Against a Brightening Sky Read online

  Libby Mills was much younger than I’d imagined, and her clothes far from frumpy, edging dangerously close to being fashionable. Her green dress had a square neckline, a large lace collar that covered her shoulders, and a pleated skirt that ended scandalously far above her ankles. She wore her hair loose, and soft black waves rippled over her shoulders and down her back.

  My father always referred to small, pretty women as doll-like, but I’d never pin that label on Miss Mills. I could see strength and determination in her stance, even from a distance, and she watched everything with a keen eye. If she missed much, I’d be greatly surprised. She laughed easily at Sam’s remarks, revealing dimples in an open, friendly face.

  I glanced at Sadie, wondering if she’d seen them too. Her utterly blissful smile told the story. I’d no hope of saving Sam from her meddling. He’d have to save himself.

  Sam saw us and waved. “Gabe, Jack, over here.”

  Police officers had already halted traffic for the parade. We crossed the street quickly and filled the space Sam had saved on the curb. Cheery music carried from around the corner, a sign the first band would be here before long.

  Sam made the introductions. “Libby, you already know Gabe and Jack. These are their wives, Delia Ryan and Sadie Fitzgerald. It’s a mystery to me why such smart women put up with these two scoundrels. Delia and Sadie, this is Miss Libby Mills. Go easy on her, Sadie.”

  Gabe winked and I hid a smile. He’d warned Sam.

  “Why, Sam, I don’t know what you mean.” Sadie was positively beaming as she shook Libby’s hand. “Pay no attention to him. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Mills. And please, call me Sadie.”

  “Only if you and Mrs. Ryan call me Libby. Sam’s told me a lot about both of you.” Libby gave Sam a sideways glance. “All good things, I promise.”

  I stuck my hand out in turn. “And please, Libby, call me Delia. Sam’s a good man. I’d listen to him if I were you.”

  The music grew louder as the parade came around the corner, cutting off further conversation. Gabe set Stella on the curb at his feet, giving her a clear view as well as room to dance and bounce to the music. The first band was followed by another, cars full of pretty girls tossing paper flowers to the crowd, and solemn-faced men carrying banners for aid societies and fellowship halls. Policemen marched in full dress uniforms, while men from local firehouses drove old horse-drawn fire wagons and tossed candy to children. People clapped and cheered when a group of dancers stopped at our corner. They gave a grand performance before moving on.

  I kept an eye on Connor, looking for signs that the crowd and the ever-present ghosts had gotten to be too much for him. Jack bounced his son up and down in time to the music while Sadie rested a hand on Connor’s back. So far, he seemed to be faring well, watching everything with excitement and not fear. I stayed close, just in case.

  A new group of men came around the corner, carrying flags and a different kind of banner. Some of the men had hand-lettered cards stuck into their hatbands that read BREAD OR REVOLUTION. The cheering stopped, the crowd growing quiet and subdued. Sam scowled and wiped a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t think he’d go through with it. Dominic Mullaney should have more sense.”

  People booed loudly and a few shouted insults. I touched Gabe’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  He gestured toward the men marching past. “Mullaney and his crew are trying to organize labor unions on the docks. They’ve already started organizing waiters in the big hotels too. The business owners involved have done their best to turn people against the idea. Father Colm over at Saint Mary Magdalene was afraid there’d be trouble and tried to talk Mullaney out of marching in the parade. Father Colm was right. I just hope things don’t get too far out of hand.”

  The shouting grew louder, people in the crowd and the men who’d been marching taunting each other. Ghosts appeared amongst the marchers: men dressed in miners’ gear with coal dust smeared across their faces, blacksmiths in leather aprons and longshoremen in sweat-soaked shirts, phantom boxes balanced on a shoulder. There were child ghosts as well, barefoot waifs holding spindles from textile mills or battered lunch buckets. The spirits’ anger rolled through the crowd, feeding the growing rage of union organizers and spectators both.

  Spirits of dead royalty shimmered into view, clustered near a group of the spectators along the curb. These ghosts were nervous, afraid. I tried to discover who in the crowd they haunted, but there were far too many people.

  “I don’t think it’s safe for the children to stay here.” Gabe picked up Stella and handed her back to Sadie. He took his badge out of an inside pocket and pinned it to his coat. “Take them down the block and into the Palace, Dee, and stay as far from the front windows as you can. All the way to the back of the lobby would be best. Libby, I think you should go as well.”

  “There used to be seating areas at the back. We’ll go there.” I took Connor from Jack. He was shaking and crying, staring at the ghosts, and I’d no doubt their anger washed over him as it did me. I pulled Connor’s head down to rest on my shoulder, doing what I could to wrap wards and protections around him. They must have done some good. I felt Connor sigh and relax against me. “Be careful, Gabe.”

  He smiled and turned away, wading into the thick of the angry mob. Jack and Sam went with him. I met Sadie’s eyes, knowing what I’d see. Fear for Jack struggled with the need to get her children far from danger. She couldn’t protect all of them at once. Neither could I.

  Libby was small but adept at making her way through crowds. She went ahead of Sadie and me, forcing openings to let us through, and going so far as to shove a large man who tried to block our way deliberately. I couldn’t shake the sick feeling that something was very wrong here. Few people made an attempt to leave. Instead, men and women both pushed forward, faces eager, and scrabbled to get closer to the heart of the disturbance. I didn’t understand why.

  We broke through to a clear patch of sidewalk. A large plate glass window on the front of a jeweler’s shop loomed in front of us. Black moiré taffeta lined the window display and showed off rhinestone bracelets, necklaces, and earrings to their best advantage. The crystals glinted rainbows, mimicking the pattern in the fabric.

  The window glass was flawed, full of ripples that distorted the reflection of the milling crowd behind us and the buildings across Market Street, buildings that overlooked the parade route. Images wavered, appeared to move as I stared.

  All but one. The princess ghost I’d seen in the dressing table mirror stood in the center of the glass, still and calm. She’d known I’d be here, in this place at this exact moment, and waited for me. I couldn’t say how I knew that was true, only that I did.

  The ghost raised an arm and pointed, the fan in her hand touching the reflection of a building directly across the street. I turned and saw tiny figures moving on the roof, men who appeared no bigger than children from a distance. One carried a bundle to the iron railing that edged the roof and stood there, waiting on his partner. The other man got down on one knee, arms held at a strange angle. He shifted position, and sunlight shimmered dully on the long barrel of a rifle. “Oh, God … Sadie! Sadie get down!”

  Libby looked up immediately, instinct or divine intervention drawing her eye to the same rooftop. Shock froze her in place for an instant, but no more. She grabbed Sadie’s arm, dragging her into the shelter of the jewelry store doorway. I crowded in as well, heart hammering, and jammed Libby, Sadie, and Stella up against the shop door, little Connor wedged between us.

  The door must have been unlatched. We tumbled inside, landing in a heap of tangled skirts and frightened, crying children.

  Explosions sounded from outside, followed quickly by panicked screams, frantic shouts, and breaking glass. A clerk came around the front counter, an older woman in a prim gray dress, who stood and stared at us, mouth agape. “What … what are you doing on the floor?”

  Libby lifted her head and glared at the woman. “Trying not to get shot. G
et down, you ninny.”

  The front window shattered, spraying glass into the shop. Shards skittered across spotless marble floors to land at the clerk’s feet. She squeaked in fright and scurried into the back room, yelling for Mr. Perkins to call the police. I curled over Connor as he sobbed, and made shooshing noises in his ear, trying not to think of Sam and Jack out there.

  Most of all, I was trying not to imagine Gabe lying in the street, cold and still.

  CHAPTER 2

  Gabe

  Gabe and Jack were fighting a losing battle against madness, but they fought anyway. They didn’t have any other choice.

  Five streets met at the intersection surrounding Lotta’s fountain, forming a large, open square. People continued to crowd into the square, ignoring all Gabe and Jack’s shouted orders to disperse, ignoring everything but their eagerness to enter the fray. Pushcarts selling ice cream, roasted peanuts, and sausage on a roll were abandoned by the vendors and overturned. Fistfights broke out in pockets on every side of the fountain, onlookers cheering on the men flailing at each other.

  Women were just as crazed, using anything at hand to pry out cobblestones to throw at the union organizers. Children huddled against walls or cried in prams, apparently forgotten by their parents. Gabe prayed none of the children would move. They’d be trampled and he didn’t think anyone would notice.

  The crowd’s fury was unprovoked. Unnatural. Gabe was rarely frightened after nearly fifteen years on the force, but this mob scared him. He saw the same fear in Jack’s eyes.

  Word of the riot near Lotta’s fountain spread quickly among the cops stationed up and down the parade route. It took only a few minutes before they all converged on the area, their ranks swelled still more by the officers who’d been a part of the parade. The one bright spot Gabe found was that whatever mania had taken hold of the crowd left him and Jack, and the patrolman coming to their aid, untouched. Reinforcements helped, but the police officers were still outnumbered three to one.

  Dominic Mullaney wasn’t faring any better in his attempts to restore reason. Again and again he tried to separate men shouting at each other, stop fights, or convince his supporters to walk away and go home. They argued right back, and more than a few took a swing at him. Mullaney had a darkening bruise on one side of his jaw and a split lip, but he didn’t back down. Gabe gave him credit for that. Whatever was going on, Mullaney wasn’t a part of it.

  The first gunshot caught Gabe by surprise. He saw a man crumple off to the left, blood blooming in crimson petals on his chest. The ringing echo of gunfire was swallowed by the roar of voices and shouts, and he couldn’t tell which direction the shot came from. A second man standing a good twenty yards away fell and didn’t move. No more than ten feet from where Jack stood, a third man went down, clutching his leg and screaming. The victims were spread across the square, the shots fired with too little time between to have come from close range.

  Someone was shooting into the crowd from above. Gabe spun in circles, desperately searching the rooftops for the gunman.

  He saw the gun barrel and a second man toss something off the roof an instant before the first explosion. The ground under his feet rocked and Gabe stumbled sideways. Brick and timber were blasted off storefronts, landing hard on those unfortunate enough to be in the way. Windows on both sides of the street shattered and trees near where the dynamite landed blew apart, dropping more debris onto the crowd. The air filled with the smell of burning cloth and wood and flesh.

  The tenor of the mob’s screams changed with the explosion. Anger evaporated and gave way to terror. People who’d refused to budge a minute earlier ran now, frantic to get away. Gabe fought the surge of people, struggling to keep the men on the rooftop in sight and make his way toward the building.

  He caught up with Jack and pointed. “There are two of them on the roof. We need to get up there, but I’m guessing they were smart enough to barricade the door on the way in. Find two or three of our men in case we need to break the door down.”

  Another small explosion went off behind them. Instinct made them both duck and cover their heads with their arms, but nothing more than a fine rain of pulverized paving stone and dirt fell.

  Jack stood first. He gripped Gabe’s shoulder briefly, his grim expression at odds with his flip tone. “Stay low, Captain Ryan. If you get yourself killed, Sadie would never let me hear the end of it.”

  “You do the same, Lieutenant Fitzgerald. I’m too old to break in a new partner.” Gabe rolled up his fedora, stuffing it in an inside overcoat pocket. He was fond of the familiar hat and didn’t want to chance losing it. “Let’s go.”

  Both of them moved toward the building in a crouching run, brushing aside the clinging hands of panicked civilians. Jack broke away to intercept two officers in uniform, both of them rookies with semi-panicked expressions. Parade duty was supposed to be an easy assignment. Gabe shoved away guilt and kept running.

  The man on the roof tossed off two more thick bundles of dynamite, lobbing one as far as he could to the left and the other to the right. A parade float flipped end over end and skidded across the intersection on its side. More windows broke and a building caught fire. The wind picked up and gusted down Market Street from the Bay, twining between buildings and howling under the eaves with a lost, mournful sound. Gabe shivered as the wail grew louder and hung in the air.

  Smoke and ash swirled around him now, mixed with brick dust, and made it hard to see. Shapes moved in the murk, half-glimpsed figures riding the wind and reaching toward the fleeing crowd, fingers hooked into long, grasping claws. Gabe wiped his eyes, willing the apparition out of existence and refusing to acknowledge the queasy feeling in his middle. Delia and Isadora knew how to deal with spirits or creatures drawn to death and misery, but he didn’t. Ignoring them was the best he could do on his own.

  Gabe dodged around a pile of burning timber. His mind registered the small hand sticking out from underneath, but reacting—feeling—could get him killed. He heard the rifle shots now, each one a muffled crack that sounded far away underneath the ringing in his ears, but he could count them off. With people more scattered, the gunman had clearer shots and took his time, picking his targets off slowly.

  That the man on the roof hadn’t shot him or Jack, or any of the uniformed officers, baffled Gabe. He picked possible reasons apart as he ran, each smoky breath burning his throat and eyes.

  A hunch became conviction as the wind wailed again, feeding his imagination. Cops dressed in bright blue uniforms or with their badges reflecting the sunlight were easy to spot in the crowd, but the gunman had no interest in picking them off. Only one target mattered to the men on the roof. The explosions and shooting people at random were a diversion, a way to flush someone from hiding. Whoever the gunman was looking for, he hadn’t found them yet.

  The next bundle of dynamite fell short of landing on the roof of the Examiner building and went off before hitting the ground. Chunks of brick blasted off the front, tearing through canvas sunshades on ground floor windows and falling onto the sidewalk. An older couple and a young woman who appeared not far out of her teens dashed away from the shelter of an awning, and into the open. As soon as the men on the roof were able to see the terrified family running below them, the shooting stopped.

  Gabe’s gut told him the hunter had finally flushed his prey. He waved his arms over his head and yelled, trying to attract the old couple’s attention. The space between his shoulders itched, waiting for the crack of a rifle and pain. “No, stay there. Stay there!”

  The wife said something to her husband and slowed down. Her husband glanced back to see brick and masonry crashing into the awning, tugged his wife back into motion, and kept going. They’d almost drawn even with Lotta’s fountain when the old man fell, clutching what was left of his knee and writhing in pain. His wife and daughter grabbed the collar of the old man’s coat and an arm, trying to drag him behind the fountain. The gunman shot the old man a second time and immediately
fired again, hitting the old woman in the chest.

  “Move, damn it! Move!” Gabe shouted again, but the girl didn’t react. She stood stock-still in the middle of the street, staring at the dead couple, chest heaving and face blank with shock. Safety and cover were only a few steps away, but they wouldn’t do her any good if fear froze her in place. And Gabe would never reach her before the gunman killed her too.

  He knew, but he ran toward her anyway. “Get behind the fountain! Run!” A bullet hit the paving stones at her feet, sending up pointed shards of rock that nicked her cheek. Blood mingled with the tears sliding down her face. She stumbled backwards, but still didn’t try to get away.

  Another bullet slammed into the paving stones, driving the girl back a few more steps. The gunman hadn’t missed any of his targets up until now. He was deliberately tormenting her, hoping she’d break and run. She set her shoulders and lifted her chin, staring at the men on the rooftop, and held her ground.

  Gabe was completely focused on the young woman and hadn’t seen Sam Butler until the tall reporter moved. Sam was much closer, his long legs adding speed to his sprint that Gabe couldn’t match. Of the two of them, Butler had the best chance of reaching her first. He also had the better chance of dying.

  Sam reached her seconds after the next round slammed into the ground, looping an arm around her waist and dragging the young woman into cover behind the fountain. The gunman’s angry shout echoed, harsh and distorted. Bullets pinged against the brass in rapid succession, but the base of Lotta’s fountain was wide enough to keep Sam and the girl out of the field of fire.

  A quick glance to the left and right brought back the itch between Gabe’s shoulders threefold. Only a handful of cops slunk along the edge of buildings, hugging cover while trying to work around to the shooter’s building. Other officers helped the injured to safety, staying low and moving quickly. The empty square was littered with smoking debris and lifeless bodies. Gabe was the only person standing.