It was Tuesday. Time for a decision.

Miriam spent her entire day at work debating with herself over it, from every possible angle. If she didn’t show up to the agreed-upon meeting, Joey would know for certain she had taken the Sefer Poyel—if he hadn’t assumed already, thanks to Abigail’s testimony. Was it important enough to him that he would track her down, and if so how far would he be willing to go? He was an infamous gangster, after all, even if the Slate Street Gang hadn’t made the papers too horrendously since Mr. Joey Trippepi assumed leadership. Not going was admitting not only guilt, but cowardice, and she could only imagine how a man in his position would respond.

She had to go. She told herself this over and over as she marched back home after the end of her shift. Leaving him be and hoping he didn’t track her down wasn’t an option she could live with. But if she gave the book back...

Miriam opened the book on her bed one more time and flipped through the pages. She had been too frustrated and disappointed to even begin translating any of the Hebrew portions, and the glyphs remained an utter mystery. The notes in the margins shared a few insights about Poiel’s rank and duties as an angel that normally would have captured her attention for days, but now they felt like cheap tricks. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at the summoning circle again.

Then she turned to the page bearing Germory’s sigil. It, more than anything else in its fabricated pages, preyed on her curiosity with real teeth. Whoever had forged the tome couldn’t be so clueless to have included a demon’s sigil instead of an angel’s by mistake, of that she was certain. But then, what purpose did it serve? Why was it the only page without a single note or translation? Miriam ran her fingertips over the lower half of the page, where the writing became sharper, digging into the paper. It wasn’t just fancy-looking approximations, it meant something.

He can’t have it back, Miriam thought determinedly as she clapped the book shut once more. Not until I figure out what this page means.

That left only one real option, as foolish as it may have been. Miriam packed The Affairs of Emerald L’Belle into her purse, donned her coat, and headed to the street to hail a taxi.

Past the Gremory door and down the stairs, the same bouncer that Miriam had faced during her last visit was again guarding the entrance. He regarded Miriam with a curious look and asked, “Here again to see Mr. Tripepi?”

“Yes,” Miriam answered immediately, surprising even herself. She hadn’t really intended to lie, but she hadn’t intended to surrender the truth so readily, either, and she couldn’t explain how her voice had snuck out of her like that. She cleared her throat. “He’s expecting me.”

The doorman harrumphed, though he did sound somewhat impressed, and he let her in. Naomi wouldn’t approve, Miriam thought with a frown, but she’s not here to say so, at least.

The atmosphere of the lounge had not changed at all: despite being the middle of the week, all manner of people in all manners of dress adorned the sofas and flitted between the tables and the bar. Slow jazz was plucked out by the band at the edge of the center stage, and waitresses in delicate lace weaved between the patrons. Though it wasn’t nearly as much as a shock as it had been the first time, she sensed more keenly than ever that she was out of place among the sultry brood. Their curiosity on her felt heightened somehow, the whispers more pointed. Even so, Miriam took in a deep breath and held her chin high as she headed toward the stage.

Joey was seated at the same table as the last time—there was no mistaking his hulking shoulders over the back of the sofa. He was missing his two ladies, and as Miriam approached she couldn’t help but wonder if Georgie really had banned them from the premises. The reminder made her flush, and she quickly scanned the room, only to not spot Georgie herself, either. With one last moment to steel her nerves, Miriam rounded the sofa and then seated herself right next to Joey.

“Good evening, Mr. Tripepi,” she greeted him.

Joey fixed her with a long, judging look. Though they didn’t call him The Brick for nothing, he wasn’t able to keep the shifting of emotions off his broad, stony face: the surprise, the anger, and the eagerness that made Miriam feel dwarfed even further than by his size. She did her best to hide her own apprehension as she reminded herself that she’d already deduced this was the wisest course. If nothing else, there sure were enough people paying attention to them that he couldn’t react too aggressively without causing quite a scene.

“Miss Vance,” replied Joey. “I wasn’t certain I would be seeing you tonight.”

“It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” Miriam said with a shrug. “Like we agreed?”

“Yes...it is.” Joey continued to stare at her, the furrowed little knot between his eyebrows shifting between confusion and condemnation. “But I’m afraid I don’t have the book you’re after.”

Don’t overdo it, don’t overdo it, Miriam recited internally over and over. She wasn’t a skilled actress by any estimation; it would hurt her chances too much to fake anything overly emotional. She deployed the face of snooty irritation she had practiced during the cab ride over. “What? What do you mean ‘I don’t have it’? I kept up my end.”

Miriam tugged Emerald L’Belle out of her purse, though she held it close to her after, just in case Joey was just as prone to snatching up books as she was. Joey pulled a face at the sight of it, his brows arching in a very different manner that honestly made Miriam feel some sympathy for him. He really seemed to be an ardent fan after all.

That boyish enthusiasm for the book soon fell away, however, as Joey looked away from it and back to Miriam’s face. “I don’t have the angel book,” he admitted again. “It was stolen from my home.”

“Stolen from your home?” Miriam gave a quiet huff of surprise. “That’s pretty bold for just a book.”

“Just a book,” Joey repeated, frowning at her.

Miriam bit back a cringe. Had she played it too cool instead? “Don’t get me wrong—it’s an extraordinary book,” she said, trying to recover. “And it was a gift meant for me. But it’s still just pages and ink.” Before Joey could work up a reply, she asked, “What were you expecting to do with it?”

Though Joey was still watching her with blatant skepticism, he did answer. “The same thing you are, probably.”

“Were,” Miriam corrected him with a sigh, but she could see that she wasn’t really convincing him; time to make her escape. “Not that there aren’t plenty of other mysticism books out there to try. But in any case, I guess our business is done.” She tucked Emeral L’Belle back into her purse and pushed to her feet.

Joey took her arm. His grip wasn’t overly harsh or threatening, but his hand was so huge compared to hers that her heart crammed itself up against her throat. “Miss Vance,” he said, and her name in his low voice cut through the din of the lounge. “I really did respect your father.”

Miriam stood frozen. All things considered she should have expected at least this much from him, and yet she found herself completely unprepared. “Everyone did,” she replied quietly, though she wasn’t able to muster her usual bravado.

She tried to tug her arm free, but Joey didn’t let go; he stood, tall and imposing like an obelisk. Her father had been a large man, too, and she found her tangled mind wondering if the pair of them had ever faced each other down like this. It gave her a chill.

“I’d like to think—” Joey began, but he was interrupted by a pale, slender hand reaching between the two of them to smack the back of his palm. Startled, he immediately let Miriam go.

“Joe—Joe darling,” said Georgie airily as she stepped up behind Miriam.  She wrapped her arm around Miriam’s shoulders in an unmistakably protective gesture. “Hands off the guests, please.”

Joey drew his hand in to rub the back of his palm as if she’d struck him much harder than it seemed. His face tightened with guilt and embarrassment. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looked to Miriam and offered a conciliatory nod. “I apologize.”

For a beat, Miriam could only stare. Her heart was still pounding and she didn’t know what to think or feel, with Georgie pressed so close against her back—shielding her from danger while danger itself was still so close. Then Georgie’s breath stirred a small hair by her ear, and the goose bumps it gave her jolted her back into her proper wits. “Accepted. I’m sorry about the book.”

Joey narrowed his eyes at her, but he nodded and retook his seat. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Vance.”

“Oh, she will,” said Georgie, and she took a step back, drawing Miriam with her. “You do the same, Joe.” She turned them both about and began steering Miriam away from the table.

With the moment having passed, Miriam began to realize and appreciate just how many eyes had turned her way, and her face burned hot with embarrassment while her nerves struggled to re-knit themselves. “Georgie, you—” Her words tangled and she reached up to try and push Georgie’s arm off her. “I don’t need—”

“Hush,” Georgie whispered against her ear. For that brief moment her good humor was completely gone, and the sudden change coupled with her firm hands and brushing lips silenced Miriam immediately. A new and strangely eager chill swept through her shaky frame, and she didn’t protest further until Georgie had guided her into a different sofa close to the stage.

“I didn’t...need your help,” Miriam at last managed to grumble as Georgie sat them down together. “But thanks, I guess.”

Georgie laughed, once again all easy smiles. She was dressed in a blouse that night, black with white buttons, and a tight, short skirt that crept up her thighs when she crossed her legs. “God, but you’re a stubborn one,” she declared, throwing her arm again around Miriam’s shoulders. “Joe’s not half as bad as his predecessor, but he’s not half better, either. Have some care, will you?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Miriam protested. “If he’s not half as bad, he logically is half better.” 

Georgie laughed, and Miriam found herself blushing for no good reason. “Fine, fine. But you should know, I’m not going to rescue you again. You’re on your own with him.” 

“You said that last time.” She watched Georgie gesture with one hand, but wasn’t sure what it was meant for until a waitress headed their way with a pair of glasses. “Don’t worry about me. It’s not as if he was going to do anything with all these people here.”

“Oh, all these people, hm?” Georgie purred. When the waitress reached them, she plucked one of the whiskey glasses off it and handed it to Miriam. “You don’t actually know these people, Miri, or why they’re here.”

Miriam held the glass with both hands as she watched Georgie down hers on one breath. Everything she did was effortless and Miriam couldn’t help but envy at least that about her. Not wanting to be branded weak, but also knowing better than to completely follow suit, she took one gulp of her drink and tried not to grimace as the burn. 

“Why are they here?” she retorted. Her gaze darted about the room and she suddenly had to admit...those that were still paying attention to her didn’t seem the type likely to spring to her rescue, or even give a statement to the police after the fact. “They all come for your song and dance number with that blonde lady from before?”

Georgie arched an eyebrow at her. “Damn right they do.” She leaned closer, again putting her mouth a little too close to Miriam's ear. “Stick around and find out.” 

Miriam squirmed, and with another laugh Georgie pushed to her feet. “Order another drink,” Georgie offered. “It’s on the house.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying,” Miriam said, though when a flash of white fabric drew her attention to the blonde once again taking the stage, her curiosity roared to life and she almost couldn’t take her eyes away again.

“Sure you weren’t,” Georgie teased, and strode to the stage in her heeled boots, each clap on the wood drawing the audience quieter as the band changed their tune.

I didn’t come for this, Miriam thought determinedly as Georgie greeted her stage partner with a gentle kiss on the cheek. Distracted, she took another sip of the whiskey and adjusted her skirt over her knees. I don’t care whatever show this is. But if I get up it’s going to draw even more attention and—

The sofa cushion jostled, and she startled to find Darby Fairchild himself settled in beside her. His hair was tousled and he looked a bit out of sorts, as if he had hurried to be there. He tugged at his tan suit and pearl cufflinks. “Is this seat taken?”

“Mr. Fairchild?” Miriam said dumbly. “What are you doing here?”

“Here for the show, naturally.” He gestured to the stage. “Rarest theater in Boston.” Though Miriam was full of more questions, Georgie raised her voice to begin the show, and she hushed to listen.