“You’re killing me, Sheba.”

  “Please? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Sam lifted her chin. “Hey. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

  With that, he flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling with great concentration.

  “What are you doing?” Evie asked.

  “Thinking of the least sexual thing I can imagine. Ghost bubbes. They’re making ghost borscht and talking about their bowel troubles. Jeepers. I might never make love again. This is traumatic.”

  Evie burst out laughing. Then: “Sam. I changed my mind.”

  Sam turned to her. “About…?”

  “You know.” She reached under the covers and touched him, biting her lip at the surprise of what she felt.

  Sam gasped. “You sure?” His voice was soft and a little breathy.

  Evie nodded.

  Sam wet his thumb with his mouth and slipped his hand between her legs, touching her gently there.

  “You’re sure-sure?” Sam murmured again, and sucked along her clavicle.

  She felt as if she were an electrical wire thrumming with life.

  “Sh-shut up and k-kiss me, Sam.”

  That night, as she lay wrapped in Sam’s arms, Evie dreamed of stars falling through the sky, streaking tails of smoke until the sky was starless. The King of Crows raked his fingers across the dark until it bled. He licked the blood from his fingers with a forked tongue. “People will believe anything, you know. You only need them to be frightened enough.”

  THE SHADOW SELF

  Theta had crept home in the early morning hours and slept for a while. When she left for rehearsal, she found that Memphis had left a letter for her. Excitedly, she tore it open and read:

  Dearest Theta,

  Eighth letter of the Greek alphabet, Symbol of Eternity, My Creole Princess,

  Today I saw your face in every crowd. In the shopgirl’s furrowed brow, the tilt of a mother’s head toward her curious son paused on the threshold of some new mischief, in the raised arm of a businessman hailing the bus before it leaves the curb, in the bow and sweep of the workers’ backs as they balance atop the steel beams of the new Olympus. None was stranger to me, for every motion, every expression, every gesture seemed limned with the light of the Eternal Sympathy that connects us one to the other, the cosmic string of the universe that pulls from me to you. Outside my window, the blood of the city coursed along in a steady rhythm of trolleys and motorcars—“How-you-do?” and “Move it along!”—the percussive rumble of the Manhattan Possible, the angel’s-wing whisper of six million dreams taking flight. But there was only one heartbeat for me: Theta, Theta, Theta. I heard it beneath the hum of Broadway’s bright lights. I heard it in the steady flow of the mighty Hudson, that wondrous river. I heard it in the clickety-clack of the elevated train and in the swift stepping of feet across congested thoroughfares, in the whistle of the traffic officer, the call-and-response of the shoeshine boys—those park-side preachers plying their trade, washing the feet of angels unaware. I heard it in a young girl’s laugh and in the sigh of a descended Nubian Queen leaning from her window on St. Nicholas Avenue as she surveyed her kingdom of fire escapes and chimney smoke and washing on the line, her grasp one day within reach. I heard it, too, echoing from the halls of Ellis Island, where so many hopes press together they make of their discordant notes a new song whose melody is both celebration and lament, an echo and a prelude. And still the heartbeat calls to me: Theta. Theta. Theta.

  “Among the men and women, the multitude, / I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,” the great poet Mr. Whitman wrote.

  I can’t say what the future holds. That is my brother’s gift, not mine. I only know my heart has picked yours from the multitude, a secret sign, a small piece of the Divine, and it will not let go.

  Forever,

  Memphis

  “You all right, Miss Knight?” The Bennington’s doorman looked concerned. “You’re crying.”

  “Yeah. I do that sometimes,” she said, smiling.

  But when Theta arrived at the New Amsterdam Theatre, her good mood vanished. She could tell something wasn’t right. Wally barely made eye contact, and he patted his stomach like he did when he was nervous. “Oh, uh, hiya, Theta. Flo wants to see you in his office right away.”

  At first, Theta was afraid it was about what had happened at Jake Marlowe’s party. The newspapers had reported on the disturbance, though many recanted, saying they couldn’t be absolutely sure they’d seen ghosts—they’d just heard other people talking about it. The police refused to comment, reassuring the public that they should go about their business and enjoy the exhibition when it opened. But Harriet Henderson’s column reported that there had, indeed, been a threat, and that the Diviners had refused to do anything about it. And if it hadn’t been for Sarah Snow and the power of prayer, she hated to think what could’ve happened to the good citizens of New York City.

  “Miss Knight. Take a seat, please,” Mr. Ziegfeld said as Theta let herself into his office and perched on the edge of a chair. He was looking at her like she was a kid who’d done something disappointing. “I received a call from Harriet Henderson today. Seems there’s a story she’s sitting on.”

  Theta steeled herself to respond about the ghosts and her part in it.

  “About a certain Follies girl who has a secret Negro lover up in Harlem?” Mr. Ziegfeld finished. “Is this true?”

  Theta tried to swallow and found she could not. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She hadn’t expected this at all. There was no point in lying, she knew.

  “Yes,” Theta said, small as a mouse.

  And now Mr. Ziegfeld looked at her with far more than just disappointment.

  “Harriet was going to run with the story, but as a personal favor to me, Mr. Hearst agreed to kill it in exchange for exclusive access to you from now on.”

  Harriet would own her.

  “How… how’d they…” Theta’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow. “Find out?”

  “An anonymous source. But the source claimed to have more secrets to bring to light. Many more. You can never see this fellow again. Is that understood, Miss Knight?”

  Theta’s head swam. Everything she’d tried to keep secret—her power, her past, her lover—was all being dragged into the light. There was nowhere to hide.

  “Kitty had an affair with a married fella and came through okay. And Mae West got arrested for her show ’cause somebody said it was obscene. She’s a bigger star than ever.”

  “There are scandals and there are scandals, Miss Knight. But some stories can’t be rewritten. You being involved with a Negro is one of those stories. Why, it’s against the law in most states in this country!”

  “You ever think those laws might be wrong?” Theta said. She was queasy with fear.

  Flo’s stare was flinty. “I heard your screen test at Vitagraph went very well. If this gets out, do you think the Vitagraph boys will make a picture with you? I’m looking out for you.”

  Everything out of Flo’s mouth was a threat dressed in the polite finery of protection and fatherly concern. It couldn’t hide how awful it was.

  “And I don’t want you living with Henry anymore, either. Everybody knows he’s not your brother, and even though he’s obviously no ladies’ man…” Flo said with distaste. “He’s still a fella. You’ll move into Miss Sheridan’s Women’s Dormitory, where the rules about gentlemen callers are properly enforced. And no more cavorting with that Sweetheart Seer and those unseemly Diviners. You will have nothing further to do with Diviners as long as you are in my show.”

  “Anything else?” Theta said, and there was no disguising her disdain.

  Flo’s eyes flashed. “Yes, there is—is it true you’re married?”

  And suddenly, it all made sense. Roy. Roy had done this to her. Hadn’t he vowed revenge?

  “I can see from your expression that it’s true. That solves our troubles. We’ll arrange for an exclus
ive with Harriet about your sudden wedding. How happy you are. The public can’t get enough of love stories. That’ll throw any vultures off the scent of scandal.”

  “This ain’t a love story,” Theta mumbled. Roy. She’d never be free of him. Her hands grew hot. “I-I need some air. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Miss Knight!” Mr. Ziegfeld said crisply. “This is my show. I have a reputation to protect, and that includes your reputation. Without me, you’ll be nothing. Ask yourself whether you want to be a star or a nothing. I’ll expect your answer by tomorrow at the latest. I hope you’ll make the smart choice.”

  On the way out, Theta tried to ignore the stares and whispers coming her way. She wanted to put her hands on the walls and watch the place burn down with everybody inside. Just thinking that frightened Theta. She really did feel sick now. Looking back, it seemed like her life had been a series of traps and snares. And every time she got free, somebody else tried to tie her up again.

  There was a note waiting for her when she got home, and this time it wasn’t from Memphis. It was wrapped up with an insulting picture of an actor in blackface. Told you I’d get even, Betty, it read.

  Theta sat at her kitchen table staring dumbly at the note for some time, until she heard Henry whistling as he came through the door.

  “What’s the matter, cher?”

  Theta took a shuddering breath, trying to draw it deeply into her lungs, but she couldn’t. “He said he’d get me, and he did. I thought I could outrun him. I was wrong. Flo knows. About me and Memphis. It was Roy. He told Harriet Henderson and she called Flo.”

  “Did he can you?”

  “No. But if I don’t break it off with Memphis and move into a nunnery where he can watch me, he will. I’ll lose his ‘protection.’ Harriet’ll run with her story. I’ll be finished. And who knows what’ll happen to Memphis then?”

  “Aww, Theta.” Henry pulled her into a hug, and if Theta hadn’t been completely numb, she would’ve broken down in the kindness of his arms.

  “If I say yes, Hen, he’ll own me. Everybody always wants to own me. If I don’t say yes, I’ll lose everything.” The room’s edges kept blurring. Theta’s eyes stung.

  Henry kissed the top of her head. “Not everything. You still got Memphis. And me. You’ve got all of us. You got your family.”

  And Roy. She could picture him at home in his room, smug and mean, ready for the next fight. That was the trouble with men like Roy. They just kept coming.

  Unless you stopped them.

  Theta pressed away from Henry. Her body didn’t quite feel like hers, like when Roy used to hit her and she’d slip away to the ceiling, as if it were all happening to somebody else. She put on her coat.

  “Theta? Where are you going, darlin’?”

  “To end it. To end Roy.”

  “Theta? Darlin’. That’s not the answer.” Henry laced his fingers through hers, and she barely felt it. “Let’s talk it over. I’ll put on some shoes and change my shirt, and we’ll go down to the Automat and have some lemon meringue pie, and we’ll figure out this whole mess. Okay, cher?”

  “Sure,” Theta said. She floated in her skin. Nothing felt real.

  Henry’s voice drifted out from the bedroom, where he was getting dressed. He was telling her some story about Sam and Evie. It was just blather. He was trying to cheer her up. She wasn’t really listening. She picked up the day’s newspaper. In her hands, the edges blackened and curled up. And then she slipped out the door.

  The street lights blurred into halos as the elevated train rumbled into the station. Theta rested her head against the window and watched the city fly by. He’d done it to her again. Not with his actual fists this time, but it was a punch all the same. Theta had spent so much energy trying to convince herself that she could never be anything like Roy. That there was not the same violence in her soul.

  She could. There was.

  What was it Dr. Jung had called it? The shadow self. Right now Shadow Theta enjoyed the heat pooling in her palms. Shadow Theta wanted Roy to know her power. She wanted to see the fear in his eyes.

  Theta exited the train. She walked the crowded, dirty sidewalks of the Bowery, ignoring the men calling after her. Theta was barely aware of her body. She pressed against a wooden post and didn’t care as it warped and browned under her touch. Sweat dripped down the valley between her shoulder blades. Her internal temperature soared. She dropped her coat in the street. She didn’t need it. Her mind whirred:

  “Where’s my supper, Betty Sue? You need reminding that I don’t like ham?”

  The village burning. The men shooting. People bleeding into snow like trampled petals. Her frantic mother trying to run. The basket left on the church steps.

  Abandoned. Alone.

  “Why can’t you fix yourself up a little?”

  Mrs. Bowers pushing Theta onto the stage. “You get out there and make them love you.”

  Or I won’t love you.

  “You think you can win against me, Betty Sue? You’ll never win against me!”

  Theta stood on the street outside Roy’s building, looking up. Third floor, third window, just above the fire escape. A light was on. He was home. Good. Theta went inside. Her palms were sweating. She pounded hard at Roy’s door and watched the black flower of her fist-print bloom on the wood.

  “’S open.”

  Roy lay in bed, muscled arms behind his head, the triumphant king in repose. She saw the bottle and smelled the booze. For a moment, the old fear returned. Memories of the way he could make her feel so small, so unsure, so worthless. The heat in her palms receded.

  “Betty. Well, well, well. Not so high and mighty now, are ya?” he smirked.

  Theta shut the door behind her, turning the lock.

  “Roy.” Her voice was strange in her ears. Dark. Hard. She didn’t mind. It suited her. Had she ever really listened to herself before? Had she never heard that part of her coming through?

  Roy mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I told you not to double-cross me.”

  “Yeah. You did at that.”

  “I knew you’d come crawling back.”

  A flicker of heat returned to her fingers.

  “Do I look like I’m crawling?”

  “I got you where I want you now, Theta. You don’t play ball, Theta Knight is over. The Follies? Vitagraph? Gone.”

  The bodies in the snow. The men with guns. Her home, burning, burning.

  “Who’s the winner now, Betty?”

  “You are,” Theta said hollowly. “It’s always rats like you.”

  Roy glared. “Watch your mouth.”

  “It’s always rats like you,” Theta said louder. “Unless somebody stops ’em.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t make me hafta hurt you, Betty.”

  “My name’s not Betty.”

  “Betty. Sue,” Roy spat back.

  Theta laughed. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t stop.

  Roy, unsure, laughed, too. “You think this is funny?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Theta said.

  Roy’s smile hardened. “I’ll show you funny.”

  With surprising quickness, he leaped up and grabbed a handful of her hair, squeezing her close to him. Theta struggled against his hold, but he had her good. He tugged hard. Electric pain shot from her scalp down her neck. Tears sprang to her eyes. It had been two years, long enough for this pain to be a shock.

  The Roys of the world coming more and more.

  Theta screamed as the heat roared through her, bright and hot and full of vengeance. The scream was not one of fear—it was an announcement. A warning before the charge. Roy fell back onto the floor, gasping. The fire burned brightly inside Theta; she glowed like an avenging angel. He put up a hand to block the bright heat. He was afraid, just as she had been all those times before.

  “Wh-what are you?”

  “Justice,” Theta said.

  “Please,” Roy begged. ?
??Please don’t.”

  “Please don’t what?”

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  How many times had she pleaded with him using those same words? And every time, he’d hurt her anyway. Until she’d learned not to make a sound.

  “I want you to hurt, Roy. I want to see you suffer. Like you made me suffer. I want to hear you beg me to stop, you son of a bitch.”

  Smoke rose from her coal-hot palms. When she pressed it to his cheek, it would hurt. It would mark him forever. She wanted that. Wanted him to wear her brand for the rest of his life. After all, she’d been wearing his on her soul all this time.

  Roy was on his knees, begging. Theta took a step closer, and he shouted for help. Like she’d cried for help once upon a time, and no help came. She was done with that now. She reached for him. The door splintered open. And then she heard Memphis: “Theta! Theta, don’t do this. Please.” It was so hard to keep her mind on his words. The fire wanted out.

  “Theta. We’re here. We’re all here.” Evie’s voice.

  Vaguely, she was aware of them. There was Henry, looking more worried than she’d ever seen him. Evie, Sam, and Ling were beside him. Memphis took a step forward.

  “You should stay back,” Theta said.

  “See, I can’t seem to do that,” Memphis said.

  He took another step forward.

  “I could hurt you.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re not Roy.”

  Theta had started to cry. “I want to hurt him. I want to kill him.”

  “I know that feeling,” Memphis said. “I got no right to ask you to let him go, but I’m asking anyway. For your sake, not his.”

  “Get this crazy bitch offa me!” Roy screeched.

  Theta turned to him, palm out. Her body was aflame. She got close enough for him to shrink back from her heat. Know what’s in your heart, she heard Miss Addie telling her. “Settle,” she whispered to herself, and, as if it had always known she was in charge, the heat abated. Theta shivered from the sudden loss. But not for long, because her friends had her in a hug like a shield. Roy jumped and ran for the door. On his way out, he pointed a finger at Theta and her friends. “This ain’t over. I’ll get you for this!”