“Did you know,” said Dr. Poesy, the very one who had given Kane the red journal in the Soft Room, “that the female anglerfish evolved a dark lining in its digestive system so the consumption of glowing morsels would not expose it from the inside out to its prey?”

Kane’s eyes flicked up to the chandelier again.

“They live in the dark, you know,” he added. “They’re from the abyss.”

Dr. Poesy was different from Kane’s memory. Standing against the drabness, with his lustrous robe pooling around his shoulders, he radiated with pastel power. The skin of his face glowed beneath rose and peach makeup. His hair had gone from chestnut to a pearly lavender, pushed up high and backward and threaded with pearls—a wig, Kane knew. The edge of something chiffon fluttered out from where the rope fell open.

Was Dr. Poesy in drag?

“Yes, she is in drag,” Dr. Poesy said, once again answering the questions that were plain on Kane’s face. Kane controlled himself, blinking away his wonder.

“Anyways. Isn’t that interesting?” she asked. “About the fish, I mean? I learned that today. It’s a blessing to learn something new every day, but you’d have to inhabit a small world indeed not to. Isn’t that right, Ms. Daisy?”

Dr. Poesy reached out a hand, and the dog lapped at the long fingers. She stroked the animal lovingly.

“Doesn’t Ms. Daisy make a fine escort? I’ve always told her she could make a lot of money if she weren’t so picky.” She sat, crossing bare, toned legs, and motioned for Kane to do the same. Her high heels were monstrous.

“You’re not a doctor, are you?” Kane blurted.

“Well, no, not in the conventional sense.”

“Do you have a doctorate degree?”

“No.”

“Do you have any degrees?”

Poesy—not Doctor, just Poesy then—looked affronted. “Of course.”

“In what?”

“Parapsychic Architectures and what you people might call physics, but I don’t see what that has to do—”

“What do you mean ‘you people’?”

“Americans.”

“Where are you from?”

“Not here.”

“Be specific.”

Poesy tapped a knifelike nail against her rosy cheek, smiling slyly. “The abyss.”

Kane forced the edge out of his voice. “Well then what are you doing here?”

“Having tea. I thought I wrote that on the invitation. Would you like to join me?” Poesy slid off her robe and draped it over the settee, rendering her visible in a shimmering, beaded corset. Around one wrist she wore a bracelet laden with a dozen charms that clinked as she fussed. Kane found himself moving closer to inspect them. He spotted an opalescent skull, a copper starfish, a white wooden key.

He sat down.

There was also a small pewter pine cone. A fat porcelain bee.

“I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place. As you can see, I have prioritized our privacy.”