Read Page 197

“Go home, Evie. We got enough trouble here,” Sam said, directing her back toward the door.

Evie wobbled around him. “Unhand me, fiancé!”Advertisement

“I am not your fiancé. It was a publicity stunt, remember?”

“Right,” Evie said, nearly swallowing the word.

“Your engagement isn’t real?” Jericho said.

Evie peered up at Jericho and quickly averted her eyes. “I can assure you that the feelings Sam Sergei Lloyd Lubovitch has for any girl are nothin’ but an act.”

Evie stumbled a bit, and Jericho caught her. He kept his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

Mabel took it all in, a weight in her stomach. “I’ll make coffee,” she said dully and walked the long hall back to the kitchen.

“I have not missed this joint,” Evie announced as she tottered down the hall toward the library. She swilled from her flask, dribbling gin down her chin and onto the front of her dress. “Oops. The Sweetheart Seer did not see that coming.”

Sam replaced her flask with a cup. “Drink this.”

Evie turned doleful eyes to him. “Why you do this? What’d I ever do to you?” She took a sip and grimaced. “Tastes like water.”

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“It is water.”

“You know what the trouble with this water is? There’s no gin in it,” she said, shoving the cup back at him. “Say, I thought this was a party! Where is everybody?” Evie said, twirling around unsteadily. She stopped when she saw Ling. “How do you do,” she said, moving toward Ling, her hand outstretched. “I’m Evangeline O’Neill.”

“I know who you are,” Ling said.

“Evie, this is Henry’s friend Ling Chan, the other dream walker I told you about,” Theta said.

“Right. Dream walker.” Evie slapped the chair. “Ever’body an’ his uncle’s a Diviner! ’S gettin’ crowded.”

“Pipe down, Evil, or I swear I’ll deck you,” Theta said.

“We have to do it tonight. At once,” Ling warned them, steering them back to the crisis at hand.

“Tonight?” Mabel said.

“We can’t wait,” Ling said. “It has to be now, before she draws him in any deeper.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Evie asked. “’S this a party game?”

“We got ghost trouble,” Sam said. “That sleeping sickness? It’s caused by a ghost.”

Evie shook her head vehemently. “No. Not again. Can I tell you a secret? I don’t like ghosts very much. They are terrible people.”

Memphis let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

Theta’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s got Henry, Evil.”

For the first time, Evie noticed Henry lying on the Chesterfield, still and pale. “Henry. Sweet Henry.”

“We’d better get started, Freddy,” Sam said.

Jericho ripped a piece of bedsheet from part of the exhibit and painted a sign in thick letters—CANCELED—then hung it across the museum’s front doors. “Getting awfully windy out there,” he said.

“Ling, how long should I set the alarm for?” Theta asked, adjusting the clock’s arm.

“Two hours. I don’t think it’s wise to be under longer than that. And I’ll need Henry’s hat,” Ling said.

Theta put Henry’s weathered boater in Ling’s hand, then sat down beside Henry, stroking his forehead. “We’re coming for you, Hen.”

Ling began removing her braces so that she could be comfortable. She noticed Jericho watching her intently, and her cheeks flamed. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t stare.”

Jericho blanched. “It’s not what you think.”

“Infantile paralysis,” Ling said brusquely. “Since you seem so curious.”

“I know,” Jericho said, so low and quiet he could barely be heard above the thunder. He draped a blanket over Ling. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Go get our boy, Ling. Bring him back safe,” Theta said.

Ling nodded. Mabel put the clock on the table, and Ling listened to its steady tick-tock , wishing it were a comfort. She cradled Henry’s hat to her chest. With her other hand, she gripped the feather, a reminder of the battle to be fought. Then she inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and waited for the most important dream walk of her life.

Ling woke on the now familiar streets of old New York. But this part of the dream no longer had the same energy and color as before. When the wagon clopped past, it was little more than a suggestion of a man and a horse. Alfred Ely Beach’s voice ebbed in the fog: “Come… marvel… be amazed… the future…” pqdm.com