Lair of Dreams

“What did you do, future Mrs. Lloyd?”


Evie grinned. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Sam gave her that lupine grin. “That a promise?” he said, and Evie’s stomach went flippy-floppy again.

They didn’t have to wait long. Within ten minutes, a crew of competing reporters rushed the building. On the street, people took note, and soon the post office was mobbed by New Yorkers excited by the prospect of catching the famous couple trying to elope. Sam peeked out to see police arriving to hold back the sudden swarm of fans. It all had the feel of a friendly riot.

“Is this enough of a distraction for you?” Evie asked.

“Sheba, this is a first-rate confluey.”

The last of the day’s sun streamed in through the high windows and fell across Evie’s face, lighting it up—lips quirked into a smile of amusement, dark blue eyes gone to squinting because she probably needed a pair of cheaters but was far too vain ever to wear them. She was grinning now, really enjoying the spectacle. Sam had spent time traveling with a circus, but being with Evie was its own circus, a real trapeze act. He wanted to do something grand and ridiculous to prove himself to her—like go to Belmont and bet all his money on a horse. Hell, he wanted to buy her the damned horse and name it for her. It was stupid to let a girl get under his skin this way. But he didn’t feel like stopping it.

“What is it?” Evie said, patting at her hair. “Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah. There’s a face on your face.”

Evie rolled her eyes.

“It just so happens to be a really nice face,” he said, and he could swear that he saw Evie blush.

“Over there!” someone in the crowd shouted, but they were looking the wrong way, toward a man and woman walking a small terrier on a leash. The cops shouted and blew their whistles as the crowd broke free, surging toward the other side of the post office and the hapless wrong couple about to be swept up in their frenzy.

“Let’s ankle, Baby Vamp!” Sam reached for Evie’s hand. She clasped her fingers around his, and Sam reveled in the sureness of it as they sneaked down the stairs into the basement, enjoying the sounds of chaos from above. They passed through a large main room where sorting machines hummed and hammered, creating a constant, mechanized thunder. Letters shot down clear tubes and into waiting trolleys to be sorted by postal workers too busy to notice Sam and Evie as they passed through. At last they came to another portion of the post office, which splintered off into a vast warren of drab hallways. The search was starting to feel fruitless when, finally, they came to a set of stairs that led down one more level to a long, cheerless line of office doors.

“B-118, B-120,” Evie called as they walked. They passed several more, and a men’s room. “B-130!” The dark, pebbled window of B-130’s door still bore the ghostly traces of former lettering that read, simply, STATISTICS. “That’s a good way to keep people out—make it sound like a flat tire of a place.”

Sam jangled the doorknob. “Locked.”

“What now?” Evie asked.

“Wait a minute.” Sam fished in his pocket for the key he’d gotten from his contact. He tried it in the lock but it wouldn’t fit. He groaned.

“We could break the glass,” Evie said.

“Last resort. We don’t want anybody to know we were here.” Sam pressed his face to the glass, cupping the sides of his eyes to block the hallway’s glare. He could just make out a shaft of light coming from up high on the right by the lavatory. “Hold on. I’ve got an idea,” Sam said, heading to the men’s room.

“I do not believe that answering the call of nature qualifies as an ‘idea.’”

“Just hold on to your hat for a second,” he said, disappearing inside. A moment later, the men’s room door opened again. Sam leaned out and crooked a finger at Evie.

Evie folded her arms. “You want me to go in there?”

Sam waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you just love a cozy spot for two, Baby Vamp?”

“There’s nothing more romantic than a row of urinals, Sam, but what’s your plan?” Evie said, following him inside.

“That.” Sam pointed to a small hinged window near the ceiling. “It leads right into office B-130.” Sam laced his fingers together, palms up. “Come on. Upsy-daisy. I’ll give you a boost.”

Evie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking.”

“I used to do this in the circus all the time. Piece of cake.”

“Why do I think that piece of cake is going to be Pineapple Evie-Upside-Down Cake?” Evie grumbled.

“Those shoes look dangerous. Better take ’em off first.”

“I love these shoes more than you, Sam.”

“We’ll come back for them.”

“They’re from Bloomie’s. I’m not leaving them.” Evie slipped off her satin Mary Janes and bit down on the leather straps, letting the shoes dangle from her mouth.