“You mean it?”

“I do.” I must have looked suddenly puzzled. She’d lost her grin, lost the playful twinkle in her eyes. I realized something had happened, but couldn’t place it from the words we’d spoken.

She took a deep breath. “I asked around today,” she said, looking away. “About Martha.”

“And what did you hear?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “I asked the girls if they’d seen her with anyone. Asked if she’d gotten any messages, or sent any runners, or gotten any flowers on All Heart’s Day. She hadn’t, she didn’t, and she hadn’t.” Darla sighed. “I guess that isn’t much help.”

“It tells me where not to look. That’s something. Especially coming from people I couldn’t ask.”

She bit her lip. “There’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t really want to tell you.”

“Which means you certainly should tell me.”

She sighed again, brought up her hands, put them on the desk. Her knuckles were white. She took a breath and looked away.

“The day Martha disappeared, she had a bag. In the bag was eleven hundred crowns.”

I whistled. “Paper or coin?”

“Paper,” said Darla. She looked up at me. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” she added, quickly. “Martha didn’t steal the money. I gave it to her. It was mine. We’d been planning to open a dressmaker’s shop. The eleven hundred was my share.”

I fought the urge to rise. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but I didn’t. I’ll always regret that.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

She shook her head, finally looked back at me. “Eleven hundred crowns? I was sure you’d quit looking. Sure you’d figure Martha just took the money and bought a stage ticket.”

“Do you think that’s what she did?”

I waited. Eleven hundred crowns-gods, you could buy your own stagecoach line for that, and have enough left over for a small house or two.

“Maybe I did, at first. Maybe I was angry. Maybe I was so shocked I couldn’t think straight. But I decided something, finder, after you came to see me. I decided Martha was my friend. Martha was no thief and I ought to be ashamed of myself for thinking such a thing.”

I opened my mouth to tell her she shouldn’t be ashamed, but she spoke again first.

“I know eleven hundred crowns is a lot of money. It was everything I had. But if you’re about to tell me that you think Martha ran away with it, then you’re not the man I think you are.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that if Martha Hoobin wanted eleven hundred crowns she could have gotten twice that by raiding Ethel’s sock-drawer.” I recalled the ragged stuffed bear, tucked away in a chest with a pillow under its head. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t about your money. I’m not going to stop looking for Martha.”

“Good,” she said. She sighed, with relief this time, and for the first time she looked tired. “So we’re still friends?”

“We are. I don’t blame you for not telling me, first thing. You didn’t know me then, hadn’t had a chance to succumb to my mannish and worldly charms.”

She laughed. I rummaged in my pocket, brought out the silver comb. “This turned up last night,” I said. “Ever seen it before?”

She took it, eyed it critically. “Never. It’s a bit gaudy. Where did you find it?”

“Martha’s dresser,” I replied. “In a junk jar. Her brothers hadn’t seen it before.”

“It doesn’t look like anything Martha would buy.” She handed it back to me and frowned. “Where did she get it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think she bought it herself. But no one knows who gave it to her, or when.”

Darla bit her lower lip. “The Park. It had to be the Park.”

I pricked up my ears. “Why the Park?”

She smiled an impish smile. “If you wanted to meet a girl, where would you go?”

I shrugged. “I just stand still and young ladies flock to me in doe-eyed droves. Why don’t you tell me how lesser men find hearts to break.”

“The Park.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Strolls through the flower gardens? Benches beneath the whispering oaks? Lazy afternoons watching the sun?”

I frowned. “And?”

“It’s a good thing you met me when you did. Let me spell it out for you. Martha lived with four scowling behemoths in a Balptist neighborhood. She worked with women in a house guarded by the Hoogas. She went three places-work, home and the Park.”

I shook my head. “Interesting. Maybe I’ll hire you as an assistant. Mama can read her cards and you’ll do all the thinking and I’ll be able to sleep in, emerging only occasionally to collect fees and issue directives to the Watch.”

“Don’t you dare ignore me. I’m right. If Martha Hoobin met someone who gave her a tacky silver comb, she met him in the Park. Did I mention she stopped feeding the birds about two weeks ago?”

“You didn’t.”

“Well she did. Maybe she stopped going because she didn’t want to see her comb-gifting gentleman friend anymore.”

“I’ve heard crazier things,” I said. It did make a sort of sense.

Ice-pawed rats ran up and down my spine. Eleven names looked up at me from the paper on my desk.

That’s the thing about the Park. It’s handy for just about everywhere-and just about everyone.

Darla saw it on my face.

“I knew it,” she said. There was no triumph in her tone. “The Park. It had to be the Park.”

“Might have been.”

I stared at the list.

Twelve women. All gone, I imagined. Just like Martha.

Down on the Square, way past the dark, empty Park, the Brass Bell clanged out nine times, then paused, then rang once more. Curfew had fallen and the dark.

Darla shivered.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, rising. “You’ll be having company soon.”

A wagon rumbled up, stopped at my door. I rose too, beat Darla to the door, opened it enough to see that it was Hooga, his breath steaming in the chill.

“She’ll be right out,” I said. “And I thank you, for seeing her safe.”

Hooga snorted. His horses-two shaggy mad-eyed Percherons-stamped at the cobbles and sent up sparks with their hooves and chewed at their iron bits.

Darla came up beside me, took my arm. “You promised you’d be careful.” I put my hand on hers.

“I did,” I said. “I keep my promises.”

“You’d better. After all, you promised to watch over me too. I think I like that, Markhat. You watching over me.”

“I think I like that too.”

It had been a long time. Before the War. Before I’d gone away, and come back someone else. There were things I’d forgotten, things I never thought I’d remember.

But when she leaned closer, so did I, and we kissed. She was warm and her hair smelled of flowers and we held each other until Hooga grunted. She darted away and was gone.

I leaned on my doorframe and watched them go. Hooga flung a thick brown ogre blanket over her. She waved once and vanished beneath it.

She’d pressed something in my hand, just before she’d gone. It was a scrap of paper, and it bore her address.

“I’ll be seeing you,” she’d written, below it. “Bring the wine.”

I lit a pair of lamps and waited for midnight.

Darla had been right, of course. My caller, the mysterious E.P., would be of one of the halfdead Houses, if not halfdead himself. He’d all but announced this with the note.

I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of playing host to vampires after dark, much less inviting them in. But I’d had ample time to summon the Watch, show them the letter, even invite a half-dozen of them along for our midnight meeting. And while the Watch might wink at most crimes, a violation of Curfew law that said vampires couldn’t enter dayfolk dwellings uninvited would bring the city across the river and into the Heights as a torch-bearing mob. I doubted that mayhem was E.P.’s intention.

I thought about Ronnie Sacks and House Avalante. I’d decided that E.P. would probably be wearing Avalante’s crossed swords as the Big Bell clanged out midnight and someone knocked softly at my door.