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“Well, we ain’t. How about John Smith?” Alma offered.
“Too obvious,” Jericho said. “How about… Freddy?”
“Isn’t Freddy the annoying nickname Sam gave you?” Ling said.
Jericho smirked. “Indeed.”
Alma threw her hands up. “Fine. Freddy Smith it is. Now, it’s a big day tomorrow, what with going out on the road and lying to the band about bringing along wanted criminals. I’m going to need all the beauty sleep I can get.”
Alma made up the couch for Ling. Jericho took the floor. In the dark, Ling turned her head and watched Alma’s door, wishing she were on the other side of it. Ling shut her eyes and pictured her parents’ restaurant. She stifled a tiny catch in her chest. That was her home, with two loving parents and a clattering kitchen noisy with neighbors. Doyers Street was the known world. Chinatown offered Ling some measure of comfort and security. But what about the country beyond Doyers Street? Even without malevolent spirits, it was frightening.
But she would get to be with Alma a little while longer. She tried not to feel too guilty about how happy that made her. And just maybe she could get Alma to change her mind.
From their hiding spot in the Ziegfeld Theatre’s costume storage room, Theta, Isaiah, and Evie could hear the show going on out front, people laughing and applauding the pretty chorus girls parading across the stage in elaborate costumes as if there were nothing to worry about.
“Hold still,” Evie said.
Theta winced as Evie dabbed at her burned hands with witch hazel before applying a balm and two fresh bandages from a kit on the makeup table. “How’s that?” Evie asked.
“I wish I had a flask fulla hooch,” Theta said.
“You and me both.”
“What are we doing here?” Isaiah asked.
“This is how we’re getting out of this town. In disguise.” Theta dragged out a wardrobe trunk that held a collection of baggy men’s trousers, threadbare coats, and beat-up bowler hats. She grabbed a handful of makeup and some sponges. “They’re looking for a Follies girl, the Sweetheart Seer, and a Diviner kid. They’re not looking for a bunch of hoboes. Here, Evil. Scrub your face clean. Every trace of powder and lipstick, gone.”
Evie did as instructed, and by the time Theta had worked her magic, penciling in a mustache and darkening Evie’s brows, and the three of them had dressed themselves in rumpled men’s clothing, it was certain that no one would suspect that they were the fugitives.
Evie shoved her wavy blond bob under Sam’s Greek fisherman’s cap and asked, “How do I look?”
“I’d buy a newspaper from you,” Theta said.
“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult,” Evie said.
“Wait here,” Theta said and disappeared.
“Where’s she going?” Isaiah asked.
Evie shook her head. In a minute, Theta returned.
“What was that all about, Theta?” Evie asked.
“I had to call Miss Lillian and ask her to look after Archie.”
“Who’s Archie?” Isaiah asked.
“My cat. Didn’t you say that Will had a car?” Theta asked. She winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes. An old Model T. It’s the ugliest flivver you’ve ever seen.”
“Nobody’ll be looking at it, then. Can you drive?”
Evie batted her lashes. “Like a champ.”
Will had parked the car on Sixty-eighth Street. Across the narrow strip of road, the museum sat on its haunches, a wounded animal. The windows were dark. The sign still said MURDERERS.
“Once, he gave me a piece of candy from his drawer,” Isaiah said softly. “He said I’d been real brave to work on my powers. And then he showed me how to make shadow rabbits on the wall.”
