Chapter 4 – The Wedding Can Wait

After having known him for two years, Cheshire was pretty sure that Jakub hated him. But he wasn’t about to let something like that get in the way of their friendship.

“Slim used to be the style,” he explained as he buttoned Jakub’s dark suit coat for him—a wool three button with a high lapel. He would have preferred something with a pattern but he wasn’t about to push his luck. “Now everyone is going for a bulkier look. Loose-fit.”

Jakub held very still as Cheshire straightened the creases at his shoulder. He looked not unlike a feral alley cat that had been cornered, weighing the values of fight and flight. The expression, if it could even be called that, was a tiny variation on one of the very few faces Jakub seemed capable of making, which Cheshire had yet to fully tease a meaning from. Still, better than a scowl, he supposed.

“I guess it’s to try and look more imposing,” Cheshire continued to chat as he finished his fussing. “Puffing up, you know?”

“You don’t really need a larger suit for that,” said Jakub, the very definition of deadpan, so that Cheshire had no idea if it was a compliment.

He decided to take it like one anyway. “Maybe not! But a little extra can’t hurt, right?” He grinned as he stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “It looks good on you—look at the great angle on your shoulders, now.”

Jakub looked, but he didn’t seem to take any measure of interest in the well-fit proportions. “It’ll do,” he said, earning a miffed look from the shopkeeper. “At least if it fits big, I won’t have to get another anytime soon.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Cheshire protested. “This should be opening a door for you.” That didn’t seem to move Jakub in the least, so he added, “At least look in the mirror—see how handsome you are in it.”

Jakub turned away, red with irritation, but he did seek out the mirror. When he spent more than a few seconds looking himself over, Cheshire considered that a victory. “It’ll do,” he said again.

“I guess that’s the best we’re getting out of him,” Cheshire said to the shopkeeper, who was shaking his head. “Personally, I think it’s outrageously good work.”

“You would know,” the shopkeeper replied, only slightly less deadpan than Jakub as he opened his sales book. “I’ve never seen a kid your age with a better eye. Though I would have expected you to go with a better known brand.”

“Fiscella brand is up and coming,” Cheshire said knowingly, taking his wallet out. “You’ll see. In a few years, everyone will be wearing it. Jakub and I are ahead of our time.”

“In that case, I’ll keep stocking it.”

Jakub finally turned away from the mirror when he noticed Cheshire handing over a handful of bills. “What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

“Paying the man?” Cheshire smirked to himself as the shopkeeper counted out the sum. “That’s how commerce works, Jake.”

Jakub hurried over. “You’re not paying for my suit.”

“It’s a birthday present,” said Cheshire, leaning against the counter to prevent Jakub from interfering with the transaction. “It’s next week, right?”

“It’s February,” Jakub protested. “My birthday is in Ap—”

He cut himself off, but it was too late—Cheshire was already beaming. “April!” Cheshire repeated excitedly. “Finally! Now I just need to narrow down the day.”

Ah, now there was Jakub’s famous scowl. Cheshire had found that in certain contexts it was actually kind of endearing. “I’ll pay you back,” Jakub said. “I’m the best man—I can at least buy my own coat.”

“It’s because you’re Barney’s best man that I’m buying,” Cheshire insisted. “If I left it up to you, you’d pick the cheapest, drabbest coat in here. You ought to be at least this fashionable.” Jakub continued to grumble as he took off the coat and handed it over to be folded and bagged. Cheshire couldn’t have been happier. “He’s much more excited than he looks,” he said to the shopkeeper once their business was finished. “It’s just that, you see, it’s hard to admit you care about your looks when you’re a trained killer. Jakub the Kosiarz they used to call him back in Poland. ‘The Reaper.’ So please excuse him.” The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. “Sure, sure.”

Cheshire looked for Jakub’s reaction, who didn’t offer so much as a twitch as he wound his scarf around his neck. Too outlandish to acknowledge, or too close to the mark to admit? Cheshire was reasonably sure that if he tried enough different stories he was bound to guess right eventually. Whether or not Jakub would give that away was less certain.

They left the shop together and wandered the streets a while, finding themselves at the riverfront. A pair of women with a pushcart were selling yams for a nickel, so they each bought one and sat by the water, eating slowly to let the food keep their hands warm as long as possible. Despite the cold weather it was peaceful, and Cheshire couldn’t help but smile to himself as Jakub stayed closer to him than he normally would have.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he said between bites. “Barney, of all people, getting married.”

“It’s not as if he did anything,” Jakub replied. “The Boss is smart. If we marry into the Szpilmans, we’ll have a leg up in Maspeth. That will make it easier to chase the Foleys out of Greenpoint; we could end up taking the whole waterfront. It’s a win for both families.”

“That would be something,” Cheshire agreed. “Maybe we even extend across the river?”

Jakub snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. No one over here is taking the Lower East.”

Cheshire shrugged, nibbling on the last of his yam. The Manhattan skyline didn’t seem all that far off. “You never know until you try.”

Jakub stared at him. Cheshire left him to it for a bit, just to see if he’d volunteer more cynicism on his own. But he wasn’t one for heavy silence, and he finally couldn’t help himself. “What? You really don’t think I can?”

“Your hair’s gotten long,” said Jakub.

“Huh? Oh.” Cheshire reached back, feeling out the length of his ponytail. “Yeah, I guess it has. Think I should cut it?”

“No,” Jakub said immediately, and then he squirmed a little before relaxing against Cheshire’s shoulder again. “No, it’s…fine.”

Cheshire wasn’t sure how to interpret that reaction; he finished his yam as he tried to puzzle it out. “Do you know how to braid?” he asked.

Jakub went red again, and as he sputtered over an answer, Cheshire added, “Do you think that would be too feminine? Or would I look like, maybe a viking? That’d be nifty, huh?”

Jakub squirmed some more, drawing his scarf up over his nose to ward against the chill. “D-Do whatever you want,” he muttered. “Don’t ask me.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Hannah to help me? She has a lot of—”

“Don’t ask Hannah.” Jakub made a quiet, rumbly noise.

“If you care so much, just ask Grace.”

Cheshire winced. “Actually, Grace and I—”

Something hard struck him in the back, and he jumped, yelping in surprise more than pain. He whirled and found a pair of stocky teenagers glaring at them from curbside: a boy and a girl, each with wirey, red-blonde hair. Their close resemblance made their identities clear: Charlie and Millie Tighe, of the Foley gang. Millie hefted a chunk of concrete plucked from the cracked street.

“The hell did you do that for?” Cheshire shouted, but it wasn’t until Jakub turned to glare as well that the twins actually looked intimidated.

“This is Foley territory,” said Millie, jutting her chin at them. “You’re trespassing!”

“You’re the ones that’re too far south!” Cheshire shouted back. “Buzz off!”

It looked like she was winding up to throw her other rock, so Cheshire beat her to it: he wadded up the paper his yam had been in and flung it at them. It wouldn’t have come anywhere near either, but flick of his hand exploded the wad in midair. The fireball it made was a lot more impressive than he’d really intended, and both teens jolted back.

Cheshire was grinning to himself until Jakub said, “Chesh,” in that unmistakably displeased tone.

“They were asking for it,” Cheshire said with a shrug. “We’re nowhere near their turf.”

“You can poke them all you want after the wedding,” said Jakub. “But for now—”

Jakub pitched forward. Cheshire heard something shatter, but it wasn’t until he smelled the booze dousing them both that he realized the little shits had thrown a bottle at his head. He grabbed Jakub across the chest to keep him steady, his heart suddenly in his throat. “Hey! The hell—” He caught a glimpse of the twins turning to run and then focused on Jakub. “Damn, are you okay?”

Jakub wavered dizzily and touched the back of his head. His fingers came away red, but he managed to sit up by himself. “Shit,” he hissed. “I’m okay.”

“Hey, are you all right?” one of the pushcart women called, heading their way. When Cheshire looked past her he could see the Tighes turning down an alley.

“Stay here,” he said, making sure Jakub was stable enough before climbing over the back of the bench. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Jakub said, just like Cheshire figured he would, but he was too slow to stop him. “Don’t!”

Cheshire charged after the fleeing teenagers, through a narrow alley. They hadn’t run nearly as quickly or as far as they should have—he could already see them huddled at the alley mouth, arguing with each other. He should have found it suspicious, but all he could think of was Jakub’s fingers red with blood, and how he couldn’t let them get away with that. When they finally noticed him approaching they tensed, looking to run in different directions, and he picked up his pace. It was just enough that he was able to throw himself at Charlie before he could escape, tackling him full on out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

They landed in a tangle, but Cheshire had plenty of size and muscle over the smaller boy, and he had no trouble pinning the little cretin. “You think you can mess with Kozlow?” he growled, and he punched him right in the nose. He hadn’t meant to really hurt him—just to bloody him a little, so he’d think twice about picking fights away from home.

But Charlie jerked and howled like he was being murdered. He covered his nose and began to wail, “Oh God, help me! He’s gonna kill me!” And for a moment Cheshire felt like a total ratfink for hitting him at all.

“Hey there!”

Someone grabbed Cheshire by the elbow, and without thinking he shoved back, sending the stranger nearly off his feet. He still had Charlie by the collar and was trying to figure out what to do with him when he suddenly realized there were more people gathering around, shouting at him. And they were all wearing navy trousers.

Uh oh. Cheshire lifted his head and blanched. He was surrounded by half a dozen cops.

A pair of them grabbed him by his jacket, hauling him off the still squealing Charlie. They weren’t strong but with so many he knew better than to fight, only grimacing as they shoved him up against a parked car. Don’t panic, he told himself as he tried to put his thoughts in order. What would Jakub do? He shrank into his shoulders in embarrassment. Not fallen for such an obvious trap, that’s what.

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded one of the cops. “You trying to kill this poor kid?”

“He started it!” Cheshire retorted. “He threw a bottle at—” He cut himself off; the last thing he wanted was to get Jakub involved, innocent victim or no. “—At me. Right at my head!”

The officer touched the back of his head, feeling around for a bruise or lump. “You’re fine—want to try again?”

“That’s not…” Cheshire squirmed in frustration. He couldn’t see the cops holding him, but there were people on the other side of the street that had stopped to stare. The shop beyond had many of its windows smashed in, hence the number of police around. Someone really worked for this, Cheshire thought, squashing a wholly ridiculous feeling of accomplishment. Am I really that important to them? Then he remembered who was really behind it, and he quickly sobered. Do they know about Shane…?

The cops pulled him away from the car and turned him around. A few had their billy clubs out, and Cheshire put his hands up in surrender. “He was throwing rocks and bottles at me,” he insisted while another cop helped Charlie to his feet. “Just ask him.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Charlie said piteously. He faked like he couldn’t stand without the officer’s help, gladly accepting her handkerchief. “He called me a filthy mother- fucker and just went at me!”

“The hell I did!”

“That’s enough,” said a very deep voice, and even the teen shut up as everyone turned to look. The officers parted for the arrival of a new man in a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat, African American with strands of silver in his beard and at his temples. He took in the scene with a calm sweep of his gaze and finished at Cheshire. His long stare of thoughtful contemplation was infinitely unnerving, but Cheshire did his best not to fidget; his mouth, on the other hand, he had no control over.

“I guess you’re in charge?” Cheshire said, offering a hint of a smile he hoped the gentleman might find charming, or at least, maybe innocent? “I’m sorry for causing a scene—he and I are square now, so—”

“You said you’re one of Kozlow’s,” the man interrupted.

Cheshire prayed his expression didn’t falter as he debated how to respond. They can’t even nab Barney without evidence, and everyone knows who he is. These coppers have nothing on me. But the continuing pressure of the man’s heavy scrutiny wore at his attempts at confidence. “I was just having a scrap with the kid here,” he said carefully. “That’s it.”

The man considered that for another long moment and then reached out. Cheshire went stiff, even holding his breath as the man fingered a lock of his hair. Then he reached lower, giving his necktie a short, gentle tug. Cheshire’s stomach turned with confusion and he was fresh out of wits by the time the man pulled his hand back.

“This is a nice suit you’re wearing,” he said.

Cheshire gulped. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re—” But the man had already turned away. “Take him to the station,” he told the officers. “I want to have talk with him in private.”

“Yes, detective.”

“Hey—” The officers pulled Cheshire away from the car so the back door could be opened. “Hey, I didn’t do anything!” he protested. “You’re gonna arrest me over—”

“You’re not under arrest,” said the detective. “Yet. You and I are just going to talk.” He fixed Cheshire with a stern look. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”

“Wha….” Cheshire glanced between the officers, as if one of them might hold the answer to the test being administered to him, but they looked just as mystified as him. Mystified, but obedient—they resumed ushering him into the back of the car. He couldn’t have resisted without a great deal of effort, and judging by how closely the detective was watching him, it would have been a waste anyway. Helpless, he let them shove him into the back seat.

Just as the door was closed he caught a glance of Jakub ducking back in the nearby alley. His face was hard and Cheshire had to look away.

***

Jakub watched, head and chest both pounding, as the cops pulled away from the curb with Cheshire in the back. There’s nothing you could do, he told himself, over and over, as the crowd began to disperse and the remaining officers went back to the storefront that had brought them there. The police have nothing on him. He’ll be all right…if he can keep his mouth shut.

Jakub grimaced and rubbed his eyes, telling himself one more time that following Cheshire to the station wasn’t about to help anything. So he turned his sights on Charlie Tighe, who was sneaking away down the street.

He wasn’t difficult to tail, with so many people who had stalled now moving on in their daily routine. Jakub slipped through the milling pedestrians with ease, and soon enough he spotted the girl from earlier, Millie, waiting on a street corner. They met up, laughing and chattering excitedly. Their good humor had him seeing red.

They started to move on, heading north, likely ready to meet up with even more of their crew to share the good news. Jakub waited only long enough until he could see a familiar café sign ahead. With a deep breath he increased his pace, catching up to them just as they reached the entrance.

Charlie turned, but he wasn’t fast enough to defend. Jakub grabbed him by his coat and swung him around, throwing him up against the front door of the café. With a twist of the handle the kid was spilling inside, and Jakub followed, shoving him into the small room of sparse diners.

“What the hell—” Charlie started to swear, but then he recognized his attacker, and his face went white just before Jakub punched him straight in the nose.

Before he’d even hit the floor Millie lunged, leaping onto Jakub’s back. She only got one good hit on his ear before the cafe’s patrons jarred from their seats, dragging her off and into one of the booths. Between the two hollering teens and everyone else asking questions at once, the room was in chaos until a shrill whistle split the air.

Edith, the owner, glared from one to the next with steely impatience until she spotted Jakub. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

It took Jakub a while to answer. Even with his head swimming he should have been fine, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Cheshire wilting in the back of a police car, being sped off to an unknown fate. They have nothing on him, he thought again but it wasn’t doing any good. His fists were trembling and he wanted to beat the little punk senseless. But then Edith cleared her throat, and he straightened up.

“I need a minute,” he said.

Edith nodded knowingly, and with a wave of her hand the patrons began to clear out. As soon as Millie was free of them she rushed to Charlie’s side, and they gaped at the retreating men and women with shock. “Are you really just leaving?” she sputtered. “After he—”

“It’s like Cheshire said,” Jakub cut her off. “You’re too far south.”

The last guest out flipped the door sign to CLOSED. Edith took up a guarding position in front of it, her hand in her apron, but Jakub shook his head at her. “It’s okay, Edith,” he said. “You won’t have to use that.”

The Tighes glanced between Jakub and the stone-faced woman with mounting dread. Finally they seemed to understand just how much they’d risked for the sake of whatever game they were playing. “You don’t scare us,” said Millie, eyes cold but a tremor in her voice. “You’re not so dumb that you’d kill us in broad daylight.”

“There’s a basement,” Jakub replied, and he was glad to see her shudder.

Charlie sat up, holding his freshly-bleeding nose with both hands. “What do you want? It’s your friend’s fault he got caught!”

“You targeted him specifically,” said Jakub. “On purpose. Tell me why, right now.”

The twins exchanged a look. Neither looked ready to give anything up, until they quite clearly heard the click of a revolver hammer being thumbed back from inside Edith’s apron. She couldn’t have known anything that was going on, but she’d been in the business since before Jakub was born and he was grateful for her keen instincts.

“Boss Foley put us up to it,” Millie admitted. “The cops finally caught wise to your safecracking trick—they know Bloom’s a witch, or whatever the hell it is. They’ve been asking around for him.”

Jakub’s fingernails dug rivets into his palms. He’d known all along that it was only a matter of time, but he still fumed at having not paced themselves better, at having encouraged Cheshire to take it back up after avoiding for a while. There would be time to blame himself for it later, though, so he focused instead on the two teenagers shrinking beneath his glare. “Cops can’t prove magic in court,” he said. “They’d have to catch him in the act.” As long as he keeps his mouth shut.

Millie shook her head. “They’re not looking for proof.

They’re looking for a snitch.”

Jakub saw red again, and he took a step toward them. “Who would snitch on him?” When they didn’t answer swiftly enough for him he bent down, grabbing Charlie harshly by his ear. “Who do the cops have to rat him out?”

Charlie yelped but he didn’t fight, and he motioned for Millie not to, either. “The boss just told us to get him pulled in,” he said through a grimace. “It could be anyone! The river, the south—even one’a your own. Anyone who doesn’t want to see Kozlow get any bigger.”

Jakub ground his teeth as he considered those options. Certainly the Foleys had the most to lose if Kozlow gained turf along the river, but he and Cheshire had tangled with plenty of the other gangs, even family members of Barney’s soon-to-be bride. And even if there wasn’t some mysterious snitch hiding in the wings already, there would be. There’s no real precedent for magical crime, he thought, letting go of Charlie’s ear. What if they just do what they want and make an example of him?

“Go back to your boss,” Jakub told the pair, conveying as much of his seriousness as possible. It must have worked because they all but cowered from him. “And tell him that if a Foley snitches on Bloom—or any of Kozlow’s—they’re going to regret it. He’s more powerful than you know. Tell him that.”

The teens nodded, but they remained where they were even after Jakub had stepped aside and motioned for them to go. It wasn’t until Edith relinquished her position at the door that they bounded to their feet and dashed out. As soon as they passed a few of the diners peeked their heads in, and at Edith’s encouragement returned to their tables to finish their meals.

“Take a breath, honey,” said Edith as she moved to Jakub’s side. “You look like you’re about to do something stupid.”

Jakub scrubbed the back of his palm across his face as if that might clear away whatever expression she was referring to. “I’m fine,” he said, and without any time to lose, he turned to leave. “Thanks for the help.”

Out on the sidewalk, Jakub’s mind grew a little clearer. He fetched a cigarette out of his pocket, and the first breath, devoid of what had become a familiar tang, sharpened determination in him. If the coppers figure out what he can do, they’ll find any excuse to put him away, he thought, his feet already carrying him north. But to do that they’ll need someone to testify against him. That can’t happen. He picked up his pace. It’s not stupid, it’s what needs to be done.

***

Cheshire had seen the inside of the station a few times before, though not for any trouble he’d gotten into himself; he’d accompanied Jakub to retrieve Kozlow comrades from lockup when they got into petty trouble, smoothing things over with a bit of charm. He spotted a few familiar faces among the officers as the mysterious detective guided him toward the rear, and even got one to smile back. Then the man stopped abruptly, and Cheshire did, too, very careful not to bump into him.

They were standing in front of a desk cluttered with folders and paperwork, occupied by a young woman who was making a focused attempt to rein in the mess. Her black hair was braided close to her scalp in intricate patterns, and she was wearing a thick muffler with bright colors that Cheshire was instantly envious of. She glanced up when they approached and flashed a brilliant smile.

“Your desk could use some work, Dad,” she teased.

The detective gave a short sigh and then motioned her out of his chair. “Wait for me up front, Sally,” he said. “We’re going to be a while.”

She stood, smoothly taking up one of the folders from the desk as she did so. “Not a problem.” She winked at Cheshire. “Whatever you did, good luck.”

Sally started to move past them, but her father stopped her, plucking the folder out of her hand. “Not this one,” he said sternly. He shooed again for her to leave as he replaced the folder on his desk and then removed his hat and coat. “Sit down, kid.”

Cheshire shrugged meekly as he maneuvered past her for the chair opposite. “I like your braids,” he said.

“Thank you.” Sally regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then her demeanor changed: Her eyes grew wide and expressionless, and it wasn’t until the detective cleared his throat that she jarred back to life. With a sudden urgency she hurried off; Cheshire had no idea what to make of the reaction, but it sure didn’t help his already tight nerves any.

The detective sat down, shoving some of his papers to the side while Cheshire took a seat as well. “What’s your name, kid?” he asked without looking up.

Cheshire stalled, glancing around the room. It wasn’t an office so much as a corner of the station walled off by a few short file cabinets. He could see other cops casting glances in their direction from all over. “Isn’t that…kind of rude?” he asked, trying to sound flippant. “Arresting me before—”

“You’re not under arrest. So tell me your name.”

Cheshire refocused, and startled when he realized that the man was staring at him now—glaring, even, which he was somewhat used to, but not quite at this level. What would Jay do in a situation like this? he wondered desperately, and he blurted out, “You, first.”

The detective reached across his desk, and Cheshire tensed, despite the distance between them somehow thinking that he was going to have his tie tugged again. Instead, he moved the nameplate from one corner to the center where Cheshire could more easily read it: DET. D. ALICE.

Oh, no, thought Cheshire, sweat under his gloves as he met the man’s steady, expectant glare. A parade of Hannah’s 49th Precinct ghost stories marched between his ears. I’m in trouble.

“You don’t look like an Alice,” Cheshire said with a half grin that probably looked as helpless as it felt. “What does the D stand for?”

“Daniel,” Alice replied, startling him. He hadn’t actually expected him to answer. “And you’re Cheshire Bloom.”

“I’m…not…?” Cheshire winced; he simply couldn’t get his full bearings when he needed them most. He sat up taller in his chair. “I mean, I’m not sure why it would matter if I was. You saw everything that happened—it was just a little—”

“Cigarette?” Alice interrupted, tugging a case out of his inside jacket pocket.

No, Cheshire thought, but his mouth said, “Sure.”

Alice offered him the case, but he didn’t reach across the desk very far—Cheshire had to get out of his seat to take one. As soon as he had a cigarette Alice sat back and returned the case to his jacket, and Cheshire stilled, suddenly feeling as if he’d fallen for some trap. He gulped. “Um, got a light?”

Alice only stared. He somehow managed to be patient and judgmental at the same time, and Cheshire wondered if that was something fathers were taught, or instinctually gained upon bringing their children into the world. It filled Cheshire with a gut-twisting sensation of shame he couldn’t shake.

“I’ll just chew on it, I guess,” he muttered as he sat back down.

“You’re not going to show me your little parlour trick?” Alice prodded. “You’ve shown everyone else.”

Cheshire’s heart skipped, and as he stared back at Alice across the desk he finally understood just how dire his situation was. Alice knew. He knew what he could do—had done—and not just that Cheshire would have no trouble lighting a cigarette of his own, or even blowing open some rich New Yorker’s wall safe. Cheshire glanced to the top folder on Alice’s desk and thought of Sally’s eyes growing wide in what he could now interpret as terror, of a young Foley maybe not exaggerating as he cried on the sidewalk. Did everyone know?

What would Jakub do? Cheshire thought again, but he couldn’t believe that unflinching stoicism would work against the brick wall that Alice was already, even if he could have mustered the strength to hold that up. He licked his lips and squashed a sensation of dread. What would Bunny do?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cheshire said. “You’ve shown everyone,” Alice repeated. “It’s all over town, son: ‘The safecracker is one of Kozlow’s. Blonde kid always in a suit. Cheshire Bloom.’ That’s you.”

Maybe they only know about the safes after all? Cheshire thought, but he couldn’t even try to feel relief with Alice still watching him so closely. “That’s…quite a story. But I’ve never touched a safe. I think you have me—”

“Tell me about the alley,” Alice said.

It was as if gravity reversed. Cheshire’s organs crowded at the base of his throat and he couldn’t help but remember that night, chunky blood sloshing against the back of his neck. It was almost enough to make him sick, and it must have shown in his face, because he could see Alice’s gears winding tight between his knuckles. The detective didn’t just know, he’d seen it. There were probably even photographs sitting in the folder on his desk. Cheshire squeezed his fists against his lap as part of him was tempted to pull it open and see for himself, just to be sure if the reality matched his hazy memory.

Calm down, he thought, and he wasn’t sure where the boost of sudden rationality came from, but he welcomed it. If he had proof you’d be locked up already or worse. He forced himself to meet Alice’s steely glare with ease. He’s waiting for you to give yourself away. You’re the one in control here.

“You mean, the alley the Foley kid and I came out of?” Cheshire replied, clinging to the shreds of his confidence. “We had just come up from the river. Ask the old ladies down there, they’ll tell you—”

“You know which alley I mean,” Alice interrupted, and even though Cheshire had expected him to, it was still a little rattling. “May 8th of last year, north of here on the edge of Foley territory. Buckman Road.”

Cheshire shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Alice gave him another minute to sit and stew, and then he finally leaned forward, slowly, to place his elbows on the desk. When he lowered his voice it sent an honest to goodness chill up Cheshire’s spine. “Son, I’ve been around a while,” he said, imparting his full seriousness. “I’ve seen all manner of the strangest things you can imagine, some of them right here in this city, even worse in the war. I’ve seen men taken apart by bullets and grenades and tanks—and yes, even magic. But I am never going to forget what I saw in that alley. And I don’t think you will, either.”

Cheshire leaned hard into the chair back, but he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t even begin to think of a response, only sweating as Alice continued. “You see, the safes you’ve been blowing open aren’t my business. Back when we all thought you were using some new, home-brew dynamite, I couldn’t have cared less. But then one of our boys said, ‘What if it ain’t dynamite?’ And you can bet I made it my business then, because there’s no way two witches more destructive than anything I’ve seen go unnoticed in this city that long.”

Something hard crept into his eyes, so familiar in their accusation that for a moment Cheshire couldn’t breathe. “Magic like that,” said Alice, pointing at him, “isn’t supposed to exist in the world. Maybe there’s not much an old cop like me can do to stop it, but I’ve seen you now, Bloom. I know what you are. And I want you to remember that the next time you snap your fingers to make someone disappear.”

You don’t know me. Cheshire shivered beneath Alice’s unrelenting intensity and wanted to shout, maybe to beg, You don’t know anything about me. The words were so potent he could taste them on his tongue, and even knowing he would be giving himself away, he could already feel them at his lips, desperate to make Alice understand that he was wrong and—

“Alice!” a man called from a few desks away. He was pressed up against the window with several other detectives and officers, their attention locked on something outside. “Alice, come take a look at this!”

Alice shot the man an angry look, then turned back to Cheshire. He was still waiting for his confession. But as more and more of the officers moved to the windows, his face screwed up, and he pushed to his feet. “Don’t get out of that chair,” he ordered, and grumbling to himself, he moved to investigate.

As soon as he was far enough away Cheshire let his breath out in a rush. His heart was pounding, shaking through his fingers as he gave his eyes a quick rub. He doesn’t know anything, he thought, bitter and sick with the memory of Shane Foley digging a blunt knife into his neck. He was still battling the impulse to tell Alice just that when he glanced up, and his eye caught on the folder still on the top of the desk.

He reached for it. He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by looking, but he couldn’t help himself. Just as his fingers brushed the corner, however, he sensed eyes on him, and fearing that Alice was already returning, he jerked his hand back.

Alice wasn’t at the window anymore, but he wasn’t looking at Cheshire, either; he’d grabbed the phone receiver off of the nearest desk and was talking heatedly into it. The deep, distinctive tones of his voice cut above the harried chatter of the other officers and Cheshire heard him say, “I know very well where that is—it’s one of Foley’s storehouses.”

A Foley storehouse? Cheshire looked to the north-facing windows that had everyone’s attention, registering interest for the first time. When one of the officers hurried off, leaving an open space, Cheshire snuck from his chair to take their place. A plume of black smoke was rising above the skyline in the distance, just far enough away that Alice had to be talking about the Connell Bakery. He and Jakub had had their eyes on the place for weeks, suspecting that the Foleys were using it to smuggle Hallorran shells in the loaves. Any fire put to the basement would certainly have caused an impressive explosion. Cheshire leaned into the glass. Jakub? He found himself pressing up on his toes, a hundred tons lifted from his shoulders.

That can’t be him, can it?

“Admiring your handiwork?” said a young voice, and Cheshire turned. The young woman from earlier, Sally, was standing just behind him. “Blowing things up is what you do, right?”

Cheshire realized a moment too late that he was grinning; he quickly swallowed the expression down. “What, are you a gumshoe like your old man?”

“I’m a reporter,” Sally replied, folding her arms. “I know all about you.”

It wasn’t nearly as intimidating a notion as coming from her father, and Cheshire was so emboldened by the thought of distant explosions that it didn’t register at all. “I really don’t think you do.”

“Sally,” Alice barked, and she startled a little—Cheshire did, too. He hadn’t know the man more than an hour but he could immediately tell it wasn’t often someone heard that tone from him. He looked over expecting the detective to be angrily advancing, ordering him back to his seat, but what he found was somehow worse: Alice standing very still, his glare edged with caution.

He’s afraid of me. The realization sent Cheshire’s heart thudding again, an indescribable emotion twisting beneath it. He glanced to Sally and she took a step back, that same expression from earlier tightening her face. He thinks I’d hurt her. They both do. And though the temptation to assure them otherwise was still hiding between his teeth, Cheshire took a deep breath and headed for the door.

“Bloom,” Alice called after him, the other officers making way for him to pursue. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“If you’re not arresting me for punching that kid, I’m leaving,” he said, not breaking stride. He felt like his brain was made of noodles and all he wanted was to find Jakub. “You can’t hold me here.”

Alice caught up to him quickly, his hand lifting, probably intending to halt Cheshire by the elbow; Cheshire beat him to it, pausing just in time to catch Alice’s hand in his. The flinch that jarred the elder man left Cheshire breathless and ill, but he somehow managed to plaster a smile over his uncertainty.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Danny,” he said.

Alice’s grip cinched tight around his. “I am going to pin this to you, Bloom,” he promised.

Adrenaline kept Cheshire’s easy smile in place. “Not today,” he said, and when he relaxed his hand, Alice did too, allowing him to slip away. He could feel the heavy eyes on him all the way to the door.

Out on the sidewalk Cheshire leaned against his knees, taking a few deep breaths to settle his bouncing stomach. As he straightened up he was nervous about the number of people on the street, thinking against all common reason that they would have taken notice of him, that they would know him just as easily as Alice had. However, everyone was already facing north, talking about and gesturing toward the black smoke continuing to rise in the distance. Watching it drift and curl gave Cheshire his strength back, and he hurried down the sidewalk as quickly as he could without drawing suspicion.

Cheshire’s gut had been right—he was a block away from the bakery when he was urged back by police trying to contain the scene, but there was no mistaking the origin of the smoke. Foley’s southernmost establishment was up in flames, bells clanging from approaching fire trucks. Cheshire stood watching for a few minutes, the familiarity of falling ash both comforting and chilling. He had no idea what to do with himself next until he spotted a familiar mop of black hair, spots of dried blood staining the back of a man’s scarf beneath it.

Jakub was sitting on the curb. An unlit cigarette was pressed between his lips and he was watching the commotion speed past, his face calm and unreadable. Cheshire was so relieved to see him he could have whooped for joy, and he rushed forward. His humor sobered when Jakub lifted his head—hadn’t even been spotted yet, and still he dreaded how he would be met. At a slower pace, he took a deep breath and sat himself down next to his partner.

Jakub tensed; Cheshire was too scared to look, and before the other could say a word he blurted out, “I’m sorry. You were right—I should have left them alone. I totally fell for it.”

Jakub didn’t reply right away, just sitting there, letting Cheshire broil in guilty silence. Finally he took the cigarette out of his mouth. “What did you say to the cops?”

“Nothing,” Cheshire assured him quickly. “They had nothing to keep me on.” His mind tried to dwell on the folder on Alice’s desk, so he plowed past it. “It was that guy Hannah warned us about—Alice? Det. Alice? He knows I’ve been hitting safes but he’s got no proof.” He tugged nervously on his ponytail. “Maybe I should lay low for a while…”

“If you do, that’ll just prove him right,” said Jakub. “You might as well not worry about it. No one in Brooklyn will snitch on you.”

Cheshire risked a glimpse of Jakub’s face, and interpreted his steady, almost unblinking stare toward the bakery to be grim resolution. Whatever remaining tensions in his joints fluttered off, and he watched Jakub with a sensation of awe. “This really was you, right? You took out Foley’s storehouse as paybacks?”

“A calculated risk,” Jakub said. “Going after one of us means going after all of us. We’ll never take the river from them if they don’t realize that.”

It made perfect sense, really. Jakub thought of the gang first, always had. He didn’t have personal grudges let alone settle them. But even so Cheshire grinned like a fool, and he slung his arm over Jakub’s shoulders. “You blew up a bakery for me?”

Jakub tensed again, but he didn’t withdraw or try to push Cheshire off. “Better than letting you go to jail,” he muttered, and Cheshire beamed, beside himself. After another moment he cleared his throat and held up his cigarette. “Got a light?”

Cheshire faltered, but only briefly. He cupped his hand over the end of the cigarette to hide it from anyone who happened to be nearby, even if they were deeply engrossed in the scene playing out down the street. The tip of the cigarette flared, and Jakub brought it to his mouth, taking a long puff. “Thanks.”

Cheshire smiled sincerely. “Thank you.”

Jakub shrugged his arm off and pushed to his feet; he looked anxious, and Cheshire worried that he’d misjudged Jakub’s intentions even further than normal until he offered a hand. He pulled Cheshire upright. “Let’s go,” he said. “Letting the Foleys see you here is one thing, but you don’t want the cops on you again.”

“No, I certainly don’t,” replied Cheshire. “Lead the way.”

They hurried the first two blocks and then strolled the rest of the way back to the riverfront where the entire altercation had started. The potato-peddlers were still there and greeted the pair happily, handing over the paper bag holding Jakub’s suit coat. “Figured you’d be back for this,” said one. “It’s very handsome.”

“Thanks,” said Jakub, and he paid her a nickel for her trouble.

They headed back to their building after that, neither eager to invite more eyes let alone more trouble. “Think you’ll have a hard time squaring this with Boss Kozlow?” Cheshire asked along the way, preemptively wincing. “He won’t be happy you made a move like that on your own.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jakub replied, with such stoney self- assuredness that he could have convinced Cheshire of anything. “He trusts my judgment.”

“Okay, good.” Cheshire rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want you in trouble because of me. I owe you, a lot.”

Jakub shook his head. “You don’t owe me,” he said. “Let’s just say I paid you back for the suit.”

Cheshire laughed, and because he’d gotten away with it earlier, he draped his arm over Jakub’s shoulders again. “If I buy you a suit every time you save my bacon, your wardrobe will be bigger than mine in no time!”

“That’s not funny,” Jakub protested. “Just let me be the one to tell the boss what happened, okay?”

“Sure, sure. And I’ll have matching shoes for that jacket by the time you’re done!”

Jakub grumbled, but he still didn’t try to sneak away, so Cheshire kept him close. They walked that way the rest of the trip home.