A man turned slightly toward him. “Don’t see me,” Sam growled, and the man looked right through him. Sam slipped unnoticed into the crowd, lifting wallets as he went.

A gust of wind howled across the cobblestones of Doyers Street, rattling the paper lanterns of the Tea House. In the back room, the girl with the green eyes came out of her trance with a gasp.

“What is it?” the older man asked. “What did you see?”

“Nothing. I saw nothing.”

He frowned. “They told me you had the power to walk in dreams, to talk with the dead.”

She shrugged and took his money. “Maybe the dead want nothing to do with you.”

“I am an honorable man!” he yelled.

“We’ll see.”

“You are a liar! A half-breed with no honor!” the man accused. On the way out, he banged the front door so hard it shook the windows.

The young man came out of the kitchen, looking scared. “I thought you said you could keep the ghosts away.”

The girl stared out the window. “I was wrong.”

Mabel could barely study for the hubbub in the other room. Her parents were having one of their meetings. The conversation had grown more heated in the past twenty minutes, and she could tell this meeting would stretch into the wee hours.

“We do not endorse violence,” Mr. Rose said. “We are about reform, not revolution.”

“Without revolution, there can be no reform. Look at Russia,” a man with a thick accent insisted.

“Yes, look at Russia,” another said. “Chaos.”

“What about the workers? If we don’t stand together, we fall. Unity is strength.”

Mabel poked her head out to see what was happening. The room was teeming with smoke and people. Papers and pamphlets were strewn everywhere. Her mother was holding forth about the conditions at a garment factory where the women weren’t protected.

“Just like at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory,” she explained.

Mabel was startled to see a handsome young man sitting on the settee. He was looking right at her, and she was sure she recognized him from somewhere. Mabel went back to her room and crawled out onto the fire escape for some fresh, crisp air. A moment later, the handsome man crawled through the window to join her.

“Remember me?”

“From Union Square,” Mabel said as the memory came back to her. “You saved me.”

He stuck out his hand. “Arthur Brown.”

“Mabel Rose,” she said, shaking it.

His smile was wry. “I know.”

“Shouldn’t you be in there with the others?”

“They’ll just spend the next hour arguing and getting nowhere,” he said, laughing, and Mabel smiled. That was exactly how these evenings tended to go. “In the end, they’ll agree to give another speech or write an editorial in the paper. Maybe they’ll try to unionize workers on the docks or picket a business or two.”

“Isn’t that good?” Mabel asked.

“They call themselves radicals, but they’re not, really.”

“And you are, I suppose?” Mabel felt a little insulted on her parents’ behalf. “My parents have sacrificed a great deal for the good of others.”

Arthur Brown’s gaze was unyielding. “Including their daughter?”

Mabel felt the remark in her marrow. Her cheeks reddened. “That was rude.”

“Yes, it was. I’m sorry. They mean well.”

Mabel cocked her head. “But…?”

Arthur smiled in an apologetic way. “There are times when change needs a little help. There’s a group of us who want to bring about change faster. Our way. If you want to meet up with us sometime, we could use a smart girl like you.”

“I’m usually helping my parents,” Mabel said.

He nodded. “Of course. Forget I mentioned it. It doesn’t have to be a meeting. There’s a joint nearby that makes the best egg creams. You like egg creams?”

He had big brown eyes. Mabel felt a small electric thrill when she looked into them. “Doesn’t everybody?”

He reached inside his jacket and Mabel saw the outline of a gun. “Here’s my card.”

Mabel stared at the black lettering. ARTHUR BROWN.

“Is that really your name?” she asked.

He smirked. “It is now.”

Mabel shivered in the chilly air. “I should get back to my studying.”

“Pleasure, Mabel Rose.” He tipped his hat and held the window open for her before returning to the dining room and the arguing, which, Mabel knew, would go on well into the night.