died having me. She’s the one who taught Jenny the tribal stuff—that she’s really Ka’ktsama. So I’m just plain Joe, because she didn’t have a chance to . . . well. But that’s all right.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” I observe.
He hesitates. “I never told Blossom, she’d only take the mickey, but . . . I think you’d understand, maybe. It was on a Saturday it started, her labor, and. And by Sunday she was dead, you see.”
“I do see.” I draw heat from the coffee mug between my palms. “And am therefore in complete agreement that Wednesday is altogether the jazziest day of the week. I don’t think Blossom actually means to make fun, by the by.”
“Oh, I know. She’s a swell lady. Everyone except for Dr. Pendleton loves her, and that’s only because he’s kippered most of the time.”
“Even your sister?” I ask without inflection.
Wednesday Joe finally tastes the soup, with a bit too much gusto. “Sure. They fight, but who doesn’t?”
“They seem to fight more . . . energetically.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
And now I know that you do.
“What about you, Your Majesty?” he asks, black brows tilting. “Everyone says . . . well . . .”
“Yes, they do, I imagine. And yes, I was.”
“Jesus. But that’s just awful. Why’d you get shot?”
Colors swirl behind my corneas. Rye is dancing on the table, his eyes every color as they reflect the gowns of all the chorus girls applauding. His eyes still every color for hours and hours afterward. For too long. Mr. Salvatici is lit from behind with coral dawn as he unlatches the coop door and pulls out a pure white pigeon, sending it soaring. Nicolo Benenati is standing in a lake on a packed earth floor, hay scattered about, and the hay is the wrong color, the entire world is the wrong color.
“I got shot because I cared about someone. Which begs the question, what should you and I do about Davy?” I trail my spoon through the soup. “Are there any white horses stabled hereabouts?”
His eyes light up. “Actually, there’s a pretty big hostelry I know of, and if we bring an apple and wish on—”
Raised voices in the lobby beyond cause our silverware to clatter on the china. When the door bangs open, my hand flies to the throbbing in my side.
“—already repeated half a dozen times just for the sake of my health anyhow, which may I add is decidedly not in an ideal state at present!” Blossom cries.
The space between my spine and my belly floods with a queer tingling light.
Blossom Fontaine is giving Maximilian Burton a sizable piece of her mind.
“Aw, that’s fair, that there’s as reasonable as you done sounded yet!” Max shouts. Apparently his Brooklyn accent stages a coup when he’s sore. “Chrissake, I knows you ain’t been having no picnic these few months, but why not throw it in my face, like, when everything I’s asking you about is aimed at getting Davy back where he belongs?”
Wednesday Joe makes a low sound and flees for the kitchen. Max flings his hat on a table so hard half the breakfast settings fly off, tinkle-clash.
Blossom melts into the nearest seat, deposits her finger-curled head in crossed arms, and sobs.
Max winces instantly. Buries his nails in his hair in frustration. Seeing me, he nods, and before I’m stupidly happy over it, I’m baffled.
Oh, the light, I remember. I’m by one of the only lamps. That must be why he noticed me.
“Hey, kid.” He angles up behind her and drapes capable hands over her heaving shoulders. “Blossom, I ain’t none too proud of the last five minutes. But we both meant well by ’em. How’s about an armistice?”
She pays him no mind as he rubs circles on her nape with his thumbs, and I can’t think of anything to try. I have no right to be here at all. Then the door swings again and Jenny Kiona enters wearing a navy housecoat. Though she doesn’t seem to have been part of the search party, she hasn’t been sleeping either, for her lustrous eyes are red rimmed and she has plentiful ink stains on her fingers.
“I was coming down to check in with Rooster and heard the most terrible racket. Nothing yet?” she breathes when she sees them. “Oh God. Blossom, no, you have to breathe, dear heart. Blossom? Here, let me.”
She slides up a chair and pulls Blossom into the crook of her neck, making low, sweet hushing sounds. My heart