Chapter 4

CALIX

The next morning

Calix rubbed his eyes and combed the final shelf in his study, finding nothing. In the hazy light of morning, Calix couldn’t find the answers he sought.

His mother’s library, vast as it was inside the walls of his apartments, was still only partial. The rest was at Rosehill, and might yet contain the answers his mind sought after the previous day’s strangeness. There was no mess to clean up in the study, only the tangle of questions in Calix’s mind that needed tidying. And that wasn’t going to happen right now.

It was early, he hadn’t slept, and he needed to escape. Just for a little while. Calix got dressed and headed downstairs. To his surprise, his valet was at the front door, coat held out. “It’s rather early, even for you, Richard.”

“I’d promised Marie I’d grab some of those lemon scones she loves so much.” Richard gave Calix a smile. “And you know the old biddies at McTavish’s aren’t afraid to slap hands.”

Calix stifled a laugh. “Or cheeks, if memory serves the last time you arrived a tad later to the bakery.”

“All too true.”

As usual, Richard simply handed Calix his coat. He and Richard never had a traditional employer-valet relationship, not since Richard began working for him once he’d purchased the apartments nearly six years ago. He’d stayed in England long enough to graduate from Cambridge, put his mother’s affairs in order, and hop the next steamer to America. They were still employer-employee, but Calix felt an affinity for Richard, balanced precariously on an edge of familiarity and friendship.

“Any instructions for the chef today?” Richard asked as Calix shrugged into his coat. “I can leave a note before making the rounds.”

“Not for them, but I do need a pick-up from the tailor. A different one from the usual.” Calix handed Richard a few bills and the tailor shop’s paper receipt, which the man took with a raised eyebrow. “Twisted Silver Tailors.”

“I know the place. Never gone in though.” Richard eyed Calix’s understated morning outfit of pale greens and browns. “What am I picking up?”

Calix gave him instructions to retrieve the shirt he’d had Ethaniel make. The tailor had lingered in his mind well after their encounter, pulling at him in a strange kind of way that the museum curator, Aubrey, did. It wasn’t his foresight, hopefully, only natural human curiosity and, admittedly, a desire to admire both men again. It wasn’t as though he were made of stone.

As Richard departed, Calix shook all of that off to head out into the spring air, his feet taking him north and east for several blocks. There was a more direct path to his destination, but after the strange events and lingering confusion of the last few days, Calix felt the need to take in something more than Lawton’s haughty glances.

He also needed to forget the taste of his friend’s lips. It wasn’t fair to either of them, carrying on like that. Calix trusted Lawton with his body, yes, and maybe even a small part of his heart, but the man pushed and pulled him in directions in which he did not want to tread.

The sun had only graced the city skyline with its partial presence when Calix left his building, the Jenora Palms, for his favorite place outside home. It was by far the strangest apartment building he’d ever been in, a garish and sparkling demimonde not fit for anyone of his social strata. Calix loved it, just as he adored everything about the Village. Here, he felt freer. Few locals paid any mind to anyone’s comings or goings, even if a man walked down the street at some ungodly hour wearing the smeared remnants of his own rouge and lip stain. And here they adored the small magical conveniences and admired the larger feats found in Manhattan. Magic wasn’t othered, and neither were men like him. Lawton wouldn’t admit it in public, but Calix knew his friend loved this tiny neighborhood, too. Moving in when Calix did wasn’t about how Lawton viewed their friendship; it was more about not needing to hide so damned much, and how liberating that was.

So instead Calix spent the morning away from all those reminders. He took in the morning sun, watched small children dart across his path as he walked the streets. There were stalls to browse at the tiny market the Village moved throughout the neighborhood as the seasons changed, going from the newly drawn green space with a burbling fountain to inside warehouses heated by magical, ever-burning fires in the winter. This was the first week the market had moved back outside, and it made Calix feel a little lighter seeing all the people mingling, haggling over bolts of cloth and baked goods and shiny baubles.

There was no line outside the tea house the next street over, so Calix walked right into the crowded shop, hitting a wall of scent that made him close his eyes in pleasure. Lavender and sugar, ceylon tea and cardamom, and the walls teeming with plants from silvery-green spikes of rosemary to long-fingered purple vines dotted with perfect white flowers. Everything about Jewel House shone, and it attracted a crowd of free-thinkers, artists, musicians, and writers.

There was nowhere else like it in the city, and Calix didn’t get to revel in it enough for his liking. Perhaps if he’d stop letting Lawton drag him about, he could be here more.

Thoughts like that wouldn’t do for a day like this one, Calix decided as he took up a table in the corner and watched the little groups of tea drinkers chat. A waitress bustled over to take his order, a cup of jade rose tea and a slice of thick toast with blackberry preservers, and Calix settled in.

Strains of conversation reached him, filtered through clouds of steam from piping hot teacups: talk of the new bookstore around the corner, a dissection of the latest dissertation from Mrs. Athena Marksman, a feminist and outspoken suffragist, and two women musing on a display they saw at Darwin’s Attic. The women were dressed in perfect bohemian fashion for the weather, all flowing skirts and sparkling silver pendants and their curls peeking out from beneath velvet scarves topped with buttons and feathers. One of the women, blonde and bright-eyed, wore rings on every finger and Calix swore she tinkled as she moved.

But what caught Calix’s attention most was their mention of Darwin’s Attic. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but the women were seated just a table over and talking as if no one else in the world existed. His tea and toast arrived on a tray sans waitress; a little trick the tea house engaged in with the help of an enchantment. From the way he understood it, the tray was enchanted to take weight on, and when that disappeared, it returned to the kitchens. It always made Calix smile.

“Did you see the Xylothek?”

Calix glanced over at the two women seated nearby, then kept his eyes on his meal as he listened.

“I did! You were absolutely right, Doris. Such a beautiful collection. I’m glad I waited until Darwin’s Attic had a full display. I know even one of those wood tablets is impressive, but seeing all those seeds and leaves…well, there’s no better place for it.”

Doris’s companion chuckled. “Indeed! Half of those tree samples were from Darwin’s journeys. But I heard…well, you know how there are stories. Except I heard that their special collections curator retrieved the other tree samples for the Xylothek himself. Went all the way around the world for them.”

“No! Really?”

“It’s just a rumor. But there are always so many rumors about that place.” Calix glanced up and saw the blonde woman grinning widely. “And speaking of that curator…my Lord, what a looker.”

“Sasha!”

“What? He’s so handsome!”

Calix sighed. Even here, he couldn’t escape the mysterious Aubrey Levine. Who else could they possibly be talking about? Unless Darwin’s Attic was simply packed with good looking men who were also curators.

Perhaps he ought to pay Darwin’s Attic a visit.

He’d been intent on ignoring Aubrey’s warning about the lot of books Lawton had purchased the day before. Perhaps Aubrey was superstitious, or held onto some beliefs from elder family members. But he’d dreamt of sharp edges and thick shadows and had needed to chase it all away with spring sunshine and a good cup of tea.

It was all inescapable, even here, and it left a sour taste in Calix’s mouth.

Calix quickly finished his meal and left Jewel House, back out into the morning as the fog was burned off and the streets were bustling with residents who were tired of being cooped up against winter ice and snow. Calix took a right on East 9th Street, following a crowd of tourists, curious where their bespectacled guide in a tweed jacket would take them. Union Square was a few blocks north, but the guide seemed intent on going eastward.

“And here, as we round onto world-renowned 5th Avenue, you can see the newest construction to push boundaries in Greenwich Village! Much protested by residents, mind you, but those bohemian types don’t appreciate the jobs and money the brand new G.B. Baring department store will bring to the area!” The guide grinned as his remark got a few chuckles. “As you can see from here, Baring’s is heavily inspired by the classic architecture of the Italians, with touches of Greek and Roman decoration…”

The guide began walking, his group toddling after him, every head craned up at the half-finished department store that would block the views of 5th Avenue from the apartments on East 9th and stand like a gaudy blister on one of the most traveled corners in the Village. Calix had quietly protested the department store, choosing to donate money to a “Save Our Village” campaign that had, sadly, gone nowhere after the money behind the project got the police involved. Since last autumn, when police officers banged on doors and accosted anyone who dared go near the then-empty construction site, Calix had steered away from this part of the neighborhood. He was glad he had — seeing the ground clawed away for mortar and stone wouldn’t have been good for his mental state at the time. Or now, even; staring down the street at a part of the city that was changing faster than residents could keep up with.

“There you are! Richard said you might be on walkabout. Something about looking peaky.”

Calix wheeled as Lawton threw an arm around his shoulders. His friend looked better — color in his cheeks from the chill and whatever he was excited about now. But also he was back to his perfectly imperfect appearance, with his curls slightly askew, his lips painted a soft mauve, and his ears glinting with pearls and gold. Even Lawton knew wearing certain things outside the accepted bounds of propriety during the day would get the law called down upon one’s head. But his clothes carefully eschewed the Village’s bohemian flair, between his finely cut walking jacket (slashed daringly above the hips) and smart Hessian boots and the spill of a vibrant yellow and black scarf, an angry bumblebee of color.

“Should I ask why you’re carrying a large satchel down 5th Avenue?” Calix asked, throwing his friend an annoyed look.

“Yes, because we’re going to Babylon Boulevard, my friend. And, ah, ah, no arguing yet, Calix, let me finish.” Lawton smiled brightly at him and Calix could feel his desire to pull away melt. “And afterwards, I’ve got two tickets to see Cheiro on one of his last nights in the city! We will get our palms read by the master of palmistry and maybe even get our fortunes told. I heard Walt Whitman’s lumbering ghost has been spotted at Cheiro’s little salons. Wouldn’t that be a kick, dear one?” Lawton nudged Calix with his elbow, his expression going serious. “It’s a thank you, for going with me yesterday. I know I’ve been springing things on you with no warning and I promise to do better in the future.”

Questions swirled in Calix’s mind, and his stomach hadn’t yet recovered from the sour note at the tea house. All he could manage to ask was, “Why the sudden interest in old books? Is it just the money, since they’re so en vogue right now?” He trailed his fingers over the edge of the satchel Lawton wore and watched Lawton’s gaze linger there. “What’s really going on, Lawton?”

“Babylon Boulevard first, then a quick stop over on 3rd. Then onto Bleecker Street. I’ll tell you once we’ve claimed a table at the White Lotus. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Calix replied softly.

The cold, shadowed recesses of Babylon Boulevard were not Calix’s favorite part of the city, by far or wide. Here was a secret place, filled with the fascinating and forbidden, but as Lawton liked to say, “The freaks really only venture out in the safety of the eve, you know.” During the day, the grubby alley that served as the Boulevard’s entrance was empty save for a few rats. At night, the entire place opened into a strange miasma that could give Acadia Gardens a run for its money.

“Most of these places don’t open until sundown,” Calix said as Lawton consulted his pocket watch. “Wouldn’t you rather wait?”

Lawton shook his head. “I’ve business that would be better conducted in the light of day, I’m afraid.” He shot Calix a smile. “But that’s why you’re here. My muscle.”

That made Calix snort. “We were both rowers at Cambridge, Lawton, not rugby fielders. Strong winds are liable to knock both of us over.”

“Ah, you are ever so fair-minded in your insults, my friend,” Lawton shot back as he entered the alleyway. “Come on now, don’t fall behind. Lest a strong wind find you down here.”

Down herewas the scent of old alcohol, refuse, and stale smoke, all riding on that particular sting of quick-magic. It was ozone and lightning in the air and it made Calix’s head swim and his vision bob until he grew used to it. Quick-magic was what the disenfranchised could afford and it was also employed by businesses like the ones down Babylon Boulevard for showy lights and flashing signs to attract customers. Quick-magic was cheaper than repair services or electricity, and you could find charms and baubles for sale on almost every street corner. The sellers of it in Times Square had a particularly profitable hustle going on in quick-magic, according to what he’d heard.

Magic had been a part of human society since the first time some ancient homosapien realized they could make fire with a snap of their fingers. It had done truly stupendous things, but magic was simply a tool to most. It didn’t haunt one’s footsteps the way magic did for Calix.

You stay quiet about your premonitions, Calix. A little foresight isn’t a terrible thing, but anything more than that will call down something none of us want to live through. There’s a reason witches were burned and magic was buried for so long.

His mother’s words always rang in his ears, particularly in situations like now, where Calix wondered if he was sensing every speck of magic in the air. It was another reason he hated coming to Babylon Boulevard; here the very fabric of reality left him choking.

Lawton paused outside a bright green door, the paint chipped and peeling from years of sun exposure, the single window at eye level grimy.

“Where are we?” Calix asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“It’s just business, darling. And here.” Lawton handed Calix his satchel, a pretty gray leather bag that made Calix sink under its unexpected weight. He hefted it onto his shoulder with a grunt. Lawton gave him a thin smile. “Try to look menacing, Calix. And guard that satchel with your life. It’s more valuable than mere money, you know.”

In that moment, something gold flashed as Lawton turned; a bit of glimmer under his lapel in the shape of a circle. Without thinking, Calix flipped Lawton’s lapel up to get a closer look. He noticed the shaft of an arrow piercing the circle, but couldn’t see more as Lawton batted his hand away.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it later,” Lawton said, and the fierceness in his tone sent a shiver down Calix’s spine.

Whatever that little pin was, Lawton meant to hide it. Anger like Calix had never felt before rose up. His friend was playing games, and it had worn him down so much that Calix saw red.

“Your secrets, whatever they are, don’t involve me,” he hissed as he pushed the satchel back at Lawton.

“Stay and help, and then you can go back to wallowing or whatever it is you do in that beautiful apartment of yours.”

Lawton’s grip was like iron as he shoved Calix inside.

“Bout time you showed, Adler. I don’t got all day to wait around for whatever nonsense you’re selling.”

The voice came from a man, tall and broad, his jacket so tight one wrong move would make the seams screech. He stood above them on a landing that led down to a dusty shop counter, now abandoned to the spiders and mice. Two men stood on either side of that very counter, also tall and broad but bearing the wear-and-tear of former boxers.

Calix didn’t have the space in his mind to be taken aback by the other men; all of his ire was focused on Lawton.

“Take it,” Calix snapped, dropping the bag to the floor and turning on his heel to go.

“Nah, see…” Heavy footfalls stopped Calix in his tracks. “You gotta stay, friend of Mr. Adler. You can bear witness, if you want.”

Defiant was more of a sensation and less of a tone that took him over as he replied, “Bear witness to what?”

The man laughed. “Business, of course.”

Lawton had immediately grabbed the satchel, then dusted himself off with a huff. “Well, then, Tomas, let’s get to business. The quicker we do that, the quicker we’re out of your sadly thinning hair.”

The insult must have not bothered this Tomas a bit, because he just motioned Lawton over. “You got everything we agreed on.”

“I do. Plus a few that might not interest your buyers directly, but might be good to have on hand.” Lawton’s smile was now razor-sharp. “Just in case.”

While Tomas and Lawton talked, Calix realized one of the two other men had shifted until he was nearly out of sight to Calix’s left. A prickle of awareness licked up Calix’s spine, but the man had made no aggressive move against him. He kept his eyes on Lawton as he handed Tomas two slim volumes and one larger journal-style book from the satchel.

Time seemed to slow as Calix caught sight of silver foil and some kind of glint inside Lawton’s open satchel. Lawton was being careful to shield the satchel’s contents, but no amount of caution could have shielded Calix from his mind smashing into the dizzying depths of something deeply, terribly magical.

He was a child’s toy, a top spinning round and round again until all shape and color had no meaning but everything felt wrong. That sense of wrongness seeped beneath his skin, past the muscle, dripping into his bones as if they proved to be no barrier at all to whatever force of will and power sat within Lawton’s satchel.

The voice now beckoning inside his mind was the most seductive, powerful thing Calix had ever heard.

Come to me

Come to me

There was no schooling the expression of shock off his face, nor hiding the way he froze in place. The world jittered out of focus once more and Calix flung a hand out to brace himself on the counter.

Thoughts and words not his own barraged his mind, barreling down like a hailstorm. He had no resistance to it.

I know you hear me

You heard me the first time yesterday

I understand you better now

A very firm hand yanked him away and Calix was spun until he was facing Lawton. “I’m afraid my friend is a little under the weather,” Lawton said. Calix pulled his head up so he could focus his eyes. Lawton’s face had gone perfectly neutral, and even in his state, Calix could feel his gorge rise. Lawton was never neutral. “I’ll just take him outside for some air and come back –”

“You won’t.” Tomas’s strong American accent made his words boom through the room. “You do business here and now, as we scheduled, or you leave without pay.”

“Just finish what you’re doing,” Calix whispered weakly to Lawton. Lawton simply shook his head and pushed the satchel into Calix’s arms once more. He took it, digging his fingernails into the soft leather. Anything to ground him other than Lawton’s touch.

“And bring that satchel back over here,” Tomas said.

“It’s just a satchel, Tomas,” Lawton protested. Calix couldn’t see the other man’s reaction, but whatever it was made Lawton’s eyes widen a bit.

He’s afraid, Calix thought.

“Over here. Now.” A pause, and then, “Boys, bring them back.”

Rough hands grabbed him, hauling Calix away from Lawton and both of them were shoved into place before the counter once more. Dust from the floor was kicked up and Calix’s eyes watered. While his head no longer spun so much, he still felt queasy and wanted nothing more than to be back at home, where it was safe and quiet.

When one of Tomas’s henchmen tried to pry the satchel from Calix, he clung for dear life. Tomas shrugged his mountainous shoulders and the man backed off. “Open it,” Tomas said.

“Really, Tomas, it’s just my satchel,” Lawton replied.

Tomas leaned forward, until he was nose to nose with Lawton. Calix could only watch on as Tomas quietly said, “And I’ve never seen a satchel make someone look like they’re gonna fucking throw up all over the place. I didn’t have my boys check you when you came in, seein’ as how we’re such old associates. But I don’t trust you, Adler.” Tomas flicked a finger at Calix. “Get the satchel from him.”

Calix braced himself to be manhandled, but that plan was obliterated by Lawton yelling, “Run, Calix!” while pinning Tomas’s hand to the counter with a knife he pulled from his jacket. Tomas bellowed in pain, making Calix’s ears ring.

Did Lawton…stab someone?

The air went out of the room long enough for Calix to comprehend what Lawton had said, then he spun and lurched into a sprint. He practically smashed his face into the shop door as the means of opening it, but it got him out into the alley. He feared his feet would fail him, as that sense of sickening power and wrongness still emanated from the satchel, but run he did.

This part of the city was at the edge of the Village — too far from his home to get there without attracting attention, and he couldn’t think of any safe place to hide nearby. Getting out of Babylon Boulevard would be key, and then he could…

Fuck. He had no idea where he could go.

But Calix ran.

He pushed past people, jostling into walkers and shoppers, nearly colliding more than once with a street lamp post. He felt as though his eyes would never stop wobbling. Dashing down the streets without a goal was a very good way to get caught, especially since both of Tomas’s men were a fair bit taller and larger, and would be able to spot him even in a crowd.

Calix ducked into one alley, then down another, choking on the scent of dirty rain water and refuse. His grip on the satchel made his fingers ache, and his lungs threatened to give out under the stress; every set of footsteps behind him, even unhurried ones, might be after him.

And then he heard it again.

Safety is near

Right

Go right

It was mad to follow the voice.

He did it anyways.

Calix dashed right again, snagging his coat sleeve on a bit of crumbled brick wall, and when he yanked himself away, a sign up ahead caught his eye.

Twisted Silver Tailors

Calix remembered Ethaniel, the patterner, and how kind his eyes were. They’d even had a nice conversation, veering off the road of polite and onto a track of near flirtatious at one point.

It was a huge gamble. But Calix felt he had no other choice.