Black and Blue Ivy

Rittenhouse Square

The day was overcast. A thin grey mist threaded through Rittenhouse Square, a city block sized park smack dab in the crowded neighborhood of stately brick townhomes. In the distance was the art museum, poking out of the mist like Philly's own Acropolis. Silver lights twinkled in the canopy of trees spread throughout the park, and at the center stood a tree splashed with colored lights and a glimmering star on top. Just as Bentley pulled the Mercedes into the last remaining parking spot on the block, powdery snow began to fall from the sky. For a moment I watched the soft flakes hit the windshield then melt.

"That's the place right there," Bentley said. "You sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

My stomach folded in on itself for a moment. I could use him by my side, but Morningstar insisted I go alone. "I'll be okay."

Will I be?

I undid my seatbelt and leaned over to give Bentley a peck on the cheek. He smiled, but his eyes look worried. "Okay." He pointed at his expensive looking watch. "But I'm timing you. If you're not out of there in five minutes—"

I hopped out before he could finish his sentence. If I had my way I'll be out in two. I approached the townhouse, all five stories looming over me like a stone monolith, and climbed the three white marble steps. Even the door, painted a bright shiny red, seemed proportioned for a giant. Or maybe I'm just that small. The scent of an enormous Christmas wreath tickled my nose as I rang the bell. I almost sneezed into the face of the man who opened the door.

I knew right away it was the judge. If he'd been a butler or something he'd have worn a tie. He was dressed casually in loose jeans, the gross kind old men wear, and a navy blue sweater. His watery gray eyes sat in pool of white fleshy folds behind his bifocals. His mouth hung slightly slack.

"H-i. Uh, hello," I stammered. "My name is Ivy Gallagher."

"Gallagher?" The old man's eyes narrowed.

"Y-yess. My mom-uh, my mother is Joan Gallagher."

A sharp cold breeze fanned my skirt while the judge ran my mother's name through his brain's computer. I started to turn my head to throw a "help me" look at Bentley when the judge's hand fell on my shoulder and tightened around like one of those crane's in the dollar store that pick up the stuffed animals.

"Sorry, young lady. It took me a moment to recall your mother's case. I hear so many. Come inside."

The house was decorated with a large tree in the foyer, a lot like the one in the Robinson's house. But this tree was fully decorated. The decor wasn't opulent like the Robinson's, but restrained. What Morningstar might call the style of "tight ass rich people who think they came over on the Mayflower." I noticed there were paintings of horses everywhere in gold frames. The floors were covered with dark oriental rugs.

"Let me take your coat." Judge Maxim's breath was hot on the back of my neck. He smelled like moth balls with something unpleasantly sour underneath. After hanging up my coat on a rack near the door, he walked to the front of me, stood a yard away, and slowly looked me up and down. "You look a bit young."

"I just turned sixteen," I blurted, not sure what my age had to do with it. Not sure why I was even there.

The judge threw back his head and chuckled. "Sixteen?" I noticed his teeth were quite yellow, like a horse's when they neighed. "Why, you're still in swaddling clothes. Come, Ivy." Again, the claw-like hand settled on my shoulder and suddenly I was being pulled into another room, a dark crimson cave. There were two tall windows lining one wall, but they were shuttered with wooden blinds. A couch in a deep burgundy dominated the room. A low fire burned in the hearth, flinging shadows against the dark paneled walls. The room smelled of liquor and stale cigar smoke.