“It is.” He grabbed three sparkling glasses from a passing tray and handed one to each of them. “Made it through her first two weeks. What you’re looking at is Philadelphia’s newest body snatcher, Molly Green.”
“To Molly Green!” Ginny raised her glass, shooting Molly a wink.
“To Molly Green.” Tom raised his own and clinked it against hers. Following suit, Molly raised her glass, then took a sip. The drink prickled her throat in a sweet rush of apple mixed with tart, icy lemon.
“I was just about to show her around,” Tom said.
“I’ll do that.” Ginny caught Molly’s hand. “Switch.” She handed Tom the duck’s leash and turned to Molly. “Welcome to the Red Carousel!” Her voice rose to a jubilant shout. “Now, how’s about a little fun?”
* * *
Ginny yanked her through the crowds, grinning. “Let’s see how brave you really are.”
Only when it was already too late did Molly understand where they were going. She tried to twist away, but Ginny held tight, pulling her onto the stage.
Blaring quicklime lights burned Molly’s eyes, pinning her in place. Pulse racing, she spun awkwardly around, searching for a way down. Below her, the crowd roared.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Ginny’s voice rang out as she cracked her whip over the crowd’s eager heads. “Have you been goooood?”
A boozy cheer answered.
Ginny cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Have you been very good?”
A louder cry this time, followed by stomping.
“Then tonight, I propose to show to you one of the greatest wonders of the earth. From the—”
“Show us your arse!” A drunk voice cut through the commotion of the crowd.
Ginny ignored it and went on.
“From the seven corners of the world, they are here to tantalize you. The Green Goblins—”
“Show us yer feckin’ bum!”
The crowd began to shuffle uneasily at the heckler’s insistence, and instead of continuing, Ginny stopped.
Leaning down, she found the man who’d yelled and beckoned him close. “You want to see an arse?”
“Damn right I do!” The drunk man stumbled toward the stage.
“How ’bout the rest of ya?” Ginny yelled.
The crowd roared.
Molly’s eyes began to adjust, and finally she found the stairs. Hurrying toward them, she tried to scramble off the stage but was stopped by a large man in an orange dress. Muscles rippled over every inch of his body.
“Hans,” Ginny called to him. “Give them what they want!”
The muscleman pushed past Molly. Wiggling and shimmying to the edge of the stage, he teased the crowd with a flip of his hem. They cheered. Then, in a single motion, he plucked the heckler from the crowd and threw him in a heap onto the stage.
“How dare you!” The man brushed angrily at his wrinkled jacket. His plump face turned crimson with rage.
“Ladies and gentlemen”—Ginny waved her arm in a grand gesture—“I give you . . . your arse!” She cracked her whip at the heckler’s feet, and the little man let out a surprised yelp.
“You bitch!” The man’s voice was tight with fury.
Ginny leaned closer, pretending not to have heard. “What’s that?” She cupped a hand to her ear. “You want the whip?”
The crowd hooted its assent.
Before Molly knew what was happening, Ginny had hold of her arm and was pushing the whip into her hand.
“No!” Molly whispered, trying to shove it back.
But Ginny wrapped Molly’s fingers tighter in her own. Leaning close, she whispered, “Come now, girl. Don’t pretend you don’t know your way around a body.”
The crowd began to chant.
“Whip!”
“Whip!”
“Whip!”
Molly stood stupidly, the whip dangling at her side.
“Molly!”
Her name, called from the crowd.
“Molly, what the hell are you doing?”
Below, Tom stared up at her from the bottom of the stage. He reached a hand for her. Before she could decide whether to take it, the heckler, wild eyes determinedly fixed on the stairs, shoved her to the ground. Molly fell with a thump, and her teeth knocked together with a jolt of pain.
The heckler grinned. “Serves you right, you fucking . . .”
Picking herself up, Molly raised the whip.
She’d had enough.
Enough of this man. Enough of the doctor and the Tooth Fairy and Edgar. Enough of them all.
Enough of every man who tried to frighten her with what he thought was power.
She brought the whip down with a snap!
It cracked with a satisfying pop across the man’s hand.
Yelping again, he plunged the injured limb into his mouth.
A wave of excitement rushed through Molly. She’d never done anything like that before. It felt . . . good. She wondered if it was how the Tooth Fairy had felt when he’d watched her tremble.
She raised the whip higher and brought it down again. This time it landed with a meaty smack across the heckler’s shoulder.
He gave a startled, rabbity scream.
Molly cracked the whip again . . . and again . . . until the little man was a cowering ball on the floor of the stage.
Only when Ginny grabbed her arm did she stop.
“Ladies and gentlemen”—Ginny spun Molly to face the crowd—“Mistress Molly, the Punisher!”
“Mistress Molly!” the crowd chanted. “Mistress Molly!”
Faces blurred, mouths opening and closing in a fevered frenzy as they shouted her name.
She saw herself reflected in their eyes—more beautiful than Ma, more dangerous than Ava.
Eager hands reached for her and helped her from the stage. She let them.
Someone shoved a glass into her hands, and she drained it in a single gulp. A fiery liquid rushed down her throat, matching the flame in her heart.
Mistress Molly, the Punisher, stood inside the crowd’s rabid embrace and let it burn.
21
Jesus Christ,” Tom said.
Ginny smirked. “I’m not sure he has anything to do with it.” She turned to Molly. “Now, I’d say that calls for another drink. Thirsty?”
Molly could not believe what she had just done. She could still feel the whip in her hand, the thrill of its snap as it sliced through the air. Her entire body tingled with exhilaration, and she could not hide her pleased look nor the wolf ’s grin that came with it as she answered. “Parched.”
“Then let’s get you one. The good stuff this time.” And they were off again, leaving Tom gape-mouthed behind them.
They wove their way through the crowds to a dark corner of the room filled with longer tables.
It was quieter here.
The people seated at these tables were not dressed festively like in the rest of the room. Instead, their clothes came only in various shades of black. But that was where the similarities amongst them ended. Men with dirt-caked fingernails sat alongside well-groomed gentlemen. A small door in the back kept opening, and Molly saw wagons unloading in an alley.
“The resurrectionists,” Ginny said. “We handle the bawdy, and they handle the bodies.”
“They sell the dead here?” Molly asked, shocked.
Ginny smiled. “I make it my business not to ask. But I can say there’s been more than a few stiff men come in these doors and leave through ’em too.”
Before Molly could ask more, Ginny herded her on to another table. A man with a rodent on his shoulder raised a hand wearing a fingerless glove to wipe grease from his face. “ This here’s Jimmy,” she said, voice determinedly bright as she looked at the pair. “And I dare you to guess which one’s the rat.�
��
The man rubbed his hand through his hair, then pulled from his coat a small velvet bag, full of what Molly guessed were coins. A boy, neatly dressed in student’s clothes and wearing a gold pocket watch, looked keenly on.
“Some of the anatomy students like to partake in their vices here too,” Ginny said, nodding to the student. “They play at grave robber on occasion. A little club of them called the Spelunkers send each other out on dares. Some of them even collect body parts to put in little jars. They like to feel like they belong here, and we like to take their money.”
Other young men with full beers joined the table. They were clearly students, in their matching black pants and white shirts, some with vests or jewelry to spruce up their appearance.
A few women in low-cut dresses and costumes ranging from the scandalous to the luxurious floated between the students, now and again taking a hand and leading a man upstairs.
“You do that often, whipping blokes?” Tom had caught up, Ginny’s duck under his arm and a beer in his hand. He stared at Molly as if she were someone he’d never seen before, and she blushed.
“She can whip me.” A drunk anatomy student sidled past, slopping beer onto Molly’s dress. “How ’bout it, girlie? Ten whips for a quarter?”
Tom moved before she could stop him, shoving the man to the ground with a single push and then placing a foot on his throat. “If you need a whipping, I’m happy to oblige.”
Choking out his apologies, the student scrambled away.
“Can’t have a corpse without parasites.” Tom gave an annoyed shake of his head. He handed the duck to Ginny. “Damn thing shit all over me.”
“Why don’t you like them?” Molly asked, nodding to the table of anatomy students.
“It’s a game to them.” Tom scoffed. “What we do. They’re rich enough to plunder some poor man’s grave site on a lark and then dress his corpse up like a goat if it suits them. They make a mockery of us, sitting in our corner and throwing around their money like spoiled gods.”
“Now, Tom,” said Ginny. “You’re being too harsh. Not all the boys are like that.”
But Tom gave a disgusted snort, staring at a group of gentlemen who were now tossing something that looked suspiciously like a human leg bone back and forth across the table in a rowdy game of catch.
“Does the Tooth Fairy come here?” Molly whispered, a shudder working its way up her spine.
“He doesn’t dare,” Tom said. “Folks got tired of him trying to intimidate them. This is our place. People in the business come here to relax and not be hassled. Even if we do have to deal with some of these richies on occasion. But there’s good folk here too. I’ll introduce you to them.”
He gave a whistle, and a table full of characters from a macabre fairy tale looked up, each more unusual than the last.
“That there’s Maudlin Martha and her brother Paul.”
A middle-aged woman with a large mole on the edge of her thin nose and a man with a stretched face and ghostly pale-blue eyes nodded solemnly to Molly before resuming their conversation with a man in a preacher’s robe.
“That’s Father Midnight.”
A man with coal-black eyes pinned them with an inky stare.
“Is he a real priest?” Molly asked, intrigued.
Tom nodded, grinning. “The good father’s sold as many bodies as he’s blessed.”
He went on to name several more people at the table, most of whom seemed to spend their money on drink as soon as it entered their hands.
“They’re small-timers,” Tom explained. “Your aunt lets them stay in business because it suits her. We work with them to set prices on the market. The Tooth Fairy, though.” Tom shook his head. “He’s something else. Keeps refusing to stay in his place.”
“Oy!” shouted a thin, gangly boy from the anatomists’ table, cutting him off. “Any of you bone men care for a wager? Jimmy’s got the jigsaw out!”
Tom sauntered over to the other table, throwing down a dollar. “A Liberty says he won’t.”
“I’ll take that.” The boy collected the money eagerly, then turned to the others. “Anyone else?” More bets were placed, and the money was gathered.
Smiling, Ginny set a small gilded hourglass onto the table and gave Molly a wink. Turning it upside down, she clapped her hands together loudly. “Begin!”
In a single swift motion, the man with the rat on his shoulder shook open his velvet sack and a stream of not coins but tiny white bones clattered onto the table.
Sackmen and anatomists alike crowded closer as a young medical student, sweat beading across his brow, began to sort the bones and put them together.
“Is that a skull?” Molly leaned closer. The student lifted an achingly small piece and set it at the top of the table.
Tom nodded. “It’s bones from a little.”
“A little?”
“A child.”
He must have seen Molly’s face pale.
“Ah, don’t worry. It’s an old one. Dead for twenty years at least. Jimmy keeps her with him to make a little extra money is all. Nobody’s put her together yet.”
“Here.” Ginny thrust a shot of something green at Molly. “Drink this.”
She did. It tasted like licorice and burned like fire all the way down her throat. Absinthe.
The crowd began to cheer as the sand in the hourglass slipped away, nearly half-gone now.
The student worked frantically to the shouts of his peers.
Slowly, the bones began to take shape, and the figure of a child began to emerge on the table. Molly watched, fascinated. And what she felt was not horror but admiration.
The absinthe coursed through her, and she felt the edges of her body soften. Expand. These people, this place—tonight it was a single organism, and she was a part of it.
Tom must have felt it too, for in that instant, as they stood together, watching the man he’d bet against slipping the delicate pieces into place, she felt his knuckles brush hers, their arms hanging beside their bodies like exposed nerves, the flesh buzzing wild. And the energy of this room, whatever it was, coursed between them like a live thing.
The sand in the tiny hourglass ran down until there was but one grain left.
It hung for a second, suspended, then dropped.
The room held its breath.
The student’s face lit up in a wide, uneven grin, and despite his money and education, Molly saw him, at that moment, as just a boy. He might have plowed the fields alongside her father or served in the war that Ma said made the butcher’s heart ugly or traveled across the ocean with the thousands of others who had come before her to find their place in the New World.
Then the man with the rat and the jigsaw moved aside the blue velvet bag on the table, and ten white forgotten pieces gleamed from beneath.
The crowd sighed as one. Released.
The student sighed too. He looked very near to tears.
Molly felt a jostle beside her. It was Tom. He banged the bottom of his glass loudly on the table three times.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The onlookers came to a hushed attention.
When the room was finally silent, he spoke. “As most of you know, there’s been talk.”
Nervous glances raced along the table.
“Someone is disrespecting our trade. Killing folks for sport.”
The Knifeman. The Knifeman. The Knifeman . . .
The name passed from lip to lip in a whisper.
Tom held up his hand.
“Whatever our differences here tonight, we can agree on one thing. The body is earned, not made.”
Nods of agreement from both sides of the room.
“When one man treats Death as his personal servant, it affects us all. All of us who make an honest living
by dealing in the dead come under suspicion.”
Angry murmurs rippled through the crowd, and a group of men in the corner stomped their feet loudly on the wood floor.
“This winter has been a hard one, but we won’t stand for what’s happening anymore,” Tom said. “Not now, not ever.”
The voices rose to shouts.
“Find him and hang the fellow!”
“Give him a taste of his own bloody medicine.”
Again, Tom banged his glass, and again, the room quieted.
“Let us make a promise. Here. Tonight. We will find whatever demon thinks it his right to play God and bring him to justice!”
The crowd exploded.
Tom lifted his glass to the room and then, to Molly’s surprise, raised it to the anatomy students on the other side of the table.
“To the body!” he said.
“To the body!” the others roared.
And if only for an instant, Molly saw some sort of veil lifted. A shadow that pressed itself between the living and the dead, the rich and the poor, all of it was removed.
Then it fell back into place, and she was only there, in a bar, standing beside a man with sweat on his arms and a lace of scars across his face.
But she could still feel Tom’s fingers where they’d touched her, the warmth of his knuckles brushing against her skin.
She wanted to feel them again. The promise they offered—that complete unknowableness of another body.
It was like swimming in a great sea that had no end, that existed only to be discovered again and again and again.
It was life.
And in that instant, if just for a second, it was hers.
Each sparkling white bone of it, washed in the champagne of the Red Carousel and blessed by the priest of youth that fought Death each day, claiming its victories in seconds, in minutes, in the bare fact that they existed.
Now.
In this room.
Alive.
* * *
Tom helped her, stumbling, into the carriage. Her head fizzed with drink, so that the night seemed somehow sharper and less defined all at once. The waxing moon was so bright she felt like she needed only to lift her fingers to touch it.
The Corpse Queen Page 15
