“And snug. As. Bugs.” Evie knocked back more gin. A warm buzz was starting to take the edge off the headache from her object reading and she wanted it to stay that way. “I refuse to become morose! This is a party. Tell me something happy.”
“Flo’s calling a press conference next week announcing our new act and letting me give my first interview as Theta St. Petersburg-ski, smuggled into this country by loyal servants during Revolution,” Theta said, in an exaggerated Russian accent. She scoffed. “What a load of bunk. And I gotta sell that act to those tabloid jackals.”
“Well, it’s not like they can prove otherwise. For all you know, you could be a Russian aristocrat. Right, Henry?”
“Right,” Henry said, staring at his drink.
Evie squinted at Henry. It wasn’t like him to be so solemn. “Henry, you’re very quiet this evening.” She put her face up to his. “Is it because you’re an artiste? Is this what artistes do? Get sad and quiet in party bathtubs?”
“Mostly, we take baths in bathtubs.”
“You are sad. Is it because of this Herbert Sherbet fellow?”
Henry pasted on a smile. “Just beat.”
A girl and her fella stumbled into the bathroom. “When will these accommodations be available?” the girl slurred. Her date held her up. “I should like to make a resh… reservation.”
“I’m afraid this booth has been reserved indefinitely,” Henry said with an apologetic bow of his head.
The girl peered at him through smeary eyes. “Huh?”
“Scram!” Theta yelled.
The girl pulled up the strap of her gown with as much dignity as she could muster. “I shall complain to the management,” she said and slammed the door behind her.
“I think that’s my cue,” Henry said, pushing out of the bathtub. “Thanks for a swell party, Evie.”
“Oh, Henry! You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“Forgive me, darlin’. I have a pressing engagement. With sleep.”
“Henry,” Theta said. Her voice carried a hint of warning. “Not too long.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry about what?” Evie asked, swiveling her head from Henry to Theta and back again.
“Anything,” Henry said, giving a courtly bow. “Ladies, I’ll see you in my dreams.”
“What was that about?” Evie asked once Henry had gone.
“It’s nothing,” Theta answered.
“Uh-oh. I know that face. That isn’t a happy Theta face,” Evie said, sitting up so suddenly she sloshed the contents of her flask onto her dress. Theta took the flask away.
“That’s not fair,” Evie groused. “I shall report you to the authorities for the crime of gin-napping!”
“You can have it back in a sec. I got something I wanna talk about.”
Evie rolled her head left toward Theta and sighed heavily. “Oh, all right.”
“I wanna talk about what happened to us. I wanna talk about the Pentacle Killer.”
Evie pouted. “That is pos-i-tute-ly the last topic I wish to discuss.”
“You say that every time I bring it up. I know you told the papers that John Hobbes was a crazed madman. But you and me, we both know that ain’t the truth. That night, when I was trapped with Hobbes in the theater, I felt something I’d never felt before.”
“What was that?”
Theta took a deep breath and let it out. “Evil.”
“Yes?”
“Not you. I meant I felt the presence of evil.”
“Well. It’s over now,” Evie said, hoping Theta would take the hint.
“Is it?”
“Well, sure. He’s gone,” Evie said a little defiantly. “It’s all going to be the berries from now on. Nothing but blue skies. Just like the song.”
“I don’t know about that,” Theta said, leaning her head back against the cool bathroom tiles. “You still dreaming about that eye symbol?”
“No. I’m not. My dreams are pos-i-tute-ly the swellest,” Evie said, but she didn’t look at Theta when she said it.