Kitty and Mr. Gallo want to protect Arthur Burrage from Vetrovsky, a fake medium preying on his grief. But first, they’ll have to learn more about how he operates.
After Arthur left, Jeannette joined Vetrovsky and Freddie downstairs. Mr. Gallo and I stayed in our perch, watching Vetrovsky and the girls tidy up. There wasn’t much for them to do, other than extinguishing the many lamps, and in short order our window on their little world dimmed to black. We waited for several minutes, and once it seemed certain that we were alone in the building, we crept down the stairs and let ourselves out into the Great Vetrovsky’s seance parlor.
Mr. Gallo found a candle and lit it, and we surveyed our surroundings. The room was really very small, just a large dressing room that had been retrofitted for Vetrovsky’s purposes. Mr. Gallo sat down and lifted the tablecloth. I rifled through cabinets and drawers. We didn’t know when we might have an opportunity to come back here, and we needed to take advantage of whatever time we had.
“Here’s the switch,” Mr. Gallo said.
“Hmm?” I had my head in a cabinet, staring at an assortment of tarnished candlesticks and an unopened box of baking soda. Apparently Vetrovsky had been neglecting his housekeeping. I looked over my shoulder at Mr. Gallo. He was peeking under the table’s skirts. He touched something on the floor, and the glass globe at the center of the table flowered slowly into life. Even without Vetrovsky’s reverberating patter, it had a spooky, ethereal feel to it. I frowned. Mr. Gallo had called Vetrovsky a charlatan, and he was right, but it was worse than that. Vetrovsky was a bloodsucking scammer, a parasite. Whatever angle he was working, his ends were meant to come not only at the expense of Arthur’s wallet, but of his happiness and peace of mind. Perhaps his very rationality.
“It’s ghoulish,” I snapped. “Turn it off.”
Mr. Gallo obliged. “The man does know how to create an atmosphere.”
“He does seem to have a talent for this sort of thing,” I agreed.
“Too much talent,” Mr. Gallo said. “Those girls are in a lot of trouble.”
I frowned. I wasn’t sure why, but something about Mr. Gallo’s tone of voice bothered me. “They seemed to be getting into their roles pretty enthusiastically,” I said.
Mr. Gallo shrugged. “They’re scared of him.”
I had to admit that seemed right. “Yes, but why? He yells and glares, but we’ve never actually seen him do anything to them. He hasn’t struck them.”
“But he’s done something to them,” Mr. Gallo said. “What was he reaching for, before I grabbed his wrist? A weapon?” He shook his head. “I should have searched the man.”
This was something that should have occurred to me. I, too, had seen Vetrovsky reaching for his pocket—and I had seen the girls shrink back from him in fear. What might he do, to keep his spirited young actresses playing their parts?
“And another thing,” Mr. Gallo said, turning from his examination of the table and beginning to run his hands over each of the chairs in turn. “He’s got both of them, and each stands as a hostage for the other’s behavior. They’ll keep obeying him, if only to protect one another.”
I thought about it as I continued my survey of the cabinets. He was right: a threat against a loved one was a very effective method of control. Mrs. Jacoby had proved as much when she’d threatened Koko. The knowledge of that threat was still sitting in the pit of my stomach, making me uneasy whenever I imagined the Jacobys learning of my continued involvement in the case.
Mr. Gallo had moved on from the chairs and was examining the mystical knick-knacks that sat atop the cabinets. He gestured to a tall, slim vase with strange writing circling its base. “Have a look at this.”
He lifted the vase—not by touching it, but by lifting two thick, black wires that were anchored to its rim. I gasped. In the dim light, the wires were almost invisible. The vase seemed to bob in midair, suspended by supernatural means.
Mr. Gallo lowered the vase gently to the table. “Half the stuff in here is on wires,” he said. “Not the lamps—those would be too dangerous. But he makes a pretty show with the rest of this flotsam.”
We found the gun next. It was in a locked cabinet, though that yielded easily enough to Mr. Gallo’s lock pick. He frowned at the beautiful red lacquered box. The candlelight playing along its carved, golden symbols gave it a more sinister air than it had on stage. Mr. Gallo took it out of the box and checked the rounds. “All blanks,” he said. He caught my eye. “Of course, that doesn’t mean the trick is safe.”
“Safe or not, it was a hell of a showstopper,” I said. I opened another cabinet and found a strange, wooden board adorned with the letters of the alphabet in a curious, arcane script. I lifted it out and laid it on the table, along with the strange wooden triangle that came with it. “What’s this?”
“That’s a Ouija board.”
“Wee jee?” I said, finding the word more funny than exotic. “More seance stuff?”
Mr. Gallo nodded. “It’s for communicating with the spirits of the dead.”
“More dead spirits?” I gazed at the Ouija board with considerably less amusement. “How is it supposed to work?”
Mr. Gallo sighed and placed the wooden triangle on the board. “We both put our fingertips on the planchette, like this.” He caught my hands and guided them to the triangle, placing his on either side of them. “We ask a question, and we wait for the spirits to respond.” He pitched his voice a little louder. “Hello, the afterlife!” he called in a jolly tone. “Anybody listening?”
Incredibly, the planchette began to move. I gasped and snatched my hands back.
Mr. Gallo let go of it as well and the planchette stopped moving, pointing, cryptically enough, at the letter T. “It’s not a spirit,” he assured me gently. “We moved it ourselves, with small, unconscious motions of our fingers. There’s nothing supernatural about it. It’s just like the crystal ball: stage dressing for a con.”
I moved my hands curiously back to the planchette. I trusted Mr. Gallo, but I hadn’t been aware of any motion, on my part or his. I experimented cautiously, and found that if I actually rested my hand upon the tool, it stopped moving. It was only when I kept my touch whisper-light that the planchette moved, and even then, its motions were vague and desultory. Yes, I thought, this was just like the contents of the seance parlor: a supernatural skin draped over a skeleton of human intent—dressed up with just enough detail and exoticism to inspire belief in those who wanted to give it.
“I get it,” I said. I placed both hands on the planchette again and asked in a loud, clear voice, “Will Mr. Gallo get a haircut this week?” I called out letters as I moved the pointer in their direction. “H, E, A, V, E, N…F, O, R, F, E, N, D.”
Mr. Gallo snatched the planchette away and looked down at me, a smile narrowing his mossy green eyes. The expression in them was something I saw so seldom that I had a difficult time putting a name to it. There was irritation there, but also amusement—and something lighter. Was it comfort, ease? Perhaps even happiness? I felt like something was about to happen between us, something that would bring a little clarity to exactly what it was we meant to each other.
“You were right to want this case,” he said.
“I—what?” I had thought he was about to kiss me. I was already leaning in toward him; my weight was on the tips of my toes. I put my hand on the table to keep my balance and frowned. “I was right?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t have taken it on, if the girls had come to me,” he said. “And it still won’t look good, if anyone learns we’re working for Eleanor without her parents’ permission. But this is exactly the work I got into this business to do. Stopping crimes, protecting people.” He grinned. “After all, what’s the point of being a private detective if you don’t get to save a damsel in distress once in a while?”
I narrowed my eyes at this. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe paying the rent?”
He grinned, and I realized that he was teasing me. “I mean it,” he said. “Your instincts were good. I’m glad I’ve got you as my partner.”
Partner. My cheeks heated up. The word had been spoken between us before—but only by me. After our last big case, things had opened up a bit between us. He’d become more willing to listen, more willing to let me steer the ship from time to time.
But having a name put to it felt different—more real, more enduring. Earlier this evening, I had been relieved just to be along for the ride, without having to once again defend my right to investigate. Now, without even asking, I’d been accorded the full status of a teammate. No, better than that. A partner.
I wanted to hear it again. “What’d you say?” I asked.
He leaned close to me and pushed a lock of hair back from my forehead. His fingers lingered as he tucked it behind my ear. “I said you’re my partner,” he said. “And I wouldn’t have anyone other than you.”
The kiss I’d been expecting earlier now seemed to be hanging in the air between us. I felt it, electric on my lips as I reached for him. I smiled up into his eyes and waited for it to arrive.
But before it did, the door opened, revealing Freddie and Jeannette. Freddie had cast off her crimson tarot robe, and both girls wore dark woolen coats. In the dim light from the candles, they looked positively identical, their gleaming hair creating halos around their sweet young faces.
I wanted to slap them both.