“His replacement.”
“His replacement for now, at least,” Gunn speaks to his notebook. “A young guy from the street side of our operation—Win says he has talent, but he couldn’t handle the pressures of the job.” A smirk plays at his lips. “Apparently the boy actually got sick one night, after McEvoy had him using extreme forms of magical torture.”
Boss McEvoy. Alex. My heart skips a beat. He has to be talking about Alex.
“You mean McEvoy’s right-hand sorcerer?”
“Former sorcerer. McEvoy was happy to dispose of him, when Win told him we were short a man. Better to recycle him, I suppose, than lose the asset completely.”
I swallow. I’ve become an expert now at parsing vague gangster language. Lose the asset. Meaning get rid of Alex. Because there are no loose ends with the Shaws.
Gunn crosses his arms, looks at me with those searing blue eyes. “You’ve met him before, correct? Alex Danfrey?”
At the mention of his name, something warm and soft as butter slides down my sides and sinks into my core. “Around here, sir.”
“Bit of a charmer, if I remember?” Gunn raises an eyebrow. “Cast a flower into your hair?” When Gunn sees that he’s made me blush, he picks up his pen, continues to scratch away at his goddamned notebook. “I like using people I’ve vetted, people I know are mine completely. Besides, the boy’s got a cloudy past, which could end up proving a hindrance or a bonus in our new little venture, depending on how things shake out.” Gunn looks at me. “But we’ll take what we can get right now—there’re more important things to worry about. Just keep an eye on him, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure the whole troupe—including Alex—is ready for reopening on Monday night. He’ll be here tomorrow, ready to work.”
“When are you going to tell the rest of the troupe about him?”
Gunn looks at me funny. “That’s your job.”
Wonderful. Now I’m Gunn’s personal messenger, too.
As I move to Gunn’s doorway, he calls up from his desk, “And I’ll need the answer to our little blood-spell dilemma by the end of next week. I’m serious, Joan.”
Panic surges back like a tide, but I refuse to let it drown my relief about a night of freedom. “Understood, sir.”
I book up the three flights of stairs to our hall, run to Grace’s door, and start pounding on it. “Grace!” I call out, near giddy over the idea of some real time with her, away from Gunn’s watchful eyes, away from that ten-foot-square office I’ve spent the past few days locked inside. “Grace!”
Maybe a cigarette, hell, a pack of cigarettes outside, hitting up a dance club on M Street, going for a slice of pie at Moby’s Diner around the corner—
I stop pounding after a full minute and crack open her door. Her room’s empty.
I cross the hall to Billy and Ral’s, try theirs. No answer. I even tentatively knock on Tommy and Rose’s, that’s how desperate I am, but both of them are long gone—
And my disappointment is as real and needling as a splinter.
I shake it off, try to hold on to the rush I got when I first heard about my night off, despite the fact that I’m alone. I grab my coat, hat, and gloves and hit M Street, turn down 15th Street, and soon run into a church. It’s packed outside, people coming and going, the church’s wide stone stairs busy and festive. A chorus of red-dressed girls and boys stand on the front lawn holding candles, all bundled up in their new coats and Sunday best, start belting out an adorable version of “Silent Night.”
And it’s only then that I realize it’s Christmas.
An intense loneliness falls over me like a shadow. I want to call Ruby and Ben, make sure that Ben made my gingerbread for her, ask if he remembered to pick her up something from the Drummond Five and Dime. But they’ve got no phone. I want to find Grace, enjoy the holiday with her, but I’ve got no clue where she went. In an impulsive moment, I think of calling on Alex, surprising him, telling him that I’m beyond excited that he’s joining our troupe, and that I couldn’t wait to see him one more day. But I don’t know where he lives.
And now my night off feels less like a gift, and more like a sad trick. Even more pathetic, I find myself wishing the Den was open tonight, so I could forget everything else, just throw myself headfirst into performance magic. I finally grab a hot cocoa from the meeting hall next to the church, watch the carolers for a little while longer, and try to make the most of the night.
*
The next morning I get up early, ready to break the news about reopening up and down our hall. I start with Grace. She opens her door to find me all smiles.
“Season’s greetings,” I say.