Page 48 of If Looks Could Kill
I searched corners and shadows of the alley for any sign of Pearl. From the fire escape, I scanned the alley’s length. Back on the ground, I lingered outside the secluded door, holding my breath. I felt as though the door might yawn open at any moment and devour me.
Faint sounds from inside sounded normal, if I had to guess. Murmurs of conversation and high-pitched laughter. No Medusa, though what was inside was its own kind of terror, and I couldn’t wait to get away from the door.
I left the alley and reached the Bowery proper, then turned north, heading for Spring Street and the Lion’s Den. Concert saloons screamed out their bawdy songs and flashed their lurid lights. The dime museum ballymen hawked their exhibitions. Vonda the Snake Charmer and Giselle the Gorgon of Gotham lived for nothing so much as for me to come and see them, for the mere price of one thin dime.
Gorgon.My skin prickled.
Gorgon had something to do with Medusa. Was that what had killed her in the myths?
Paintings festooned the façade of the Curiosity Musée. Between gruesome images of Francine the Human Skeleton and Jo-Jo the Dogface Boy was a tall poster of a seductive woman with snakes sliding down her neck like long, luxurious curls. Giselle the Gorgon of Gotham.
A Gorgonwasa Medusa.
Every minute I delayed hunting for Pearl could be deadly, for Pearl or for someone else. But if there was another Medusa, right here on the Bowery,shewasn’t leaving a trail of stone corpses, or this dime museum wouldn’t last long.
Perhaps this Giselle could be a source of help. At least, of information. How to find Pearl. How to hide her. What this curse might actually mean. If any miracle could reverse it.
I pulled ten cents from my coin pouch and approached the ballyman.
“I’d like to see the Gorgon of Gotham, please,” I told him.
He took my money, then eyed my uniform. “Your dime lets you in, miss,” he said, “but I didn’t think you Salvation types went for this sort of thing.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not planning to interrupt the show, are you? With your preaching jingo?”
I wished I’d changed my clothes first. “I promise I’m not.” I sighed. “I’m off-duty.”
He eyed me doubtfully but held open the door. “Then in you go.”
I entered the museum through a long, dimly lit corridor. Red velvet drapes hung between glass cases showing various curiosities. Human skulls. Exotic stuffed birds. A monkey, which startled me by hopping up and down as I passed by.
“Does Miss enjoy the sight of live animals?” purred a smooth voice in my ear.
I turned quickly to see a thin-mustached man, slight of build and dressed in a suit of men’s evening wear that had seen better days, standing closer than I liked.
“We have a live menagerie of jungle animals upstairs,” he said. “A tiger, two leopards, a baboon, and several marmosets.”
Marmosets?“No, thank you, I—”
“And an impressive selection of reptiles. Safe behind glass, of course.”
Of course.
“Please,” I said, “I’m here to see the Gorgon.”
His eyebrows rose. “That will be in the theater, downstairs,” he said. “Her show starts in ten minutes and costs an extra five cents.”
I reached quickly into my pouch.
“However, I must say that usually only gentlemen watch Giselle’s performance.”
I groaned inwardly. One of those shows.
“It does tend,” he whispered, “toward those of exotic, er, cultural tastes.”
Cultural,my eye. I pulled out a shiny half-dollar. It glinted in the light.
“Fifty cents,” I told him, “for one minute to speak with Giselle before her show.”
The coin’s gleam reflected in his eyes. “Our performers require their privacy.”
