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“Knew you wouldn’t miss tonight,” he says, as mustachioed men circle and sweat. “You’ve got a thing for Black Jack Sullivan.”

“I came to tell you I won’t be attending these fights anymore.”

“Oh, I see,” says Elijah, “now you have your own league in there to keep you entertained.”

“In fact, it’s because you made clear the risks–”

“Which risks in particular?” he says crookedly.

Proserpina’s pulse pounds in her healing eye. “Don’t try to be coy.”

“The risk of getting chased around by some squint-eyed cinema boy?”

“The risk of getting caught and–” she hesitates. “By some what?”


“No, not tonight.”

“Oh please! Black Jack Sullivan? And the Dooley Kid!”

“I have a nurse’s appointment.”

“It’s nearly evening,” says Proserpina blankly.

“It’s a…” Radiane smooths her dress. “Whatsit. Woman. Thing.”

Proserpina thinks about her dreams and doesn’t push it. She just goes to the closet in the abandoned wing, dresses down and goes to the fight alone. It doesn’t occur to her that she could be in danger; and indeed she gets nothing more than a nod and a shoulder-squeeze from the man at the gate. The whole night is quite routine.

Which is how she gets caught.