Kelly studied him for another long moment before agreeing. “What could it hurt?” he said with a shrug. “Let’s see what kind of swill Saunders stocked this place with.”
“Better than you might imagine,” he told Kelly, well aware of the nervous energy around them as he thumped the other man on the back.
James knew that every person in that barroom feared Kelly and the damage his Five Pointers could do. Even Dolph hadn’t been able to protect them from the Five Pointers’ viciousness in those final days.
Let them see, James thought. Let them all see and understand exactly who I am and what influence I have.
He poured two fingers of the house’s best whiskey for each of them and raised his glass in a salute. Kelly watched him toss back the liquid before drinking his own.
“So,” James said as he poured another glass for each of them. “How is your delightful sister these days . . . still raising hell?”
Kelly smirked. “Viola?” He laughed softly into his glass. “She doesn’t raise anything unless I tell her to.”
Perfect, James thought. Exactly what I wanted to hear.
A LAND SOAKED IN BLOOD
1902—New York
Barefoot and wearing nightclothes that were too large for him, Jianyu took a moment to test his balance while he had the bedpost to hold on to. The movement still made his vision waver, like he was looking through a fog, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to stay upright. It had been too long. Far too long.
By now, certainly, the boy Esta had warned him about would have arrived. By now the boy would have made contact with Nibsy. Which meant that he’d failed. Again.
He was not completely sure where he was, and he could not be sure how long he had been there. The times he had woken, he found that he could barely hold on to consciousness before the ground fell out from beneath him and he drifted back into the heavy darkness. But finally he had managed to claw free. The sun was slanting in through the thin curtains covering the single window in the room, and the air was warm and heavy with the smell of something laden with spices that were unfamiliar to his nose. But then he realized that he could pick out the sweetness of clove and the pungency of garlic, scents that reminded him of a home he would not see again.
Spurred on by that thought, he forced himself to take a step, pausing to make sure that the earth remained steady beneath him, unlike a day—or was it two?—before. Then, his desperation to find the boy Esta had warned him about had been so urgent, he had pushed too far and instead collapsed to the floor, jarring his already tender head again.
He took slow, tentative steps at first, testing himself, and when he was satisfied that his legs were steady, he followed the sound of voices through the door of the small bedroom and down a short hallway to a narrow living area, where he found three women sitting and stitching piles of men’s pants. Cela was one of the three, but where the other two were engrossed in conversation with each other, she was working with her head bowed, concentrating on the task in front of her. She seemed separate from them somehow. Where the other two wore simple dark skirts and faded shirtwaists, Cela was wearing a gown the same shade of pink as a tea flower. It was a simple day dress, like any might wear, but again he was struck by the cut of it, the sharp tailoring that made it seem like something more. Her nimble fingers finished the cuff of one leg and moved on to the next, but her expression seemed far away—more sad than thoughtful.
He had spent only a few moments in her workshop at the theater, but that space had been neat and organized, the bolts of fabric stacked in straight lines and the bowls of beads and crystals arranged without even a spangle out of place. But nothing in this room sparkled. There was no silk or satin, and Cela herself looked tired.
The older of the other two glanced up and noticed Jianyu standing there, leaning against the doorway to keep himself upright. She cleared her throat, causing Cela to look up as well.
“You’re awake,” Cela said, the low tones of her voice making it sound like an accusation. “You shouldn’t be up.”
She was right, of course. The words were no sooner spoken than Jianyu felt himself swaying, and Cela was on her feet in an instant, helping him to the chair she had just been sitting in.
He thanked her, but along with gratitude, he felt the burn of shame. To be so weak here in front of these women. To be unable to fulfill his promises . . .
“You okay?” Cela asked, settling herself on the floor and taking up the pants she had been working on a moment ago.
He nodded rather than speaking, but the movement of his head caused his newly shorn hair to brush against his cheek, reminding him of all that had happened.
The older woman was watching him as she stitched, while the other one, a woman just a few years older than Cela, kept sliding glances his way as well. But it was the older woman who was the first to speak. “So, Mr. Jianyu . . . how long will you be staying with us, now that you’re up?”
“Auntie—” Cela said, a note of warning in her voice. But the words that came next, Jianyu could not follow. They seemed to be in English, or some of them did, but Jianyu had trouble making sense of them. His head, perhaps . . .
But Cela’s aunt seemed to understand. She answered back using the same unfamiliar tongue. The two women spoke for a minute, trading words, and Jianyu did not need to know the language they were speaking to discern their meaning, especially when the older woman’s eyes kept cutting to Jianyu as the two spoke. After a moment, the older woman put down her sewing and motioned for the other to come with her, leaving Jianyu and Cela alone in the suddenly quiet apartment.
Cela made a few more stitches, but then her hands went still and she let out a long breath. Jianyu could see the tears turning her dark eyes glassy, but he had nothing to offer her.
“If I have caused you trouble with your family—”
Cela shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “My auntie is just like that sometimes. My cousin Neola is a bit easier to abide.”
“The other girl?” Jianyu asked.
Cela nodded. Then she put aside the sewing she’d been doing. “How are you?”
“Well,” he said, feeling that it was not a lie so long as he remained sitting.
“You look better,” she told him. “That knock to the head you took was something awful. For a couple of days, I wasn’t sure that you’d wake up.”
There was something in her voice that sounded broken and brittle, but Jianyu felt he had no right to ask. “Thank you,” he told her, his voice stiff. “You did not need to trouble yourself for me.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “You’re right about that, but seeing as how you got me out of the theater and away from Evelyn, I couldn’t just leave you half-dead on the streetcar. And don’t worry about my family,” she said.
“Your aunt . . . she seemed angry,” he told her.
“She usually is, around me,” Cela said, waving away his concerns, but at his questioning look, she let out a sigh and began to explain. “My mama’s family came from the Windward Islands. They always did think they were better than the people who’ve lived here for generations—definitely thought they were better than my daddy, who came from down South and whose parents weren’t even born free. She’s probably happy to see me sitting here stitching pants. They all told me I was a fool for trying to find a job in the white theaters. Said I didn’t know my place, and if I just listened to Mr. Washington, I’d know I need to cast down my bucket where I was, not go looking for other oceans.” She shrugged. “I always thought they were jealous because they didn’t make half as much money as I did. Maybe my mama didn’t give me her light skin, but she did give me her skill with a needle and her backbone. . . .” She hesitated, her gaze sliding away. “But maybe they were right all along.”