Outside, the sky had darkened to the scummy pea-soup color that preceded a twister. The window reflected a girl, gangly, with bony knees, blond ringlets, and a floppy blue bow that matched her dress. No longer herself but a stranger. She picked up her knickerbockers and removed her knife from the pocket, instinctively reached for her thigh, and swore.

Her dress had no pockets. Girls’ clothes never did. And she was wearing stockings, so she couldn’t even tuck the knife into her sock. She fiddled with her boot until she figured out a way to stick the knife in there without stabbing herself. She practiced pulling it out, poking a hole in her stocking in the process. It was awkward, but she’d be able to grab it when she needed it.

Other than that, the details of how, exactly, she was going to attack Max were fuzzy. Maybe Henry would have a plan of his own.

She gathered up the pictures and set them on top of the trunk, got the hurricane lantern, and put it in front of them. She knew better than to leave a lantern lit when no one was there to tend it. But if she didn’t come back, maybe someone would see the pictures there, and understand.

After a few seconds, she picked up the photo of the doll. She couldn’t leave it here—it was the only proof they had of what Max had done. She realized then that she should have taken the entire wallet. A single photo proved nothing. No one would believe her. Even if they caught Max and questioned him, he would lie. She’d have to go back to his dressing room to get the other photos.

Chapter 90

Chapter 90

AFTER THE BOY left, Henry straightened the pages of his book and put everything back in his desk. He was disappointed Pin hadn’t read it. He’d written more than two hundred pages. But the boy was right. It would have taken too long, and the Gemini would be busy tonight.

He didn’t own a pocket watch, so he stepped into the hall and listened until he heard the bells from St. Vincent de Paul. A quarter past six o’clock. He’d missed supper, damn it. Bad luck, fuck! He ducked back into his room, locked the door, and slapped the air in frustration. Slapped himself for thinking a bad word. Dressed in a clean shirt and trousers, clean socks, his dark jacket, and bowler. Pried up a baseboard and found his knife. They’d taken it from him when he arrived, but he bought another. It had a leather sheath, so he wouldn’t cut himself when he tucked it down his socks.