Chapter 2

Artie was true to his word. A week later, after a series of nights that made my skin crawl, he placed the cold, heavy film canister in my hands.

"You earned it, doll," he said, already turning his attention to a stack of ledgers.

I felt nothing. No triumph. Just a hollow ache. I clutched the canister and walked out of his study, my steps echoing in the grand, empty hallway. The first thing I did was leave the mansion. I had to see my mother. I had to show her what her precious hat had cost.

I found the flophouse she lived in, a crumbling brick building that smelled of boiled cabbage and despair. The landlord, a man with a greasy shirt and no teeth, just pointed a thumb toward the back alley.

"Saw her go out there an hour ago. Said she was meeting a friend."

The alley was narrow and filled with overflowing trash cans. The air was thick with the stench of rot.

And there she was.

She was slumped against the grimy brick wall, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. The beautiful, sapphire-blue cloche hat lay in a puddle of muddy water beside her, crushed and soiled. An empty bottle of laudanum had rolled from her limp fingers.

Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.

I knelt beside her, the cold metal of the film canister pressing into my stomach. I wanted to show it to her, to scream at her, to ask her if it was worth it. But she couldn't hear me. She would never hear anything again.

I looked at the canister in my hands. Artie's prize. The reason I was here. It hadn't brought me anything but pain. It was a curse. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that it would only bring more.