“The two of you attached or looking to play?”

What in the world did that mean? Astrid could only guess, and it didn’t sound good.

“We might be open to adventure under the right conditions,” Bo replied casually.

A small noise of protest escaped the back of her throat. Bo hugged her tighter and she cleared her throat.

“That’s fine,” Hammett said, smoothing down the edges of his mustache. “Well, I can’t promise anything, considering their preferences. Mary here, yes. They’re fond of dames like her. But you? I don’t know. I might be able to get you up there for a trial . . .” His brow wrinkled. “What do you do for living?”

Astrid remembered Mr. Haig’s words. You need to be useful.

Bo remembered them, too, apparently, because his answer came fast. “I fish. I . . . pilot fishing boats.”

It was halfway true. He did fish, sometimes. But not so much the last few years, though he certainly knew his way around a boat. Astrid did, herself. All Magnussons did.

“A fisherman, eh? Yes, that’s not bad. Might be of interest to them.” He sniffled and scratched his nose, thinking, and then smiled broadly. With the flick of his fingers, he’d reached inside his suit and withdrawn two small business cards printed on gilded stock. “You’ll need these to get in,” he said, handing them to Bo. “New Year’s Eve, 9 P.M. We’re having a party. Come to the carousel and ask for booth seven.”

New Years Eve? That was so far away—a week and a half. She couldn’t tell if Bo was discouraged by this, but she certainly was.

Before she could stop him, Hammett picked up Astrid’s hand again and kissed it a second time. Once again, no vision haunted her, but something else was there. Something dark that made her feel as if a nest of snakes wriggled beneath her skin. It was all she could do not to snatch her hand away.

“I’ll be looking forward to it, my dear,” he breathed over her hand, eyes jumping from hers to Bo’s. Then, without another word, he stood, turned around, and exited the booth.

“Oh God,” Astrid murmured, letting out a shaky breath. She wanted to set fire to her hand and burn off the place he’d kissed.

“Hold it together,” Bo whispered. “Let’s get out of here, yes?”

She nodded and pasted on a smile as they left the way they came in, circling back around the carousel, through the taxi dancers, and back into the front room, where they crunched over peanut shells and headed through the front door.

Once outside, they strode down the dark sidewalk and didn’t stop until they got to the car. Bo started the engine and pulled out the gold cards. Astrid leaned closer and they inspected them together under a slant of streetlight beaming through the windshield. The cards were identical. They each said:

THIS CARD ADMITS ONE CHOSEN SINNER

THROUGH THE PEARLY GATES INTO HEAVEN

COURTESY OF THE PIECES OF EIGHT SOCIETY

—PREPARE FOR JUDGMENT—

Embossed in the bottom right-hand corner was something vaguely familiar to both of them: a variation on the mysterious symbol from the turquoise idol.

TWENTY-ONE

Bo sped away from Terrific Street feeling spooked yet cautiously victorious. They had the gold symbol from the idol as leverage. They had their tickets into Heaven. And they’d made it out of Hell without getting stabbed or having any dark visions of midnight rituals. Now all they had to do was wait.

“Where are we going?” Astrid said from the passenger seat as the Buick’s wheels spun waves of water over sidewalks as they passed.

Bo wasn’t sure. His first instinct—Get the hell out of here, fast!—was now cooling to a simmer, and something new was taking its place. He had no bootlegging runs tonight. The warehouse was empty. The docks were empty. There was no one to track down, meet, or haggle with. No errands. Nothing.

“You listen to me, Bo Yeung. You will not take me home.”

Her words shot straight through him, getting the attention of something primal and beastly that crouched in the corner, waiting to be loosened. All their touching in the carousel had left an erotic buzz in his veins. And Mad Hammett touching her had stirred up a dark possessiveness with gnashing teeth and a hunger to claim.

The two of you attached or looking to play?

He’d wanted to break the man’s nose for that. He’d wanted to drag Astrid out of there, slung over his shoulder, and mark her with his body, like some feral dog. Wanted to take her away from all of this—her family, this city, their restrictions . . . their past.

He was nearing a breaking point. He could finally admit that to himself. His restraint was running on fumes.

His eyes shifted sideways. Astrid was hugging her arms around her middle, trying to stay warm—they’d left so fast, he’d forgotten their coats in the trunk. He quelled his dark thoughts and switched on the heater. “Better?”

“Yes. Did you hear me?” she asked.

“I heard. Think hard about what you’re saying. It’s close to midnight and there are few places we can go together, if you’re asking me to take you out somewhere . . .”

He tried to sound cool and matter-of-fact, but his fingers would snap the steering wheel in two if he gripped it any harder. He kept his eyes on the road, waiting for her answer. Had he made things plain enough for her? Did she understand? Tell me to take you home, he begged silently.

“I don’t want to go out,” she said. “I don’t want to go home. I want to be alone with you.”