“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” the policeman said, slapping handcuffs on her. “You’re also under arrest.”
Sam slipped easily through the crowd and back through the corridor into the building next door. Whenever a policeman looked his way, Sam would think that same thought—Don’t see me—and before the cop could figure out what had happened, Sam would have moved on, leaving him to shake his head and chase after someone else. He hoped Evie had managed to escape. He had to hand it to her, she had moxie. He liked girls with moxie. They were trouble. And Sam liked trouble even more than moxie.
“Did we lose them?” Theta panted. Her legs shook and the white fur of her coat was grimed with dirt.
“I think so.” Memphis held up the pulp of the book and sighed. “Mrs. Andrews is gonna kill me.”
“At least you’ll have something to write about,” Theta said and laughed. It was a solid bray of a laugh, completely at odds with her jaded demeanor. The cool she’d shown him earlier was gone. Their narrow escape had made them giddy, and they stood on the corner of Seventh Avenue laughing at their good fortune like a couple of kids on Christmas morning. Theta tilted her head back and caught the breeze. In that moment, she was so beautiful that Memphis wished they could keep running.
“You jake, Poet? You look like someone slipped you a mickey,” Theta said.
Memphis forced a smile and spread his arms wide. “Me? I don’t wear worry.”
“Let’s go sneak a peek.”
They crept down the block and crossed the street to where they had a good lookout for the action at the club. Sirens wailed on the street and police wagons lined the block in a long line. The men in blue pulled patrons from the club while the neighborhood looked on. The press had arrived, and the flashlamps popped; they could smell the burning magnesium in the night air.
“Papa Charles isn’t gonna like this,” Memphis said. “He pays the cops enough not to raid his clubs. I hope your friends got out all right.”
“Me, too,” Theta said. She still held Evie’s handbag. “I suppose I’d better blow home and see if they did.”
Memphis felt his heart sink. He didn’t want the evening to end. “I could take you for a cup of coffee first, if you like. I know I could sure use one.”
Theta smiled. It was a sweet smile, almost shy. “Thanks, Poet. But I should get my beauty sleep.”
Memphis started to say something clever—“Why? You’re already the best-looking girl in town”—but didn’t. It would seem like charm, and he didn’t want to charm this girl. He wanted to know her. But the magic of their escape couldn’t extend everywhere.
“Maybe I’ll see you in my dreams tonight,” he said instead. “On that road.”
Theta’s smile faltered just a bit. “I suppose I’d feel less scared if you were there.”
The cops patted the doors of one of the wagons and sent it on its way. The streets were clogged with people now. Theta stuck out her hand. “Thanks for the daring escape, Poet.”
Memphis shook Theta’s hand, marveling at the softness of it. “Anytime, Creole Princess.”
Theta ran toward the subway. At the corner, she turned to see Memphis still watching her. He wasn’t watching her the way that audiences or the occasional fan on the street did. It didn’t make her feel odd or imagined; on the contrary, she had never felt more real. “Hey, Poet!” she called back to him. “It’s Theta!”
“Pardon?” he shouted.
“My name. It’s Theta—”
The crowd thickened between them just as someone pulled Memphis into a choke hold from behind. He whipped around, ready for a fight. Laughing, Gabe put his hands up in surrender, backing away. “Easy, brother. Just me. Can you believe they raided the club? Somebody’s putting the squeeze on Papa Charles. I’d gone out back for a smoke or I’d be in one of those wagons, too. Hey, Memphis—you even listening to me?”
Memphis had turned away from Gabe and was craning his head, searching for some sign of Theta, but she was already gone. How would he find her again? Beside him, Gabe was talking a mile a minute, but Memphis wasn’t listening. Something had shifted in the cosmos. His future seemed to have thinned to a point of destiny, and it had a name: Theta.
When Memphis let himself into Octavia’s apartment, he found Isaiah standing at the foot of the bed in a pale wash of bluish moonlight. The boy stared into the gloom of the bedroom, his head shaking slightly.
“Hey, Ice Man. Whatcha doin’ up?” The boy didn’t answer. “Isaiah? You all right?”
Isaiah’s eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible. His eyelids fluttered wildly.
“The seventh offering is vengeance. Turn the heretics from the Temple of Solomon. And their sins shall be purified by blood and fire.”
“Isaiah?” Memphis whispered. Hearing these strange words coming out of his brother’s mouth made him cold with fear.
“Anoint thy flesh and prepare ye the walls of your houses to receive him.” Isaiah’s thin body jerked with small spasms.
Memphis gripped his arms. Should he run for Octavia? The doctor? He didn’t know. “Isaiah, what are you talking about?” he whispered urgently.