch her breath as she set the glass back down. You told Naomi it would be fine, and it is fine. It’s not like even a gangster would have hurt you in front of all these people. He’s not that scary. She smoothed her hair back and her blouse down. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth? You were right there when Mr. Fairchild said—”

Georgie interrupted her with a laugh. “Darling, you’ve got courage, I’ll give you that. But you know who that is, right?” She nodded back toward the table. “Say goodbye to that book. Whatever’s in it isn’t worth it.”

“You don’t know that,” Miriam retorted. “We haven’t even seen inside it.”

Georgie scoffed. “Don’t need to. Nothing magic is ever worth the trouble.” She paused a moment, looking Miriam over; Miriam squirmed on the barstool self-consciously. Those lavender eyes continued to unsettle her, though...not entirely in an unpleasant way. “How’d you know it was here anyway?”

It would have been smarter to lie, probably, but Miriam wasn’t convinced of her talent in that arena, and besides, part of her was very curious to see Georgie’s reaction. She never did answer me straight about whether she has magic, she thought, trying to ignore the commotion around them to focus on reading Georgie’s face. Maybe she’ll give something away. “A spell told me.”

Georgie’s brow raised, but not enough to constitute surprise. “A spell?”

“A scrying spell.”

“Is that so?” She looked more amused than impressed, infuriatingly so. “You can do spells, Miri?”

Miriam folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I found it here, didn’t I?”

“Sure seems that way.” Georgie shrugged. “I admire your tenacity, but I’m telling you honestly, sweetheart—don’t go anywhere near Tripepi again.”

She leaned closer, so that even when she lowered her voice, her breath tickled Miriam’s ear. It stopped Miriam’s protests in her throat, along with the rest of the air in the room. “This is no place for little girls,” she purred, “and I won’t rescue you a second time.”

Miriam gulped, her skin prickling with heat. Georgie was too close, and though her sultry voice made Miriam tingle in ways she was too proud to admit, the words stung like a pic in her chest. You don’t belong here, she heard, loud and clear. How dare Georgie drive her nails into that scab.

“I’m not a little girl,” she retorted, though her voice was drawn so tight it trembled. “And I don’t need your help.” 

Miriam hopped off the stool, and her knee gave a wobble, ruining her perfect dismount. She refused to let her face reflect that moment of embarrassment as she snatched up the glass of gin and downed its remaining contents. That probably wasn’t a great idea either, and her vision swam a moment, but she held fast. With a deep breath she straightened her blouse and marched back across the room to Joey’s table.

I can do this, she told herself firmly. I can’t let anyone tell me I can’t.

Miriam stood herself in front of the Slate Street table once more. They regarded her with confusion she hoped would work to her advantage. “Mr. Tripepi,” she said, “I’d like to make that trade after all, if you don’t mind.”

Joey set his hand on the book nestled beside him, as if he had sensed her impulse to steal it earlier and was now on guard. “Once I’m through with it,” he reminded her. 

“That’s fine—I don’t have the other book with me anyway.” Miriam risked a glance at the women who had heckled her earlier; both were watching with extreme distrust. “How much time do you need? Should we meet back here in a few nights’ time?”

“Next Tuesday,” said Joey. “Same time.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I can assume you won’t have any trouble getting back in?”

“Not at all,” Miriam replied with a shrug. “I’ll see you then.” And at last deciding not to push her luck any further than that, she stepped back. “Sorry for interrupting your evening.” He nodded, and with that Miriam headed back toward the way she’d come in. What she would actually do come Tuesday, she wasn’t sure yet, but she was confident she’d find a way forward.

Just as Miriam reached the exit, the music from the stage at the center conspicuously quieted, followed by the dulling of the rest of the patrons and their chatter. Miriam told herself not to look, as her work was done and there wasn’t anything else to be gained from staying any longer than she had to. But then Georgie started to speak, and against what remained of her good judgement, she turned back.

“Fellow miscreants,” Georgie greeted the crowd. Everyone returned to their seats in preparation for whatever “show” was about to commence, except for a tall, blonde woman with long hair and a flowing white dress who was joining Georgie at center stage. “It’s good to have you here, as always. I’m sure you’re enjoying my booze, but I think it’s about time we start the real show, no?”

The crowd encouraged her with cheers and whistles, and Georgie leaned toward her beautiful co-star to whisper something in her ear. The woman smiled shyly, and she didn’t seem to mind Georgie’s arm snaking around her waist. As the pair of them backed to the edge of the stage near the band, Georgie made sure to cast Miriam a sly look only for her. It was as if she was daring her.

Just what kind of show is it? Miriam couldn’t help but wonder as the house lights dimmed, leaving the stage aglow in gold. Are they going to sing? Only the bass resumed, plucking out idle notes. Dance? Something...else?

When Miriam realized she was holding her breath, her cheeks flushed. This was just Georgie broadcasting that she had won, somehow—or that she would, if Miriam admitted how great her curiosity was. Determined not to give that to her, she turned and continued out of the lounge.

***

Gremory is here, Naomi thought, over and over, as she paced the length of the rug shop above. She’s down there, right now. What should I do? She chewed on her nails and waved off the saleswoman’s attempts to approach her. I knew she’d be in Boston but I didn’t think she’d be here! Can it be a coincidence?

Naomi wandered the shop for what felt like hours, crushing every attempt by her imagination to fill in what might have been happening underground. Several times she considered returning to the secret door, even knowing full well it was futile for her to try to cross Gremory’s seal. Miriam will be fine, she thought, all concerns over Mr. Tripepi squashed beneath this potentially greater threat—not just to Miriam herself, but to all Naomi had been working toward. She’s strong, she won’t fall for any tricks or...seductions. Naomi’s stomach turned and she sat down on the nearest sofa. It would be now, when I’ve found the perfect match, that she shows up to ruin things for me again.

After some time—and another attempt by one of the shop workers to ask about swatches—the bell over the door jingled, and Naomi lurched to her feet. She sighed with relief as Miriam bustled inside and hurried over. “Miriam!”

“Hey,” Miriam replied, pushing her hair away from her face. “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t until they had headed outside, chill evening air stirring their skirts, that Naomi even remembered the real reason they had come. Miriam was very obviously not carrying the promised book. “Are you all right?” Naomi asked, noting Miriam’s long, distant stare. “Did you see Mr. Tripepi?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Miriam began fussing with her hair again, only to seem to realize she was doing it, upon which she forced her hands down again. “He had the book but he refused to give it to me, unless I traded him for Emerald L’Belle.”

“Oh!” Naomi brightened at what she thought was an easy trade, but seeing that Miriam was still shifting anxiously, she tempered her reaction. “What will you do?”

“I’m not sure, yet,” Miriam admitted, and she suddenly shook herself off all over like a dog. “God! Why does everyone have to be so frustrating! I’m not a child.”

Naomi frowned, wishing dearly that she had a more complete recounting of what had happened. As she watched Miriam glare into the distance, though, experience guided her to gentle her tone. She touched Miriam’s back, and though Miriam stiffened at first, she gradually relaxed. Naomi waited for her to glance over to speak.

“I know you’re not,” she said. “You were really brave to go down there.”

“I’m not—” Miriam squirmed and looked away again, and after a moment she pushed her glasses back to swipe at her eyes. “I’m not really, I just...I didn’t want them to think…” She sighed in exasperation and let her hands fall. “Sorry; they told me I didn’t belong down there and it pissed me off, that’s all. I’m fine.”

“All right.” Naomi waited a moment longer to see if she would say more, her heart aching in sympathy. When nothing more followed, she offered a smile instead. “Let’s go buy a cake.”

Miriam blinked at her, completely off guard. “A what?”

“A cake. We’ll take it back to Odelia.” Naomi gave Miriam’s back an encouraging rub. “I saw Tarot cards in your room. Will you read my fortune while we eat cake?”

Miriam scoffed, but the rest of the tension in her back finally unfurled, and she took a step toward the curb. “All right—I know a good place. But my fortunes are very accurate, so don’t say I didn’t warn you if you don’t like what the cards say.”

“I’m ready for it,” Naomi assured her, and she took Miriam’s hand as they moved toward the intersection to look for a taxi. “I trust you.”

Again Miriam seemed hesitant at first, only to take Naomi’s hand back. “Good,” she said, and she took the lead.

***

Poiel is here, Georgie thought, paging through the weathered tome that Joey had handed her. She might still be just outside, even. Oh, what to do?

The show had gone as smoothly as ever; her charming co-stars were all relaxing among the audience, drinking the rest of the night away while a new band sought to entertain. Georgie sat next to Joey in his booth, rummaging through the Sefer Poyel he was so eager to show her. Superstitious gangsters. It always made her smile.

“Well?” Joey asked, watching with close fascination while his companions pretended to be interested only for his sake. “Is it authentic?”

Georgie shrugged as she scanned over the book’s penultimate page: a summoning circle drawn in dark ink. “I don’t know why you thought about asking me. It’s not like I’m a witch.”

“But you’ve said you know things about magic,” Joey insisted. “And the show—”

“It’s just theatre, Joe. Lights and mirrors. All magic is parlour tricks.”

At the center of the drawn circle, the name Poiel had been written in angelic glyphs. Georgie ran her thumb across the ink. What are you up to, Poiel? she mused, not flinching as the glyphs burned her skin. Why do you want that girl to have this book, and why rope Darby into it too? She pressed harder into the page. 

“What about New York, then?” Joey carried on. “Did you read the papers? That wasn’t just tricks.”

Georgie closed the book with a clap. “Of course it was. Don’t be such a sap.” She dropped the book into his lap and stood, careful to tuck her thumb into her palm until the burn had healed over. “You’re better off buying yourself a big gun, if it’s firepower you need. I can connect you to a dealer.”

Joe frowned down at the book, fingering the sigil on the cover with stubborn reverence. Georgie looked away. “Thank you, but no. I have plenty of guns.”

“Joey is his very own arms dealer,” purred one of his usual companions as she latched onto his elbow. “He’s doing just fine.”

Georgie rolled her eyes. “She’s not allowed back,” she told Joey. “But the rest of you, please enjoy your evening.”