Except that instead of running away, he ducked into the mews behind the comfortable residential block and jumped the gate of the first stable yard he passed in order to cut through the alley and come back around behind the man.
Or at least that’s what he’d intended to do. But when he skidded back out onto the street, there was no Chinese man there at all.
There was only Shen, standing with her hands in her trouser pockets and laughing at him.
He could have kicked himself.
“You really didn’t know it was me, did you?” she asked when her laughter had finally subsided into intermittent chuckles. “What are you doing, anyway? You’ve been wandering around all afternoon like a lost dog.”
“Just getting some exercise.”
“Isn’t it a bit wet for that?”
“I, uh, well…”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were casing out houses to rob.”
“Shen!”
“You don’t have to take my word for it. Look down at the end of the block.”
Sacha peered around Shen — and was alarmed to see a burly patrolman loitering at the corner, making no secret of the fact that he was keeping an eye on the two suspicious characters who had ventured onto his beat.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” Shen suggested. “After all, wouldn’t you rather tell me than him?”
Haltingly, Sacha told her about going to tea at Lily’s house, and Lily’s mother, and the situation with the Astral chauffeur. “So,” he concluded, “I need a house.”
“I don’t quite follow. Don’t you have a house?”
“Yes, but…”
“But you’re ashamed of it.”
He glared at her, but his angry answer died in his throat when he saw the gentle, understanding way she was looking at him.
“I — yes.”
“Of what? I mean, what would be so bad about having him drop you at your actual home?”
From any other adult, the question would have been infuriating, but somehow Shen managed to ask it as if she really wanted to know the answer.
“What would be so bad about it?” He imagined Lily’s incredulous face, the chauffeur’s haughty stare, the hoots and hollers of the kids on Hester Street, who treated the arrival of any motorcar — let alone a motorcar with someone they knew in it — as if it were Passover, Hanukkah, and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. And then the awful, pitying look on Lily’s face when she saw the way the Kesslers lived. “Everything!” he wailed. “I’d rather die!”
For a moment Shen seemed about to ask him something else, but then she shrugged. “Well, we can’t have you dying,” she said. “Follow me. I’ve got an idea.”
Ten minutes later they were standing on the front stoop of the perfect house. Nice but not too nice. Comfortably middle class, yet still modest enough to be believable. Best of all, it stood in the middle of a long row of identical brick-fronted town houses, so that it would be difficult for even a girl as sharp-eyed as Lily to be quite sure of remembering the right house if she tried to find it again.
When Shen strolled up to the neat red door and rang the bell, Sacha almost jumped out of his skin. “Are we, um — I mean, are we going to get in trouble with the, uh — you know.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Most of the people who’d call the police on us aren’t likely to be home this time of day.”
That wasn’t very reassuring. And the haughty stare of the tall housemaid who answered the door was even less reassuring. “What on earth do you want?” she huffed, staring down her nose at them.
“I’m here to see James,” Shen announced calmly.
The housemaid sniffed. “The idea of a respectable house letting the butler receive personal callers at the front door! I’ve half a mind to tell the missus what sort of persons are tromping through her good rooms!”
The maid marched them through an airy hall and down a long corridor toward the back of the house. Here the paintings and wallpaper gave way to glass-fronted cupboards containing towering stacks of dinner plates and sherbet cups and soup tureens and an endless array of china whose names and uses Sacha couldn’t begin to imagine. Just as they passed the last of the china cupboards and started to hear the clatter and bustle of a working kitchen, the housemaid stopped short and rapped smartly on a neat little oak-paneled door in the wall.
“Mr. James!” she cried. “Persons to see you!”
Behind the door was a neat, comfortable, serviceably furnished sitting room. And in an armchair, reading a book in front of a roaring fire, sat a well-dressed Chinese man.
He put down his book and greeted Shen with obvious affection. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Shen cleared her throat and glanced toward the housemaid.
“Thank you, Bessie,” Mr. James said. “That will be all.”
Bessie beat a reluctant retreat — though Sacha suspected she wasn’t going to go farther than the other side of the key-hole. She couldn’t have gotten much satisfaction from her eavesdropping, however, since Shen and James immediately broke into rapid-fire Chinese.
At the end of their exchange, James turned to Sacha and gave a dignified little bow. “Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Kessler. Shall I expect you on weekday evenings, then?”
Sacha nodded.
“Very good, sir. I shall look forward to seeing you.”
As they walked back out to the street, Shen explained that James had agreed to have Sacha visit him every evening on the pretext that he was looking out for a friend’s son who’d come to the city to find work. “Just spend a few minutes talking to him, and then you can be on your way and no one the wiser.”
“But won’t he get in trouble?” Sacha asked, thinking of the haughty housemaid.
“Not likely. If I know James, he’ll probably have the master and mistress of the house inviting you to dinner before the month’s up.”
“How do you know him?” Sacha asked.
“He used to be one of my orphans.”
“But he’s … so, well, old!” Suddenly Sacha felt quite uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” Shen asked after a moment. “You look like you’ve got a rock stuck in your shoe.”
“How old are you?” Sacha finally blurted out.
Shen grinned broadly. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”
“I didn’t — I just — I mean, are you an Immortal?”
“Being an Immortal isn’t like getting a liquor license, Sacha. You don’t just pay the fee and take your piece of paper. It’s something you do, not something you are.”
“But are you … you know … going to live forever?”
“I really couldn’t tell you.” Shen flashed her most mischievous grin, the one that made her look both childish and ancient at the same time. “I haven’t lived long enough yet to know.”
Suddenly Sacha thought of the dybbuk. Shen would know what to do about it. But on the other hand, she might tell Wolf. And then all Sacha’s lies would unravel — right back to the incriminating moment when he had hidden the truth about his mother’s locket.
“You have a worse problem than just being embarrassed in front of Lily astral, don’t you?”
Sacha nodded, a lump rising in his throat.
“Have you told Inquisitor Wolf about it?”
“No! I can’t!”
“And you’re not going to tell me either, are you? If I tried to make you tell me, you’d just come up with some lie that would only make things worse.”
Sacha felt a flush of shame wash across his face.
They were turning onto lower Broadway now. As they mingled with the Sunday-afternoon crowd Shen bowed her head, hiding her face beneath her broad-brimmed hat. And she put just enough distance between her and Sacha that passersby wouldn’t notice they were together. They walked along like strangers for a block or two, something in her bearing telling him that it would be a bad idea to speak to her.