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Esta was having a hard time processing what Sammie had just told her. Jack Grew had somehow managed to become president. Worse, apparently Jack had been president for nearly thirty years… which meant that history had probably been rewritten in ways too overwhelming—too terrible—to comprehend.

“Figures that Jack would make sure liquor is still legal,” Harte said, but his attempt at humor fell flat. He couldn’t know how wrong this bit of news was, but he looked every bit as unsettled as Esta felt.

“Of course, Nitewein is still outlawed,” Sam said. “Anything that pertains to old magic is. That part of Prohibition never really went away, which is why you all have to get going. I can’t have the Committee discovering that I employ unregistered Mageus here in the club. Just listen to Gracie and the others, and I’ll meet up with you later.”

“Be careful,” Gracie told Sam, giving him a kiss squarely on the lips and then straightening his tie. A second later, she ducked through the opening in the wall herself.

“We’re not done talking about the crown,” Harte told Sam.

“It’s here?” Esta asked, eyeing the office, wondering if she might be able to pull time slow and take a look.…

“No,” Sam told her, but his eyes cut to Harte. “I’ll explain everything later. I promise. Right now I need you to get out of here.”

Harte frowned like he wanted to argue, but Esta could see the worry and nervousness strung tight through Sam’s entire body. He wasn’t lying about the danger, and besides, it was clear what his relationship with Gracie was. As long as they were with her, Sam wasn’t going anywhere.

Once they were both through the opening, Gracie handed Harte a heavy metal flashlight. He examined it with a puzzled expression as the safe door behind them sealed them into the darkness. Esta tried not to let her amusement show as she took it from him and demonstrated how to click on the beam of light.

They were all silent as they traveled through the series of corridors that stretched behind the wall of the nightclub and then down to a short tunnel that apparently connected it to the building at the rear. It opened into the storage room of a busy restaurant kitchen, which was filled with steam and the noise of clattering pans and orders barked in a blend of languages—Chinese, English, and Spanish all mixed together. Once they were outside, they followed an alley for two blocks, until they came to a set of steps that led to the door of a small studio apartment. The glass in the windows had been papered over to keep the light from escaping, and while Paul locked the door, Dottie made sure the coverings were secure before giving Gracie the okay to turn on the lights.

“How long has Sammie had this place?” Harte asked.

“Since he had to hide me during the war,” Dottie explained as Gracie went over to the small kitchenette that was tucked into a corner and ran some water for the teapot that had been sitting on the stove. “There’s a room behind the back wall, where I lived for about three years.”

“You lived behind the wall?” Harte asked.

“I was doing a solo act at Sam’s club back in ’39—before I met Paul. But after Pearl Harbor, things changed fast. Once the authorities found out another one of the other girls was actually Japanese, they took her away. Took her right off the dance floor one night, and I think it really shook him up, you know?”

Esta could tell by the blank confusion in Harte’s eyes that he didn’t understand, but Dottie didn’t seem to notice.

“I’d been pretty good friends with Mina before she passed, and Sammie already knew what I was… I mean, other than Japanese.”

“Japanese?” Esta asked, her stomach sinking. She understood the implications of Dottie being Japanese during the Second World War. “I didn’t realize…”

“Occidentals don’t usually know the difference,” Dottie said with a shrug. “A lot of the girls in the Chinese clubs aren’t Chinese. Toy is just a stage name. My given name’s Takahashi, but I haven’t used it in a while.”

When Esta had discovered that Sam owned the Dragon’s Pearl, she also learned that it was only one of many clubs spread throughout the city that featured Chinese performers. Most of the other clubs, like the Forbidden City, were owned by Chinese proprietors and had completely Chinese casts, but Sammie’s seemed to employ a mix of performers. The clubs all catered to white audiences, including the Dragon’s Pearl.

“Anyhow,” Dottie said, “Sam figured it was only a matter of time before the authorities found me, too. But he knew the stakes were a lot higher for me.”

“Because you’re Mageus,” Esta realized.

Dottie nodded. “There’s no way I could have hidden what I was in one of those camps. He bought this place and outfitted it. They never did find me. Now he keeps it in case someone needs to lie low for a while.”

“It’s too bad Ellie Wong didn’t use it,” Gracie said. “Did you hear that she disappeared last week?”

“No,” Dottie said, her mouth falling open in uneasy surprise. “Was it the Committee?”

Paul grimaced. “From what I heard, there was a raid on the Forbidden City. Everybody split, like they do, but after, no one could find her. She hasn’t been seen since.”

“Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, waiting things out,” Dottie said, a faint hope tingeing her voice. “Or maybe she got the papers she needed to leave. A lot of people have been going north.”

“Maybe…” Gracie didn’t sound all that convinced. “But that’s not what most people over at the Forbidden City think. Ellie hadn’t been talking about leaving, and they’re all nervous.”

“They’d be stupid not to be,” Paul said. “Every time things get too quiet, the watchmen get bored and people start disappearing. I don’t know what the Committee is going to do when the Reticulum is finally finished. There won’t be anyone left to harass.”

“Oh, I doubt that’ll ever happen,” Gracie said dismissively as she returned her attention to the tea she’d been preparing. “If they were ever going to finish it, they would have by now.”

But Esta didn’t miss the nervous tremor to her voice, and from the look Harte gave her, neither did he.