He steered her down the alley, toward the trash-strewn lot. Something rustled in the shadows, and Pin stiffened as a cat streaked in front of them. When she looked up, her mother stood in the doorway of the tiny shack, holding a kerosene lantern.

“Is that your mother?” For the first time Fatty sounded uneasy, almost shy.

Pin nodded miserably. Her mother looked disheveled and suspicious. After Abriana’s disappearance, Gina began to disappear, too. She shrank from Pin, as though her bones might crumble at her touch. Pin wondered how she could stand to be handled by the men she danced with. Alcohol helped, she knew that, and the laudanum syrup she kept in a tin box alongside their mattress.

“Pin? What are you doing?”

She hadn’t gone dancing. She’d removed the cheap bangles she favored for fortune-telling, but still wore her Gypsy clothes—a short skirt that fell halfway below the knee, cheap red silk over Rusleen petticoats. Her shirtwaist was too big, her thick dark hair loosed from the amber combs she usually wore. Her garnet earrings caught the light and glowed—the only truly beautiful things she owned. Pin approached her hesitantly, flinching when she saw her mother’s face grow rigid.

“It’s all right, Ma,” she said as Gina covered her mouth, staring at Fatty Bacon. Stepping beside her, Pin caught the candied scent of soothing syrup and the Sen-Sen Gina chewed to mask it. “There’s no trouble, Ma, I’m fine!”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right.” Bacon removed his helmet. “Well, no, that’s not true.” He smoothed his hair nervously. “There’s trouble, but Pin here’s not in it. I just wanted to make sure he got home safely.”

“Safely?” Gina shook her head. She sounded as though she’d swallowed a mouthful of honey. “I don’t understand. What’s not safe? Did they, did they—”

Pin cut her off before she could mention Abriana. “Nothing, Ma! I told you—”

“Don’t you lie.” Gina grabbed her wrist. “What happened? What did they find?”

He stepped toward them and raised a hand. “You might as well hear it from me, Mrs. Maffucci. Someone was killed on one of the rides today.”

Gina murmured something in Italian and crossed herself. “The Blue Streak?”

“No, ma’am.” Bacon turned his helmet over in his big freckled hands. “A girl was murdered. In Hell Gate.”

Gina cried out and sagged against the doorframe. Pin caught the lantern as Bacon hurried to her side. Together they half carried Gina the few steps to the mattress on the floor. Pin helped her lie down. When she looked up, she saw Bacon staring at her mother with pity.

“It’s a terrible thing,” he said. “Your boy, he was the one who found her. That’s a brave son you have there, not many boys would have done what he did.”