"How do we know they'll let us do the show?" I asked. "The last town we passed had that sign, 'No Odd Shows,' and that wall around the town. I don't much feel like getting chased, or worse."
       Charm had led us to the sign, and we always followed Charm. Tilly used her sleeve to wipe off the dust and read: "Hawkesville, Oklahoma: 10 Miles. You Are Almost Home!" Charm nodded her horned head and whinnied, and Tilly said that meant we were going since Charm had never steered us wrong before. They pressed forward down the road. Tilly finally noticed that I wasn't following.
       Charm pawed the ground, raising clouds of dust that made our mule sneeze. The unicorn had been increasingly skittish lately, and it made me nervous that she sensed something was wrong.
       Tilly stroked Charm's soft white neck. "The sign for Hawkesville didn't say 'No Odd Shows,' Foggy."
       "It didn't say we were welcome, either," I said.
       "Ten days of no towns and you're worried this is a trap?" She didn't roll her eyes, but I felt her hold back. "Come on, Foggy. I'm hungry, and I know you are, too. And look at Charm." The unicorn snorted at the sound of her name and raised her head. "Poor thing hasn't eaten right in weeks. All this dust and dirt, and almost no water for miles yet. Let's go."
       Our pack mule, whom we cleverly called Muley, watched Charm for a clue on how to behave and didn't move until Tilly and Charm had continued walking away.
       "Come ON," Tilly shouted back without stopping. "I'm going to sleep in a proper room tonight. With a door that locks." I heard the warning in her words. The road was no place for two women without an escort, especially two women with an Odd Show like Charm.
       Only two nights before, we'd made camp off the main road, behind a copse of trees. We hadn't seen a single soul on the road, and even Charm hadn't sensed anything wrong. Still, we made only a small fire for cooking and put it out as soon as we were done. The half-moon shone in the sky; otherwise, the Arkansas landscape was as dark as Tilly's hair.
       Maybe someone had seen our smoke from far off, maybe Charm's usual sense of danger hadn't been too keen that night. Whatever it was, no sooner had I drifted off to sleep in my own threadbare blanket than a hand clamped over my mouth, and a hot, stinking body pressed its weight onto me. When the man grunted, his putrid breath filled my nostrils, and I willed myself not to gag. He hissed, "Lay still, girlie, and this won't be but a minute," hot and humid on my ear. He was too busy unbuckling his pants to notice he'd left my arms free, so I clapped my hands over his ears. That shocked him just long enough to take his hand off my mouth, and that was all I needed to roll away. Maybe the man's grunt woke Tilly up; maybe she'd been waiting for the right time. Tilly lunged, tripping over me to jam the butt of her pistol under his chin.
       "Go. Now," she said in a low voice.
       "Crazy broads!" he'd cried, but he fumbled with trousers and ran off into the dark Arkansas night. Tilly crossed herself and fingered her rosary. I thought she should have shot him, but I held my tongue.
       And so, with the memory of that man's weight on me still fresh, Muley and I followed. Despite her bravado, I saw Tilly pat the gun once like she didn't even know she was doing it. Two nights ago it'd been me who'd woken up with a strange man on top of me, but in the three years we'd been traveling America, she'd had her turn, too.
       These days Odd Shows weren't welcome out here, partly due to no one in these parts having money anymore, and partly due to the Swindle Shows trying to pass off as the real things. The Swindles'd stuff a lady's legs into a rubber tail and call her a Living Mermaid or some fella would stuff his shirt as the Bearded Lady. But our Charm was a real unicorn. We let folks touch her golden horn and everything, or pet her shimmery white coat that wasn't just glitter and glue. No riding, though. Even we didn't ride Charm. We'd tried it once after Charm had turned two years old. She'd bucked us off like we were made of broken glass.
       The next sign we came across read, "Hawkesville: 5 Miles. We're Happy To See You!"
       "They really put that first sign pretty far out," I offered to Tilly's back, her hair swishing like a horse's tail. "Makes me think they're trying to lure us in, or something."
       Tilly addressed Charm but spoke loud enough to make sure I heard. "Yep, sure will be nice to sleep in a bed tonight, under a roof, in a room with a door and a lock. And eat some real food and not just trail grub. You looking forward to a stall with some fresh hay and oats there, Charm? Hmm, girl?" The unicorn snorted her agreement, and Tilly laughed, a girlish bubbling sound that was a hit with the men, whether she wanted their attention or not. She was pretty with pale enough skin that no one thought she might be from south of the border, and that laugh like man-bait.
       Me? Since I'd never been pretty, I was the sensible one. I got us out of that shithole sweatshop they called Miss Betty's Home For Orphaned Girls back in New York. And when Tilly and I had snuck into that barn in Kentucky to spend the night, I was the one who noticed the horn on the suckling foal. Once we had a real Odd with us, a bonafide unicorn, we figured our troubles were over. People paid to see Odds and good money, too. Hell, for a while back in the spring, rumor was the Lindbergh baby had been Odd, and that's why he'd been stolen.
       And we'd done fine, for a while. Problem was, no one expected that market crash in New York that would make everyone poor and not want to pay for a traveling Odd Show, not even to see a real unicorn. I'd been too naive to realize that a pretty Mexican girl and a smart-mouthed New York Jew might not have the easiest time of it out in parts where they'd never even heard names like Maria Elena Tildia Carmen de Hernandez y Martinez, or Fruma Orah Goldstein. Out here people were too wrapped up in their own troubles to care that Tilly's family had been killed by robbers on the road, or that I'd only survived the tenement fire by the sheer dumb luck of being out buying Shabbos candles. Charm was all we had.
       I sighed and walked on with Muley. Even if Tilly was wrong about Hawkesville, even if she was somehow making it seem like this was Charm's idea, at least we were walking in a direction towards something. My stomach grumbled. Yeah, I admitted. Tilly was right. We stopped just long enough for me to cover Charm's horn with the padded blanket we had made especially for her, with two eyeholes cut out, so that no one could see that she was a unicorn.
       By the time we saw the first of Hawkesville's buildings, the sun had long since passed its zenith and my eyes could barely focus from the hunger in my belly. Tilly knew which plants were edible, but they weren't enough to keep us full. We had a little money but hadn't passed a town in ten days. Charm kept her head low, and I knew she needed water and rest. Hell, even dumb old Muley needed a break.
       "See? We made it!" Despite the cheerful lilt to Tilly's tone, she looked the worse for wear, too, out of breath and dusty, with a droop to her eyelids that told me it was all she could do to keep from falling asleep on her feet. "Let's find the hotel and get something to eat. We'll set up Charm's show tomorrow in the town center."
       Hawkesville had one main road and smelled like broken dreams. Once, maybe, Hawkesville had been a bustling stop on some western trail for cowboys and gold-rushers heading to California, but these days the road was barely more than dust and faded wood. I could envision drunken gamblers tumbling out of the saloon with their six-shooters drawn for an old-fashioned shoot-out, except that would imply a level of energy that Hawkesville had clearly lacked for some time.
       "Tilly," I said in a low voice like the buildings had ears, "I don't feel good about this place."
       Her eyes flitted left and right. "It's late. Maybe they're all eating dinner."
       Every time I thought I saw movement, I'd look, but nothing was there--just dark windows and waiting shadows.
       "There's not even any noise." My voice disappeared as soon as it left my mouth, absorbed by the still air. I gathered the length of Muley's reins to keep her close.
       Tilly pointed ahead. "There's the hotel. Let's go." She walked with a straight back and easy stride, but her fingers absently caressed the polished grip of the pistol. At the cracked and faded doors, she stopped. "There are stables attached over there, Foggy. Take the animals and get them set up. I'll get us a room for the night." She walked inside without waiting for me to agree. Charm led the way to the stables like she, too, was impatient to be done with our day's travel.
       The sound of snoring drew my attention to the far end of the stables. Blinking until my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I caught a silhouette. Charm headed straight for him, head down like she wanted him to pet around her horn. I tugged her back and hitched her and Muley to a post by the door.
       "Hmmm?" A pale face peeked out of the darkness. He half-fell half-climbed off his stool and walked with a hunch to his back like a man four times his age. "Oh, sorry, ma'am. Can I help you?"
       I picked up my r's and got my vowels under control to minimize my New York accent. "How much for these two, just tonight?" I knew what I planned to pay him, but the back and forth was part of my shtick.
       "Dime for the mare, nickel for the mule." The boy's hair hung in greasy clumps over his eyes and straw stuck to his baggy clothes. He probably slept in here. No matter what I paid him, he wouldn't argue, but I didn't want him to get into trouble. A quick once-over in the dying light showed bruises on his wrists and upper arms, fresh purple marks, and older green ones. I checked the stalls. There were only four; this town didn't expect much traffic, even in any heyday it might have once celebrated. They weren't the cleanest, but the straw didn't stink, and the water wasn't cloudy, so they'd do.
       "Here's a quarter." Also part of the shtick; make the folks like us. Tilly and I couldn't really spare it, but if we got just ten folks to our Odd Show tomorrow, we'd make that back with interest. "Take extra special care of them, and keep the change for yourself." With practiced afterthought perfected not to raise suspicions, I added, "And leave that blanket on the mare. She's hurt and needs it to heal. Got it?"
       "Yes, ma'am!" He tried to salute, bow, and shake my hand all at once. I smiled a real genuine smile, and he damn near swooned. Tilly could get attention without trying, but I knew how to turn it on. This boy was sweet, and though I wouldn't change his life with ten extra cents, maybe he could at least buy himself a new shirt or a comb. I unbuckled our travel bags from the mule and left the boy to his job.
       Inside the hotel, Tilly already waited for me with a large brass key. A hunched old man stood beside her. What little dark hair he had left had been combed over his otherwise bald pate. His pockmarked skin hung off his skull like old clothes. Before I could say a word, he took our bags from my hands. Once we reached our room, the man waited at the door with a wet grin. I took our bags, thanked him, and pretended I didn't see him waiting for a tip.
       Tilly stretched and opened her bag. "Did you see a restaurant out there?"
       I looked at the stained and peeling wallpaper of our room, the concave mattresses on the twin beds. "You mean they don't serve world-class meals at this fine establishment?"
       "Don't be unkind, Foggy." She lifted her Odd Show costume out of the bag, a dress formerly belonging to a flapper.
       I pulled out my matching costume. Once upon a time, we thought we were so glamorous, like movie stars, attaching sequins to these old dresses. There was only one hanger. I let Tilly have it, and draped my dress over the back of the room's sole chair. "That man is abusing the stableboy. I saw the kid's bruises. He lives in there. Can you imagine?"
       Tilly pursed her lips as she took out her rhinestone headpiece and considered it. With graceful hands, she fluffed the feather stuck to the front. "I can imagine much worse where we came from. But the stableboy is not our business. We're here for the night and to make money tomorrow, that's all. Don't pay for trouble we can't afford."
       I snorted and fluffed the feather of my own headpiece. "What could that schlub say about us that would ruin the show? He's probably the town drunk anyway."
       Later, we walked the length of the neglected main road in search of any place that seemed like it might serve food. We passed a beauty parlor that had a "closed" sign in the window and a pharmacy with the curtains drawn.
       "Tilly, I need to tell you something."
       "Yes?"
       "When I brought Charm to the stables, she went right for the stableboy. She sensed him, I think. She ducked her head like she was saying hello."
       Tilly mused on this information for a moment and then sighed. "Maybe she's done with us."
       We never talked about how we'd stolen Charm from her mother and her home. We justified our actions because we were on the run and trying not to get thrown into another orphanage. Charm had lent us a certain legitimacy for being on the road. She grew up with us, and we assumed that meant she felt some sort of loyalty.
       I watched Tilly carefully for some sign that it was time to have this conversation, but she said nothing else regarding Charm. I'd aired my concern. My conscience clear, I changed the subject. "You know, my people have a name for places like this: shtetl. My parents, may their memory be a blessing, left our shtetl nearly twenty years ago with only the clothes on their backs and me, swaddled in their arms, so I could have a better life. They're probably rolling in their graves right now."
       She sighed and mumbled, "Sí. Esta ciudad está elena de fantasmas." She pitched her voice higher. "It's not like we had anywhere else to go."
       She only talked to herself in Spanish when she was scared or annoyed, but she had a point, so I shut my mouth. Quietly, Tilly added, "Out here they're called shantytowns. And my parents intended for me to marry wealthy and want for nothing. We all had dreams, once. Even the people here."
       Without finding a single building with lights on, we aimed our tired bodies toward the hotel.
       As the peeling paint of the beauty parlor sign came into sight again, we heard a shuffling sound. A shadowed figure limped toward us. We froze, Tilly's hand on the gun.
       The established routine was for us to wait and see if the men got violent. When they inevitably did, Tilly would try to talk them down first, and when that didn't work I'd step in with my dukes up. If they didn't laugh and go away, only then would Tilly draw.
       The figure approached. I flexed my fingers and tied my hair back.
       Two street lights away, I saw that the figure was a woman, and what I had thought were too-big trousers was actually a long skirt. We didn't move. It took her several minutes to reach us.
       "Good evening, ladies." She bobbed a quick curtsey. "May I ask what brings you to our lovely town of Hawkesville? Wait, let me guess. You're so pretty, you must be heading to California to become movie stars!" She looked directly into my eyes when she spoke, which I found unnerving after having only Tilly to talk with for the past ten days. But the woman's face was clean, her hair tidy, her clothes in good condition, if a little outdated. I couldn't place her age. Her directness gave her the confidence of an older woman, but her skin remained smooth and unlined.
       "We have an Odd Show," Tilly answered.
       I quickly added, "That's all right here, is it, ma'am?"
       The woman smiled, revealing rows of straight but yellow teeth. She shifted her gaze to Tilly. My shoulders relaxed despite myself. "Of course it is, my dears! We love a good Odd Show around here!" She swept an arm around to indicate the empty street. "We don't get many visitors, and the ones who come are usually just passing through."
       I flicked my gaze to follow her arm, but didn't see anyone. Maybe, like Tilly had suggested, they had all retired for the night.
       Or maybe this woman was crazy.
       Either way, at least we weren't being kicked out.
       The woman giggled. "Oh, but how rude of me! Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Pearl, Pearl Daniels. I'm sort of the unofficial welcome committee of our little burgh." By the time she had finished introducing herself I'd figured out what else unnerved me about this woman: she never blinked. I watched her carefully--not one blink.
       With the weight of a brick being thrown at my head, Pearl shifted her gaze back to me. She held out a hand, knuckles facing up like I should kiss it. I shook it instead, never breaking eye contact, still watching for a blink. "Folks call me Foggy."
       Pearl giggled again, like a schoolchild who squishes worms for fun. "Imagine that! A young lady called Foggy. Now, that is odd!" Pearl cracked herself up before shifting back to Tilly for introductions. "And you, dear?"
       "I'm called Tilly, ma'am."
       "Tilly, Foggy, I'd be delighted if you came to my house for supper tonight. Why, you must be starving! Come." She turned and shuffled away without waiting for a polite protestation. "I'm not far from here, and I make a mean potato soup. I imagine it's been some time since you ladies had something warm and delicious in those tummies."
       "It's just dinner," Tilly whispered.
       "I didn't say anything," I whispered back.
       Pearl walked past the stables and turned down an alley next to the hotel. My shoes sloshed a little bit, and the smell of stale urine almost made me gag. The hollow clank of empty tin cans echoed off the walls when I accidentally kicked some in the dark. Pearl pulled a key out of an unseen dress pocket and unlocked a creaky old door.
       We were behind the hotel, in some annex that seemed to serve as an apartment. Pearl held the door open. "Welcome to my humble home, ladies. Please do not mind the mess; it's been ages since I've had a girl to clean."
       Whether the place was a mess or not I couldn't say, because my attention was caught by the man and the boy sitting at the round table in the center of the living room: the man from the hotel and the stableboy.
       "This is my husband, Arthur. You probably met him when you checked into the hotel. And this is our son, Frank. He runs the stables for folks with horses and such."
       The man, Arthur, leered at Tilly. If Pearl minded, she didn't show it. I watched Frank for some sign of. . .I didn't know what. He sat so far hunched over I wondered that his back didn't break. He didn't look up when we came in. Every time Arthur shifted Frank flinched, like a well-beaten dog.
       The table was already set with two extra place settings. Tilly and I took our seats. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her trace the pistol's outline in her pocket. I kept my hair up and out of my way. Beyond the dining table, I saw hundreds of unmarked, unopened tin cans stacked in the kitchen. From somewhere in the house, Duke Ellington wheezed out of a radio.
       Three of us dined in silence. Pearl and Tilly kept up polite conversation about this and that, making guesses as to when President Hoover would fix everyone's money again, or whether Hawkesville could expect its first movie theater soon because Pearl wanted to see one of the new talkies. Every once in a while, Tilly would kick me under the table, but I didn't like small talk and couldn't stop watching Frank.
       Back in New York, in the Home, most of the girls who came in were abused. Orphan girls didn't fare well in the big city, and usually showed up already peppered with bruises and cuts. I knew the different ways other kids dealt with the pain of being another brat that no one wanted. Something was off about Frank, though. The way he cowered into himself and barely ate was like he'd given up on life. He seemed exhausted, like even small movements hurt his whole body.
       "What you looking at, girl?" I jumped at Arthur's sudden intrusion. Even Pearl and Tilly stopped their chitchat.
       While I swallowed my mouthful of food to answer, Pearl stepped in. "Now Arthur, honey, that's no way to speak to our guests!" She smiled and leaned over. "Please excuse my darling husband," she stage-whispered. "As I said earlier, we don't get many visitors to our town, and I'm afraid dear Arthur is out of practice."
       Arthur belched, and a cloud of onion smell wafted into my nostrils.
       "If I may be so bold, what sort of Odd Show do you ladies have?" Pearl dabbed the corners of her mouth with a dirty napkin.
       Tilly lit up her movie star smile, tossed her hair, and recited our practiced line. "You'll just have to come tomorrow to see, Miss Pearl."
       "Tell the others," came my line. I watched Pearl carefully. "Tell everyone in town. We're no Swindle, I guarantee."
       "We've just come from Hollywood," Tilly improvised. "Sorry to brag, but we were in a few pictures. You'll probably see them, once Hawkesville gets a real theater."
       Pearl blushed and looked at her bowl of soup. "Well, I don't know that many folks would come, even for a real Odd Show."
       "I was just wondering, actually," I said. Tilly shot me the side-eye, but I pressed on. "Where are the other townsfolk? It's been awful quiet since we arrived."
       "Notcher damn business," Arthur said around a mouthful of food.
       Pearl smiled. "A lot of our neighbors have left to head west. Times are hard around here, you know. People go looking for work, following the trails to California."
       I nodded. "So we've seen." I met Pearl's gaze and held it. "But you all stayed. Why? And who else stayed here?"
       Tilly offered up her tinkling-water laugh. "Oh Foggy, don't make these nice people think you're being rude." She gave a conspiratorial smile to Pearl. "We're not taking a census or anything."
       "So," I focused on my canned-potatoes. "Should we expect a large crowd tomorrow?"
       Arthur threw his bowl, and it shattered against a wall. Pearl jumped out of her seat so quickly she tipped her bowl over. The dregs of her soup spilled across the lacy tablecloth. Frank choked on a sob and cowered.
       "Get out of here, you nosy bitches!" Arthur stood up and held a butter knife like a weapon. "Stuck up grifters, think you're too good for us? Huh? Go around this shithole country trying to chisel honest folks out of their pennies? Huh?"
       Tilly put a hand on the gun. I watched Frank slide off his chair and crawl under the table. Pearl stood frozen, smile plastered on like this was nothing unusual.
       "We'll just be going now," I held my hands up in surrender. "We're no grifters, sir, and we certainly mean no harm. But it's too dark for us to be on the road again. We'll leave Hawkesville at first light, I promise."
       I stayed close enough to Tilly for our shoulders to touch. We took hesitant steps backwards towards the door.
       Something must have snapped in Pearl's brain because she shook her head as if from waking and walked towards us. "Well now, ladies, thank you so much for coming to dinner at my humble abode. Do sleep well, and if you need anything at all, the hotel has a phone on the first floor. Our number's Hawkesville-055. I positively can't wait to see your Odd Show tomorrow!" She kissed us each on the cheek like an old friend and opened the door.
       We were halfway down the alley when we heard the sound of more glass shattering and Arthur's shouts. I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard him holler something about taking that damn sign down, already.
       Even Tilly looked paler than usual when we got to our room. Neither of us spoke as we stripped down to our underclothes and washed our faces with gritty water from the second-floor bathroom. I fell asleep on my lumpy mattress wondering if we were still going to do our Odd Show the next day, and if so, whether or not a single soul would show up.
       In the morning, I woke up before Tilly did, as usual. I washed as best I could and slipped into my costume. The dress used to skim my curves; now it hung off me like a cloak on a skeleton. Tilly and I couldn't keep up this life for much longer.
       "Maybe we should go to California," she said by way of waking up. "That dress looks about ten sizes too big on you, Foggy."
       "You're not far from my own ideas, Tilly." The room lacked a mirror, so I had to feel for the headpiece's feather to know if it was on right or not. "Do you think they'd put us in pictures?"
       Our gazes met, and once again the unspoken question hung heavy between us: What about Charm?
       Tilly stretched and spoke first. "I'll let you know after I've had some coffee."
       "You think we're going to find coffee in this dump?"
       We rolled our stockings up and slipped our feet into high heels. Our usual shtick was to parade Charm up and down the town's main street to attract business, and then let people get in line and pay to see her up close and touch her. Ten cents to take a look, fifteen to touch her sparkling fur, a quarter to touch the horn. If you wanted a photograph with her, that was another dime. No one was allowed to ride her or even to climb onto her back -- for safety, of course.
       I hoped that Tilly had been right about folks being home and not walking the main street after dark. Since Pearl had given us dinner, we had enough money left for two more days and nights on the road if we found towns, three if we could sneak a few cans of food from the local grocery before we left.
       Charm greeted us with a pleasant whinny when we entered the stables. Tilly carefully removed the blanket and gave Charm a good brushing so her coat would glisten in the sunlight. She spit-polished Charm's spiral golden horn until it shined bright enough to hurt the eyes. I packed up Muley and strained my ears for the sounds of any townsfolk who might be making their way to Main Street for the day.
       I lead Muley out of the stable first and tied her to a hitching post by the hotel. Tilly followed, dragging Charm by the rhinestone bridle we'd made just for our shows. Charm usually loved performing. Today, though, she fought until I had to help Tilly drag that damn beast out the stable doors.
       Once outside, Charm nodded in the direction of the Daniels' house behind the hotel. We followed.
       A hissing sound came from the alley. We barely had time to acknowledge it when young Frank came slinking out, eyes darting here and there like he expected to get caught. We stopped, but Charm nosed her way to him. She went down onto her forelegs, something we'd never seen her do before.
       "Take me with you," Frank pleaded. "Please. I won't survive much more here." He rubbed around her horn in exactly the way she liked but didn't seem to know he was doing it.
       "I'm sorry, we can't," Tilly said at the same time I said, "We don't take strays."
       The faucet behind Frank's eyes turned itself on, and his face was soaking wet in a matter of seconds. "Please, you have to. You've seen my pa, you know he beats me. And my ma, she ain't right in the head no more."
       "Mr. Frank," Tilly said in her softest, most alluring voice. "We're so sorry that your daddy beats on you. Really, we are. But we simply cannot bring you with us."
       "Look." Frank turned so his back faced us. With the hesitant yet jerky movements of one in terrible pain, he lifted his shirt.
       I had expected bruises, maybe some criss-crossed lash marks. What I didn't expect were the two long, curved scars along either side of his spine, white and thick as rope.
       "Oy gevalt," I said before I could stop myself. Tilly crossed herself and whispered the name of the Holy Mother.
       Frank lowered his shirt and faced us again. "I was an Odd Show, once. Born with wings. My parents took me all over and made money from lettin' folks touch my wings or see me fly." His face flushed and he looked at his shoes. "Sometimes, if money got tight, they'd let folks do more stuff to me so long as they paid good."
       Whatever had shifted in my chest just a few moments ago now split and broke apart. I covered my mouth with my hand. We'd heard rumors of people who exploited their kids for Odd Shows. But I told myself those were rumors mongered by bitter folks who'd been chiseled by Swindle Shows. I shifted my gaze to Charm, who continued to nuzzle into Frank's hand.
       The boy continued. "We came here and the town was already half gone, 'cause of all the dead farms and no jobs. When the hotel owner left, my pa took over. Problem was, no one was passing through anymore. My ma, she started to lose her marbles. Kept saying everything was going to be just fine. Grocery had enough cans for ten lifetimes over."
       For once in my life I was at a loss for words, for what to do. Between me and Tilly, we always had an answer or a plan. Nothing we'd seen so far could have prepared us for the sight of a little boy so mutilated by his own deranged parents.
       Despite feeling Frank's next words, I still winced. "So Pa cut my wings off. If I weren't good to make money, then why bother? What if I flew away and couldn't take care of them no more? At least I could work the stables, for whatever that's worth."
       A tear pushed its way out of my eye. I put a gentle hand on Frank's shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid. We really can't--"
       "What're you doin', boy?" Arthur huffed and puffed his way out of the alley. Frank startled so hard he knocked his hand against Charm's horn. Charm pressed herself up and stood between the boy and his father. "Frank, you get your ass back home and take care of your Ma. Go on, boy! Don't make me get the belt!"
       He reached for Frank. Charm lowered her head, and in another first, she pointed her horn at Arthur like she'd run him through.
       "Boy, you listen here!" They played at cat and mouse, with Frank running circles around Charm, and Arthur always a step too slow, having to navigate a golden spike wielded by a protective beast. "If you don't go home to your ma this second I'ma give you the whippin' of a lifetime. You hear me, you good for nothin' little brat?"
       Frank peeked his head around. "Ain't nothin' worse than you cut my wings off, you beat old crumb!" He flinched as he said it.
       I reached for Tilly's hand and squeezed. She squeezed back. Her whisper was so quiet I would have missed it if I hadn't been standing so close. "California."
       I whispered back, "She was never ours."
       There was only one right thing to do now. We both knew it.
       "Frank," Tilly said. "Go."
       I laid my hand on Charm's neck, her coat soft as silk. "Goodbye, sweet Charm. We're so sorry."
       Frank pulled himself astride Charm's back. She didn't buck.
       I whispered into Charm's ear, "Shalom, chavera. L'hitrachot."
       Louder, so Frank could hear, Tilly said, "Dios te bendiga."
       Frank clicked his tongue, and that glittering unicorn with the real golden horn, who'd never had a person on her back in all her life, galloped like she knew exactly where broken Odds needed to go. Maybe someplace safe, someplace kind and soft, where they all took care of each other. By the time the dust from Charm's hooves cleared they were long gone.
       Behind us the disgusting old fart cackled, bitter and dry. "Now what you bitches gonna do?"
       Tilly shrugged a single shoulder and had to catch the strap of her dress. "Go to California, I guess."
       I headed towards Muley and made a silent vow to treat her better. "Try to make it in pictures."
       "Hey!" Arthur called out. "You cheap, chiselin' broads owe me for the night!"
       "Cabrón," Tilly muttered. Louder, she said, "I think you owe us for one less mouth to feed."
       "Now, listen here--" he began, but stopped at the sight of Tilly's pistol. "Just give me what you owe. I ain't lookin' to be chiseled by no broads."
       I fished a penny out of our pack and threw it at Arthur's feet. "There ya go, ya shaygetz pisher."
       Arthur picked up the penny while keeping his squinty eyes on us. He jerked forward, landing one wobbly leg into the ground. Tilly pulled the trigger, the bullet kicking up dust somewhere behind him. For the rest of my life I'd wonder if she meant to miss. Arthur let out a screech and ran home.
       We stopped at the grocery and loaded up as many cans as we could carry, mindful now not to overburden Muley. With this haul, we were good for three weeks at least. On the way, maybe we could sing or dance for money to get us all the way to Hollywood. Maybe people would pay us to hear the story of the real live unicorn and the flying boy she saved. Hell, those big Hollywood folks might even turn it into a picture.