Page 37 of If Looks Could Kill

I reached the pavement of the street below and slammed the door shut behind me, then whirled around, pitching myself headlong into Mike’s chest, pistol first.

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” he yelped. He gingerly pointed the gun away from his body. “What in the name of—Miss Tabitha, what are you doing ?”

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“I saw you enter Mother Rosie’s crib,” he said. “ Alone. And you didn’t come out.”

“You followed me?”

“I happened,” he corrected me, “to see you pass by.”

Pearl, Cora, and Freyda were already racing down Spring Street, away from the Bowery.

“I’ve got to go,” I panted.

“Can I, er, relieve you of that gun?” Mike asked me.

“I need it,” I told him.

“Then let me come,” he said. “I’ll wager I’ve got more experience with these than you.”

So would a Pomeranian. I handed it to him. He flicked a lever, then tucked it into his pocket. I took off running after my companions and soon heard him running at my side.

“You shouldn’t come,” I told him. “The men—weapons—coming—”

“Sounds to me,” he said, “like all the more reason why I should.”

I didn’t have enough breath in me to argue.

Freyda steered us uptown on Mott Street, veering away from the Bowery.

I only wanted to be in the place called Not Here and was glad of any guide who could bring me safely there.

I did my best to explain to Mike why we’d been there and who Cora and Freyda were.

I told him everything, except for the small but crucial detail of Pearl now having snakes for hair.

We caught up with the others when they paused at an intersection.

A small crowd of gawkers flanked them. Freyda and Cora were barely dressed and wearing frilly, feminine bedroom slippers, which were almost worse than nothing on their feet.

Their legs were bare, and the cold must’ve bitten viciously through their lacy robes and satin slips.

I unbuttoned my coat and draped it over Freyda’s shoulders, and Mike unbuttoned his and offered it to Cora.

They both accepted the coats with a frightened mumble.

Pearl barely seemed aware of her surroundings.

“Do any of you know where Lafayette Place is?” I asked. “That’s where we need to go.”

“Isn’t that up near Broadway?” asked Freyda.

“I know where it is,” Mike said. “Why? We’re headed in the right direction.”

Cora kept glancing over her shoulder and trying to drag Freyda to move faster. She knew, better than us, what was coming for her.

Mike offered me his arm. “For disguise,” he whispered. “Playing a role.”

The role still allowed me to feel the strength of the arm pulling me along.

“Disguise,” I repeated. “Just a moment.”

Removing my winter coat had left my uniform jacket more exposed.

Anyone looking for us would only have to ask if any Hallelujah Lasses had passed by.

So I peeled that off too and prepared to freeze in my white cotton blouse.

I folded the jacket so its insignias wouldn’t show and draped it over my arm, then spoke to a dazed Pearl and told her to do the same, to carry her coat and jacket so people couldn’t see the uniform markings.

Night hung damp and heavy over us, with low, dense clouds blocking moon and stars, and turning a misty orange around lit windows and streetlights. Every dark doorway or cold shadow, it seemed, might hold a lurking enemy. But nobody accosted us.

“No one’s chasing us,” I whispered to Mike.

“They don’t need to,” was his reply. “We’re as hidden as a fireworks display. All they’ll have to do is ask anyone what they saw.”

I couldn’t speak.

Mike watched me with concern. “Are you all right, Miss Tabitha?”

“No,” I told him miserably. “I am very much not all right.”

He placed his hand over my hand that was resting in the crook of his elbow. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should imagine you’re not.”

This was so unanswerable that I didn’t bother to try.

Mike found a handkerchief and handed it to me. I wiped my eyes and nose furiously.

“I’m much better off than my friends,” I said. “So I’ve no right to feel badly.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Do I dare ask whose body you dragged away from the Lion’s Den?”

I gulped. “You saw that?” Not so unseen after all.

“When I saw Mother Rosie go in—”

“How did you know it was—?”

He glanced heavenward. “She’s hardly a secret in this part of town,” he said. “I work in a tavern, and no, don’t you be thinking that of me, if you please, Miss Tabitha. My blessed mother, God rest her soul, raised me better than that.”

Beside us, Pearl walked alone, while Cora and Freyda clung to each other like sisters.

Mike steered us all onto Houston Street, then through other turns until I lost my bearings.

My mind raced through the dangers we had fled. Then it hit me like a punch in the gut.

“Mike,” I said, “they know we’re Salvation Army. They’ll look for us. At the base.”

“You’re not there,” Mike pointed out.

“We’re not.” My heart sank. “But Emma and Carrie are. They’re young enough to be mistaken for us. And the Bowery is a small place. How hard would it be to figure out where the local Salvation Army women live?”

He nodded grimly. “Not hard at all. Not,” he added, “as though I’ve ever done it.”

I ignored this. “They’re in danger,” I said. “Once these men figure out where we live—”

“Who are Emma and Carrie?”

“They share an apartment with Pearl and me.” I shivered. “I need to warn them.”

A peal of church bells from somewhere uptown filled the night.

“Eight thirty,” Mike noted.

I couldn’t believe it. “Feels like midnight.”

Mike brought us onto a short, secluded street I didn’t recognize.

It was well swept. A peeling street sign read LA GRANGE TERRACE , but roman letters chiseled into the side of a tall-columned building, in the city’s older style of naming streets, proclaimed it LAFAYETTE PLACE .

The imposing marble building dominated the whole block.

Its ornate columns held up a porticoed roof in the grand Federal style, but the marble was shaggy with dead ivy and dark with staining.

It seemed this building held a row of elegant townhomes.

Or, from the looks of things, elegant once upon a time.

It had the feel of forgotten glory, faded majesty.

“Well, we’re here,” Mike said. “Now what?”

I swallowed down my dread. “Now I go looking for help.”

“Looking for help?” he said. “Do you… do you know someone here?”

I shook my head. “No. But I think there might be someone here who will help us.”

He frowned. “Just randomly?”

“No,” I said. “There’s someone here. I think. I can explain. But first, let me see what I can find.”

I pushed through the cast-iron gate, went to one of the doors where lights shone in the windows, and knocked. Behind me, Cora and Freyda bobbed up and down to keep warm. Pearl still stood in a daze. Mike stood close by them, chafing his hands together.

An ancient butler answered the door. He frowned at me suspiciously. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for, er, Mrs. Stella,” I told him. “Does she live here?”

He looked even more dubious. “ Miss Stella,” he informed me, “lives three doors down.” He gestured to his right, then closed the door.

I crossed the cracked marble paving stones and rapped my knuckles on the third door.

Nothing happened. I waited and strained my ear for any sounds of movement within.

If nobody answered, where in all this city could we find safe shelter on such a cold night? Some cheap hotel, perhaps, but we’d be sitting ducks. Nothing would stop Mother Rosie’s men from finding us there.

I pounded more loudly at the door and pulled my Salvation Army jacket back on for warmth, risk or no.

Just as I was about to turn away, I heard the click of footsteps, then saw a slice of light slide underneath the door. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.

The door creaked open, just an inch, and an eye peered out at me. Apparently, I made its owner curious enough to open the door a bit more.

A frail, petite older woman stood there, watching me underneath bushy white eyebrows.

“Who—”

“I’m looking for Miss Stella,” I said quickly. My voice sounded shrill in the night air.

Her gaze narrowed. “How do you know… her?”

Oh no. As I feared, this was Miss Stella. I was hoping she might be her great-grandmother. Any thought of protection coming from this wisp of a woman seemed laughable.

“My name is Tabitha Woodward,” I told her. “I learned of you from Giselle, from the Curiosity Musée.” Close enough to the truth.

Clearly, that got her attention. She seemed almost nervous.

“What did she tell you?” Her voice sounded like paper rustling.

I leaned in closer and spoke softly. “Are you a Medusa?”

A shiver seemed to pass through her. She swiftly shut the door.

“Miss Tabitha?” Mike called. “Are you all right?”

I waved a hand in his direction and tapped at the door with my other.

“Please,” I called, sotto voce. “My friend has just become one. Tonight.”

I thought I heard her breath on the other side of the door. Or maybe it was only mine.

“Some violent, wicked men are chasing us,” I said. “We just helped rescue two friends of ours from an infamous brothel. We desperately need help.”

I waited for a long moment that stretched taut and thin, like a rubber band.

The door opened another inch.

“Your friend became a Medusa,” she said slowly, “at a brothel. Where you were mounting a rescue mission.”

The sarcasm was lost on me then. Her volume in Mike’s presence, however, was not. “Shh,” I whispered. “Not quite. The Medusa part was beforehand.”

“Seems all that’s lacking is the brass band,” she said. “I will not be made into a mockery.”

I glanced at my shivering companions, and something in me snapped.

“Listen,” I hissed. “If you were lying when you wrote those letters to the Gorgon of Gotham, then you might as well turn us out into the cold. But if you’re not a fraud—if you were telling the truth—if you really are a Medusa, and if your heart isn’t made of absolute stone, you should let us in. And help us.”

I waited in agony. Nothing. I had gone too far. My bravado had killed our chance.

The hinges creaked as she opened the door wider and fixed me with a penetrating stare. “And if my heart is made of absolute stone?”

Saints preserve me from crabby old women!

“Then at least let us in out of the cold,” I told her, clinging to my last nerve, “and we’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

She made a sound that might almost have been a laugh, then opened the door wide. “You’ve won the hour,” she said, “and piqued my curiosity. Come inside, and we shall see what this night brings.”