The Wire Hanger

Chapter 32

Jezebel stood in the doorway, flanked by the Professor, welcoming the line of women as they trailed in, weary and suspicious. I could hear the tea kettle whistling in the kitchen and began to wonder how we could possibly house all these women in one place without resorting to the kind of terrible conditions we’d just rescued them from.

            “Welcome back,” said the Professor as I entered. “Naomi. I am very pleased to see you.” His voice was restrained, but I thought I heard the hint of a waver in it. All of these women coming into his house…how many of them had he taught? How many lives was he responsible for?

            Hannah had set out steaming mugs of tea, and the women gathered in pockets all over the first floor. I noticed that all the broadcast equipment had been cleared away from the kitchen, as though nothing had happened. “Where are they all going to sleep?” I asked Hannah.

            She shrugged. “Wherever they can, for tonight. I dare say it’s a sight better than what they’re used to. We’ll start moving them tomorrow.”

            “Moving them where?”

            “Other safe houses,” she said. “What, you thought this was the only one?” She laughed, not unkindly, at the look on my face.

            It was true that I hadn’t thought much about it, but the night’s events had made it clear that there was much more to this movement than I was able to grasp. I knew that the people here were only representatives of the Bears and the Tigers, that the actual groups must be much larger, but I didn’t have a good idea of how many. So I said, “We rode a subway. There was a man driving it.”

            “Oh, that’ll be Stephen,” said Hannah. “He lives down there, what with the rest of them.”

            “People live down there?”

            “Sure they do. Not a lot of Protectors mucking about. Lots of unsavory types, mind you. They’ll have their own reasons for not wanting to be tracked. But plenty of harmless oddballs too, who’ve come to prefer living in the shadows.”

            This did not sound appealing to me, but I was beginning to wonder what kind of options were actually left to me, what with how thoroughly we were managing to piss off the Protectors. Had anyone seen my face?

            I looked around the kitchen, where a few women were still milling around, clutching their mugs. One of them, a diminuative redhead, walked up to Jezebel, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table and was cheerfully tucking into a plate of eggs.

            “So you’re her, are you?” asked the red-haired woman aggressively.

            “Who?” said Jezebel, without looking up.

            “The others are saying you are. You know. Jezebel.”

            “That’s me,” she said mildly.

            The woman scoffed.

            “Problem?”

            “That was just a rumor,” she said. “You. You were just a rumor.”

            “And yet here I am in front of you,” said Jezebel. “With eggs.”

            Another woman walked up and tugged on the redhead’s arm. “Leave her alone, can’t you see she’s trying to eat?”

            “Even heroes need to eat,” said the redhaired woman, but there was something unkind in her voice. I looked up at my mother, who hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. I hadn’t let go of her hand, but she was talking to the Professor, our arms stretched out between us. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held her hand. I must have been a small child, crossing the street, or boarding the train. She would hold my hand in one of hers, and Esau’s in the others, unless she were carrying something in which case Esau and I held hands, the whole family a little chain. My stomach lurched for the umpteenth time that night and I wondered if I would be able to hold down even the little tea that I’d drunk.