I grabbed Cherub by his kerchief. He staggered and smiled as sweetly as ever. His saber was unsheathed, and his eyes were glassy with gin. The bandage on his left ankle was loose and grimy, but Cherub had swallowed enough clear liquor to quiet the limp. When I saw him, I found I had failed to shake the feeling that had descended on me in Barbie’s subway tunnel: I could not bear for him to die.

“Turn back,” I said. “They’re waiting for you.”

“That just means more of them to kill,” he said, to great approval from the pack.

I screwed the kerchief tight against his throat. He slumped on my shoulder, his breath as hot as moonshine.

“Let me walk you home,” I said.

“These boys need their chief.” I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—me, or himself. The boys were too young, too deeply Westside, for such subtlety. All they did was cheer.

“It’s insanity. You’ve already lost three. Don’t throw these others away.”

“I have to, Gilda,” he said, low enough that only I could hear how sick he felt. “These boys are going no matter what I do. Only Barbie can turn them back.”

“Where is she?”

“Like a true leader, she’s bringing up the rear.”

He tipped his head, and raised his sword, and spun on his heel without saying goodbye. I shoved my way through the army, exposing my arms to sweat, war paint, spilled liquor, and the awful bristle of pubescent moustaches, and found Barbarossa, flush with liquor, surrounded by her honor guard, all the way at the back.

“Gilda, Gilda, Gilda!” she cried. “The daughter I never had. Come to watch the festivities?”

“Call it off.”

“You’re too late. Can’t you hear them singing? You’d have an easier time calling off a typhoon.”

“It’s not Van Alen who stole your guns. It’s Thorne.”

“That can’t be.”

“Where is he?”

“He got too drunk at the war council. We left him slumped in his chair.”

“Find him. String him up if you have to. The man killed Galen Copeland. He lied to your face. He pushed you into this war. Stop it now, or you’re giving him just what he wants.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Is it true you loved my father?”

“Like no one could ever know.”

“Thorne was the one who betrayed him. Now he’s done the same to you.”

“Eddie Thorne barely has the ingenuity to button his own pants.”

“I can find him for you. You can stop this fight.”

“I gave you till midnight, didn’t I? It’s fifteen minutes gone. This army does not turn back.”

“Then at least choose somewhere else to cross. Van Alen’s expecting you. He’s put every guardsman he has right at Eighth Avenue.”

“You sold us out, did you?”

“I was trying to save a few lives.”