This time it was a library. Its book-lined walls towered toward a shrouded ceiling, and stacks of hardcovers made a stubby maze that Nicholas wasn’t tall enough to see over. Somewhere a radio was on, stuck between stations.
  I have to find it, thought Nicholas. The yellow diamond.
  For the past thirty years Nicholas had experienced visions—his “spells,” he called them—and during these visions, Nicholas found himself transported to places he had never seen before: the undercroft of a church, an abandoned movie theater, the control room of an electrical substation. Time and space hopscotched in these visions, seconds slipping into hours and miles retracting into inches, and only one thing would release Nicholas from their grip.
  A slender, four-sided yellow diamond.
  Nicholas wandered through the maze of hardcovers, the smell of old paper hanging in the air. Many books had the familiar wide spines of textbooks, some that Nicholas even recognized. But this wasn’t the time for nostalgia—the diamond was somewhere, waiting. The radio’s volume jumped as it neared a station and fell away again. Nicholas took a step backwards, and the station returned, muffled voices beneath the static. They had the measured cadence of counting.
  He used the radio’s reception to navigate the stacks, and soon Nicholas could hear the numbers clearly:
  “One, two, three…”
  The count restarted whenever Nicholas found a dead end, its voices alternating between a handful of speakers. When it was just shy of ninety, the diamond appeared.
  It was tall and stood in midair an inch off the library’s hardwood floor. Nicholas could barely make out his silhouetted reflection in its dull finish; the last time he had seen it, the diamond’s surface had been like a polished mirror. He touched it and yanked his hand away. It was so cold it burned, as if his fingers had been submerged in ice water for the last fifteen minutes and he’d only now realized it. Nicholas looked up into the black cavity of the library’s ceiling to see that it had started snowing.
  Something hard crashed into his shoulder. “Watch where you’re going,” said a deep voice.
  The library was gone, and Nicholas was back in the basement of the Metropolitan. A bald man with a barrel chest and tattooed neck shoved Nicholas aside as he stormed into the men’s room and slammed the door behind him. Disoriented, Nicholas returned to the bar upstairs and found he was no longer the only midday guest at the bar. Now there was another.
  The woman wore a crisp blouse with a Mandarin collar and moss-green trousers. A hooded coat hung off the back of her chair, her wavy copper hair spilling onto the coat’s jet-black wool as her pale hands clutched at a brocade purse. She was staring down her freckled snub nose at the purse, breathing slowly. A full glass of wine sat beside her. The woman pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and Nicholas froze when he saw her earrings.
  They were in the shape of tiny yellow diamonds.
  
* * *
  
On Kat’s fourteenth birthday, her foster mother, Barbara, taught her this: Early is on time, on time is late, late is unacceptable. This lesson came when Kat showed up ten minutes late to their birthday tea date at a chintzy hotel across from the southern edge of Central Park. Before allowing her to sit, Barbara had Kat unwrap her gift of a vintage Royal Crown Derby teacup and saucer set. Kat recognized it from Barbara’s collection, having admired it in secret for years.
  “Set it on the floor,” Barbara said.
  “Why?” asked Kat.
  Barbara stared down the mousy girl she had taken into her house until Kat complied.
  “Now,” said Barbara. “Raise your foot above the cup.”
  Other guests looked on as the scene unfolded. With tears in her eyes, Kat lifted her foot above the cup and, on Barbara’s command, brought it down on the delicate porcelain over and over until only chips of ceramic remained.
  “Never show up late again,” said Barbara. “And don’t put up with people who do.”
  Two years later, Kat ran away from home, but not before destroying every piece in Barbara’s china cabinet—even the ones Kat coveted—leaving behind only pulverized porcelain in their stead.
  Although Barbara never went looking for her foster daughter, her lesson on punctuality followed Kat everywhere she went, leading Kat to arrive at the Metropolitan ten minutes ahead of schedule. She surveyed the space. The staff was between shifts, the bar occupied by one flop-haired thirtysomething with a confetti heap of torn paper in front of him.
  Not one of Needle’s, thought Kat. Too soft.
  Kat inventoried the minaudière Madam had given her. Dummy wallet with fake I.D.? Check. Used makeup? Check. Key ring with keys to who knew where? Check. And, buried in the middle of all this bric-a-brac, a sealed kraft paper envelope—swollen thanks to the deformed pretzel knot inside. Along the envelope’s seams were veins of lye that, if not handled correctly, would leak onto the rope knot and destroy it.
  But, of course, this boobytrap would be disarmed. That much was expected. Kat only hoped it would be enough to convince Needle of her and Madam’s fiction. He would be looking for the Untether—one of Madam’s mystic knots—convinced that it would allow him to do what no other Listener could: break the city–prison bond with New York once and for all. Madam had insisted that, no matter what, they could not allow such a thing to happen.
  Kat clasped the purse shut.
  It won’t be long now, she thought.
  
* * *
  
Seeing simulacra of the yellow diamond outside his spells wasn’t unusual for Nicholas. When he was younger, it had become a game for him to find its shape hidden in chalk murals and toy commercials and on the backs of cereal boxes, its unblinking slit eye eventually becoming more familiar than frightening. But it had never appeared as quickly as this, mere moments after a spell.
  Nicholas eyed the copper-haired woman. If life were a movie, she might be the career criminal casing the joint before some daring heist. But she didn’t look like a criminal. She was fidgeting too much for that, her nerves too shot. It was like she was waiting to hear what she already knew, that the cancer had returned and was more aggressive than ever. Perhaps this movie was a tragedy then, thought Nicholas.
  From the far side of the bar approached the bald bulldog of a man who had yelled at Nicholas downstairs. He was accompanied by the stalking, scythe-like figure of a six-foot tall woman in a navy peacoat with epaulets and tarnished silver buttons. Her choppy, pixie-cut hair was lightning white, her eyes the color of an overcast sky. They sat on either side of the woman in the Mandarin collar shirt and offered her sneering hellos.
  The woman returned their greetings and, for a split second, made eye contact with Nicholas. She didn’t look so despondent anymore, adopting instead the patient look of a hunter waiting for the right moment to spring her trap.
  Something’s happening.
  Nicholas thought of the yellow diamond, how it had appeared for the first time in almost six years. You wanted me here, he thought. You want me to see this.
  But why?
  
* * *
  
“Long time no see kitty,” said Serena as she unbuttoned her peacoat. It hung off her pointed shoulders like a fallen flag. “How’s the queen bee doing?”
  “Why don’t you go ask her yourself,” said Kat. She sipped her wine, clenching her minaudière with her free hand. Behind her, she could feel Hagan’s beady stare drilling into the back of her head.
  “Now now,” said Serena. “You know Madam doesn’t take my calls anymore.”
  “I can’t imagine why.”
  Serena snorted. “I guess she’s just never been one to face up to her mistakes. I wouldn’t be either if I’d made as many as she has.”
  “The only mistake Madam made with you was to take you in in the first place,” said Kat.
  “I keep trying to tell you, kitty, your precious Madam isn’t the perfect specimen you think she is.” Serena’s lips curdled into a smile. “The sooner you admit that, the sooner you might actually make something of yourself.”
  Kat let a sigh out through her nose. “Make something of myself like you did? How is it being Needle’s errand girl anyway? Sure seems like he’s getting good mileage out of you.”
  For several too-long seconds, Serena and Kat shared a silent, seething glare. The women were, in a sense, alumni from the same institution. In another life they might have been allies—partners, even—but in this one their only fate was one of mutual enmity.
  Finally, Serena broke their silence: “It’s just another step up the staircase,” she said. “He uses me—just like Madam used me, just like she uses you—and in exchange, I learn my fill before I move on to the next opportunity.”
  “That’s some loyalty,” said Kat.
  “That’s life. Pretending it’s not won’t make it true.” Serena scoped out the bar, eyeing the drunk at one end. “Here, let me show you a little of what I’ve learned from Needle.”
  Serena snatched Kat’s wrist.
  “What are you—”
  Before Kat could finish, white hot pain erupted in her lower abdomen and knifed its way up into her chest, settling between her breasts like a hot coal burning underneath her skin. She wanted to claw it out, but she couldn’t move, her lips frozen open as she waited for a scream that would not come.
  A weedy baseball field flashed before her eyes, the shouts of young boys competing with the rumbling thunder overhead. She remembered this. It had been chilly that day, and Kat had been underdressed despite Barbara’s nagging. The boys loved it—of course—and Kat was too busy reveling in that love to see the ball flying towards her chest.
  It landed with a pop. Then there was the gurney, the hospital bed, and Barbara’s scowl as she chided Kat for being out with “those sorts of boys.” But there were no tears shed. Barbara never shed tears, not for Kat, instead favoring rants about why she had wasted her life on the girl in the first place.
  You’re nothing but a burden, said Barbara’s stony face. Ungrateful. Unappreciative. Unwa—
  Serena pulled her hand away and Kat doubled over, catching herself on the bar to keep from falling off her chair. There was more she recognized here than just her memory.
  “Madam’s Mnemosyne Knot,” said Kat in between ragged breaths. “You… weaponized it.”
  “Needle weaponized it,” said Serena. “But I do enjoy it better this way.”
  “Enough games,” said Hagan. “We know what you’re ferrying across the city. Time to cough it up.”
  Kat shook her head, brow oily with sweat. Make them believe you’re trying to resist, she told herself.
  Serena groaned. “Just look in her purse,” she said to Hagan. “Not like she can stop you now.”
  And Serena was right. Kat’s body was numb, every movement fighting waves of prickling pins and needles. Hagan grabbed her brocade minaudière and dug through it until he found the kraft envelope. “It’s here,” he said, cramming the envelope back into the hard-sided purse. “Like we were told.”
  Almost there, thought Kat.
  “Good,” said Serena. “Is everything set up downstairs?”
  Hagan grunted.
  “Well then. C’mon kitty, let’s get going.”
  Kat’s face twisted into a grimace. She hadn’t prepared for this.
  “Relax, you’ll be returned to your litter box when Needle’s done with you,” Serena said. “Until then just consider yourself our guest of honor.”
  Madam had given Kat a single warning about their gambit, one rule that, no matter what, Kat was to do everything in her power to follow: Under no circumstance was Kat to be there when Needle opened the envelope.
  “Why?” Kat had asked her.
  But Madam had only shook her head, refusing to answer.
  “And if I am there? What do I do then?”
  “For god’s sake, you run, Katherine.”
  
* * *
  
Nicholas snuck glances at the redhead and her two companions, and after a few minutes of puzzling together their relationship, he was only sure that they were not friends. They did know each other though, that much was obvious. But Nicholas couldn’t figure out what was so interesting about the redhead’s purse, nor why there was an air of mock civility about the trio’s interaction. Why didn’t the redhead just yell for help? Hell, why was she there in the first place, seemingly waiting for these not-friends of hers?
  The trio stood and with a funereal, perfunctory air marched towards the stairs leading to the Metropolitan’s downstairs level. The redhead looked over her shoulder. Nicholas sought her eyes, but her gaze was unfocused, that patient hunter look from before replaced by an expression of mounting panic. Then she was gone.
  Let it go, he told himself. You don’t know the whole story. And, whatever it is, it’s not your business, Nick.
  The image of the yellow diamond—and the redhead’s matching earrings—burned in his mind.
  Don’t confuse coincidence for meaning. And what could you do anyway? You’re no one special, Nick. You’re no hero.
  On the street outside, a car skidded to a stop, the sound of it transporting Nicholas back to that day seventeen years ago when someone else had had to pay the price for his choices. Nicholas swept the halves of his business cards away, clearing the bar top and any trace of who he had pretended to be over the past decade.
  
* * *
  
The Metropolitan’s downstairs level was deserted. Serena and Hagan led Kat towards the restrooms, and Kat reached into her pockets, feeling for any twine or string to use to make a mystic knot of her own. Just as she thought she had finally found something, Serena caught her rooting around and then forced Kat’s hands behind her back.
  Serena pointed towards the men’s room. “Make sure no one’s inside,” she said to Hagan. He cursed under his breath as he stormed off to investigate.
  “Do you use a urinal now too?” asked Kat with a weak laugh, still fatigued from what Serena had done to her.
  “Keep joking,” said Serena. “We’ll see how that works out for you.”
  Hagan barged back out of the men’s room. “All clear.”
  Serena shoved Kat inside, and Hagan followed behind. The heady stink of spray paint made Kat dizzy, and a moment later she saw its source: On the tile above the handicapped stall’s toilet, a hastily scrawled sigil depicted a pink circle with more than a dozen loose squares inscribed in cyan. In the center was a single neon yellow dot. As Hagan placed his hand over the dot, the pink circle began to turn clockwise, its inscribed squares moving in the opposite direction, each slowly spinning at their own private pace.
  “I’m not going in there,” said Kat. She looked from Serena to Hagan and back again. “It wouldn’t even work if I tried.”
  Serena slung her arm around Kat and drew her close. “It’ll work fine. There’s just an itty-bitty chance you won’t make it through.”
  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” asked Kat.
  “The longer you wait, the worse your odds,” said Serena. “I’ve seen what happens to partials. It’s not pretty.”
  “Why’s this look so cheap,” said Hagan, ignoring the women in favor of the brocade purse he had taken from Kat. “Don’t you cunts like that luxury shit?”
  It took only an instant for Serena to close the gap between her and Hagan. “Watch your mouth,” she said to him.
  “I didn’t mean you,” he said, flustered.
  Serena wasn’t satisfied. She latched onto his bare skull and dug her fingers in, drawing out a cry from the broad-shouldered man. Under different circumstances, Kat might have felt pity for Hagan, but in that moment, she was grateful for Serena’s temper—if not for that, Serena might have noticed that Kat was wearing Manolo flats alongside a Chinatown knockoff clutch.
  Finally, Serena let go of Hagan, and he fell to the floor with five crimson fingerprints crowning his skull.
  “Next time,” said Serena, “there won’t be a next time.” She turned to Kat. “Enough stalling. Get in there, or I’ll drag you in there myself.”
  Kat glanced at Hagan, who was still nursing his swollen skull. Then at Serena, and then at the toilet paper dispenser. If she could stun Serena for a few moments, no more than ten or fifteen seconds, it would give her enough time to tie a knot with the toilet paper that would allow her to escape.
  A cracking slam rang out, like tile being hit with a sledgehammer, and an acrid white cloud filled the restroom. Kat was blinded and barely able to breathe. Then, she felt a hand on hers.
  “Let’s go,” whispered an unfamiliar voice. “We don’t have long.”

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