The Storm King(85)

Under and to the right of the headline, he could see the face of a boy from the top of his mouth to the shock of his dark hair. Nate felt the blood rush from his head. The cellar was cold, but he felt sweat prick across his arms.

“Why?” His breath became short as his chest tightened. “How?”

“Sit, Nate.” The woman was again right beside him. “I’ll tell you everything. Everything I can.”

Nate’s body acquired the gravity of a larger, denser world. He fell onto a pile of lumpy upholstery. “What is this?” he asked. He stared at his picture and the wall of paper and images and string as if it was an oncoming train.



“It’s like you said, boy. A story. But to get to the end, you need to understand the beginning.”





THE LAKE BROKE red and gold as the sky wept its sparks.

Fireworks launched from Blind Down Island cracked the summer night. This was the lake’s magic hour. Its one time a year when every rainbow shade gleamed across its undulating skin.

The lake returns what it takes, yet did anyone but June notice that it never revealed anything of itself? Its waters were as vacant as a mirror, only reflecting the sights that dazzled above it. Armies of leviathans might assemble an inch below its surface, and the children who blazed its shore with sparklers and the revelers who pranced in their Night Ship silks would never see them coming.

“Boss needs a refill, Junebug.”

Carl ran the kitchen. He had the gut of a circus strongman and a face like an exploded engine, but he was always good to June. The girls snickered at her and poked fun at May, but Carl was like an uncle to the twins. He was family, just like the Night Ship was home. Now they had to leave it all behind.

Strong was as particular about his beverages as he was about everything else. A special concoction of liquors, herbs, exotic fruits, and expensive vintages filled a silver punch bowl custom-made for his personal use. Old Morton entertained the VIPs in the Century Room. But no matter with whom he dined, this rich brew was rarely shared.



The Harlot Queen herself pranced up to her with the boss’s empty bowl and dropped it next to where June was slicing strawberries for the baked Alaska platters. Garters barely concealed under a silk chemise, black heels half as high as the Night Ship’s spires, an ostrich feather–plumed fascinator pinned to a froth of golden hair. “Don’t get your filthy prints on it,” Scarlet said. June had seen her papers and knew her real name was Doris. She’d loosed this little nugget to the most gossipy of the whores, and scarlet, too, had been the wench’s rage.

She’d replaced June as Strong’s second. She was as beautiful as June had been but hadn’t an eighth the gray matter. June suspected old Strong was going soft in the noggin himself. Anyone could see Scarlet was a poor substitute, but while June had shared Strong’s calculation and ruthlessness, Scarlet shared his bed.

She was sure Scarlet’s whispers and pouts had much to do with the fact that the twins would soon have to light out for territories unknown.

The harlot cocked her head at June, daring her to say something smart. The girl had no concept of the game they played. She wouldn’t have understood the rules if June had written them out then read them aloud. June cracked a smile as sweet as the meringue that baked nearby. She held it until Scarlet tossed her head and sauntered back through the doors that swung out to the dance floor.

Any one of the litany of humiliations June had recently sustained might have slumped her into melancholy, but she wasn’t built for brooding. Instead she stoked the fire within her into an inferno.

Strong believed that turning the twins out on their behinds was a solution, but June intended for it to be just the beginning of his problems.

“Have you seen the women’s dresses, June?” May bubbled into the room all skips and smiles. Not done up like the whores, she wore the same black pencil skirt and crimson blouse as June. They were the Night Ship Girls, and this was their costume. Regardless of their being on the brink of exile, Strong enjoyed the idea of identicals walking around. Other than the filthy apron fastened to June, the only visible difference between them was that May had a smile where June kept a frown. May adored the Fourth, and Strong let her walk around with a tray of canapés for the guests. “There’s this one the exact shade of Mama’s favorite lipstick.”



May mentioned Mama at the slightest provocation. It’d been five years since she’d sickened and died. It’d left a hole in both of them, but May filled hers with fond remembrances, while June dug hers deeper with regrets and recriminations. If Strong had sent for the doctor sooner. If the air of the undercroft weren’t so damp. If she’d noticed the blood Mama hid in her handkerchief when she coughed.

“And you won’t believe the sparklers and candles!”

“They’re the same every year, May.”

“But you must see them. They’re the most beautiful things.”

“I will, dearest.”

“Do you think Uncle Morton will let us visit next July? It’s like something out of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, isn’t it? So magical, you’d think anything can happen.”

“When the singing woodland creatures show up, find out how they are with a paring knife then send them in here.”

“I’ll help you, Juney.”