“Would you like to listen to me read for a while?” he asked, his tone casual.
A truce, then. Something in her chest relaxed. “What is it?” she asked warily. “One of your science magazines?”
“No, but I can get one of those, if you’d prefer. This,” he replied with a grin, holding up a slim volume with a flourish, “is trash. A novel of mystery, seduction, and ruin. Orphans and waifs and men with bad intentions. Probably someone will die of a broken heart before it’s over, and the wicked will get their comeuppance.”
“No,” she said through a huff of laughter. “I’ve had more than enough of those. This one is all yours. You can read me the next one.”
“All right.” He pulled the door closed as he left.
Smiling, Amelia doused the lamp beside her bed and put her head on her pillow. She was asleep in seconds.
* * *
She woke before noon to a gray, lowered sky and a nagging unease in her belly. The apartment was quiet, the only sounds a pair of muffled voices from the yard.
Amelia rose and dressed in a plain gray muslin day dress, one designed to be worn with a comfortably loose corset. Jonas was already up and gone, judging from the disorder in the front room. The previous night’s novel sat on the table, the cover speckled with crumbs. He’d probably finished it during breakfast and taken another with him when he left. Or maybe one of his indecipherable journals. Some of the club’s regulars saved their periodicals for him, and he devoured them all—everything from old issues of Penman’s Gazette to the Journal of Metallurgy. He’d been the only street tough she’d ever known who picked pockets looking for a library card.
Amelia brushed the crumbs off the cover of the book and picked it up. A piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. She retrieved it, intending to tuck it back into the book, then hesitated. She could not quite stop herself from looking at it.
The paper was of fine quality. The hand was unfamiliar and distinctly masculine.
I thought of you when I read this last night. I know you said you needed time, and I want you to take as long as you need to decide, but please do think about it. I’d love to show you Paris.
—Sidney
There was a scrap of poetry beneath the signature.
Alarm bloomed in her chest. This was more serious than she’d realized. It was baffling; Jonas was usually so practical in his affairs. Other lovers had made him promises, sent him gifts. He always showed them to her. They’d laughed together at the idea that anyone could be taken in so easily. But now this rich, idle charmer was offering to take Jonas to Europe. And he hadn’t even told her.
Amelia shoved the paper back into the book, wishing she’d never seen it.
Was he really considering— No. Jonas would never be so foolish. But why hadn’t he told her? She thrust away the worry aside as she tossed the book back onto the table. He knew better. Nothing would come of it.
But the hollow feeling in her stomach lingered.
* * *
The club was packed again that night. Amelia took a break at midnight and was about to go to the kitchen for something to eat when Jonas walked in. “I’m starving, have you—” He got no further.
“Jonas!” There came a frantic shout from the hall, and a busboy appeared in the doorway, his skinny chest heaving.
“What is it?”
“Some a’ them Eastmans has caught a couple fellas in the alley. They’re near ’bout beatin’ ’em to death. There ain’t nobody out there,” he said, panting. “You gotta come quick.”
“Sporting with the fairies” was a popular entertainment for some of the lower-tier members of the local gangs. It rarely escalated beyond taunts and shoves; Sabine’s security knew their business. But there was always a risk. Tonight’s ruffians could have come looking for a fight, or they could have stumbled across this one on their way somewhere else. It didn’t matter; once a fight like this started, it usually ended with bodies on the ground.
“Bastards,” Jonas seethed. He lunged for the stairs. “Stay here!” he ordered Amelia over his shoulder.
As he dashed out of the room, the dull foreboding Amelia had felt all day flared to life. Her breath caught in her throat. She darted after him.
“Go find help!” she ordered the busboy, not staying to see if he obeyed.
Jonas took the stairs at a run and vaulted over the railing near the bottom. His hurtling bulk cleared a path through the throng, but it closed in again behind him. Amelia shoved her way through the crowd, all pretense of elegance forgotten. Panic drove her, as the certainty that something terrible was about to happen rang in her head like a gong.
She dashed out the front of the club and around the corner, taking in the scene in an instant.
A silver-haired man in evening wear lay curled on the ground, bloody and still, being kicked with obvious relish by a dirty-looking fellow in a stained shirt. Two men were holding his younger companion, twisting his arms behind his back while a third slapped and taunted him. The younger man’s face was desperate as he struggled.
Four on two, she thought with disgust. Cowards.
Jonas seized the kicking man by the arm and spun him around, planting his fist in the assailant’s gut. The man folded in half with a grunt. Jonas dropped him and turned on the others.
The one who’d been doing the taunting grinned, revealing a mouthful of unfortunate teeth.
“What’s this? Another fairy wants to join the party?” he asked with a faux lisp.
With an inarticulate sound of rage, Jonas surged toward him.
The young man being held took advantage of the distraction, yanking free of his tormentors and seizing one of them around the waist, dragging him to the ground to grapple on the cobblestones. The other assailant hesitated, as if unsure which of his companions to help.
Jonas settled the matter by tackling the lisper and driving him backward into his friend. They both crashed against the wall of the alley and fought to remain upright, stumbling over each other and the pair of men struggling on the ground.
The man Jonas had punched had recovered enough to reach into his boot. As he straightened, Amelia caught the glint of metal in his hand.
“Jonas!” she shouted. “Knife!”
Jonas ducked at her warning. The knife sank in near the top of his shoulder and came out red. The man went in for another stab. Jonas grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind him and forcing the blade away.
Shouts and the sounds of running feet echoed across the mouth of the alley; help was coming. The two attackers still on their feet must have heard the reinforcements approaching and decided they’d had enough. They turned and sprinted for the street, Amelia in their path. The larger of the two flung her aside with a meaty arm. She flew backward into the alley wall. Her head hit the bricks with a crack. Pain exploded in her skull, and the world went black.
2
There is nothing more I can do. She will either wake, or she will not.”
Jonas scowled at the doctor and considered punching him. The impulse must have shown on his face, because the man eyed him warily and moved away from Amelia’s bedside.
In the front room of their apartment, the doctor continued. “Injuries of this kind are unpredictable. There is a great deal medical science still does not understand about the brain. The skull might have had a minor fracture, but if it did, it is healing. Her eyes react normally to the light, which indicates that her brain is intact. I don’t know why she does not wake. All you can do is keep her comfortable and wait.”