He grabbed her throat and pressed his other hand against her mouth, choking her with a cloth as he pushed her to the ground. He hadn’t needed poisoned candies, he was so much bigger than she was and stronger, much stronger; she had never imagined Max might be this strong. She tried to bite his hand, but he thrust the cloth deeper into her mouth. She gagged as she tried to scream Henry’s name, she’d told him to follow her, he should be here by now he should be here where was he where was Henry?

But the man pinched her nostrils closed and it was like trying to breathe in a dream of dying; and then it was too late.

Chapter 96

Chapter 96

THEY RAN DOWN the path past the arcade, past the minstrel show and burlesque tent and Woodland Cabaret. Three young men stood outside Max’s tent, smoking.

“Hang on,” Francis ordered Bennie. He pointed at the She-Male banner and called out to the three men. “Have you seen him?”

The men tossed their cigarettes and ran off. Francis cursed, pulling at the tent flap to look inside. No one. It was the same with the shack Max used as a dressing room.

“Look at these.” Bennie thrust a handful of postcards at Francis. “Our man has peculiar taste. No kids, though.”

Francis flipped through them—pictures of women missing arms or legs or both; an actress named Polaire, whose wasp waist must’ve made it nearly impossible for her to eat. A smiling girl in pigtails and a checked frock, sitting atop a haystack.

“What about her?” he asked Bennie.

“Nope. That’s Peggy Driscoll, she’s twenty if she’s a day. Come on.”

Outside, thunder drowned out sounds from the park as they followed the path into the woodland. There were no electrical lights here. As Francis’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he picked out familiar trails beneath the trees. Some led to glades where people would lay their picnic blankets, but most meandered off into tangled underbrush. He’d lost his way there even in the daytime, chasing pickpockets or truant boys.

Now it seemed an impenetrable forest, though he knew the Velvet Coaster loomed not far away, and the brickyard that bordered the woods to the north. He looked at Bennie, who nodded. They walked, silent, for about thirty paces. Then Francis raised his hand, signaling Bennie to stop. He cupped a hand beside each ear, listening.

Nothing but the rustle of leaves, the murmuring of the North Branch. How could that little madman Henry have disappeared without making a peep? Maybe he’d been in collusion with Max all along.

From within the trees, a girl screamed, “Henry!”

“That’s her.” Bennie pushed his way through a wall of brambles. Francis remained where he was.

“No! Listen. I think it came from there.” He pointed to a coppery smear low in the sky. “Bricktown. The kilns.”