“We don’t have long.”
The house felt different to her. She struggled to pinpoint what, exactly, had changed. Alive. Awake. Ready. Those were the words that came to mind, as if the house were a living organism, a great womb on the verge of some terrible birth. The beam of her light skimmed over the moldy wallpaper. The walls were slick with condensation. Sweat dripped down Evie’s back as well. The chill of her last visit had been replaced by an almost stifling heat. She opened a door and found only a shallow closet. The inside of the closet door was damp. They tried other doors and found a bedroom, an office, and a water closet.
“Why can’t we find it?” Evie asked. “I don’t understand why I can’t find the entrance. It was here before. It’s almost…” It’s almost as if the house is hiding it from us, she’d started to say. “Let’s keep looking. I’m sure I must be remembering it wrong. There’s a parlor to the right.”
They came to it, but the parlor’s pocket doors were closed. “These were open before.”
With effort, they slid them open. Jericho’s flashlight moved slowly around the room. But it was different, too. The sheets had been removed from the furniture.
“It wasn’t this way before,” Evie whispered.
“It’s like it was expecting us,” Jericho said quietly.
“Why did you say ‘it’?” Evie asked. Jericho didn’t answer, but they were both feeling it—the house. The house was waiting.
Evie’s flashlight beam crawled across the walls. They seemed to bow outward just slightly. Like lungs, breathing, she thought, and then chased the thought away. It was hard to see anything in the gloom. Her beam traveled to the broken mirror, blinding her with the reflection. She blinked, and in the afterimage she could swear she’d seen somber, ghostly faces. Gasping, she swung the light around, but there was nothing behind her. The house groaned and creaked.
“I don’t like this,” Jericho said.
“What choice do we have? If we don’t stop him now, tonight, he’ll manifest fully. And then we can’t fight him.”
“But we don’t have the pendant anymore. How are we…” He lowered his voice, as if the house might be listening. “How are we going to bind his spirit?”
“We’ll find something else,” Evie whispered back. “Or we’ll burn this place down if we have to.”
Jericho moved his hand up and down. “Do you see that light?” He followed the thin beam to a rosette carved into the fireplace. “I think there might be something behind this.” He put his face close, trying to see.
“Jericho, don’t!” Evie called suddenly.
A gust of dusty air blew into Jericho’s face. He coughed and sputtered and waved it away. It had a sickeningly sweet smell, like dying flowers. Jericho blinked and shook his head.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Fine,” he said, but his voice shook.
The fireplace flared to life, and Evie and Jericho both jumped.
“He knows we’re here,” Evie whispered.
“How can he know that?”
“I think… I think the house is telling him. We have to hurry. What time is it?”
Jericho checked his watch again. “Eleven twenty.”
“You said that last time I asked.”
Jericho moved his watch into the beam of Evie’s flashlight again. The second hand wasn’t moving. “It’s not working. It was working fine before we…”
Entered the house. He didn’t need to say it.
“I don’t like this,” Jericho whispered, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. He was a bit glassy-eyed, and Evie wished that he had his full strength. “You think that whatever is keeping his spirit alive is hidden somewhere inside this house?”
Evie nodded.
“Then I say we waste no time. Let’s burn it. Burn it and run.”
The wind gusted against the house and it groaned. Will had been very clear that they needed to dispatch the ghost of John Hobbes on his own terms: They should bind him to the pendant and burn it. But the police had the pendant, and Will was in custody. It was up to Evie and Jericho.
“Burn it and run,” Evie agreed. She grabbed one can of kerosene. There was an awful lot of house to cover. “We have to destroy it utterly. I’ll take the upstairs. You work down here.”
Jericho shook his head. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Jericho, be reasonable.”
“No. We stay together.”
“Let’s get to work, then.”
They moved quickly from room to room, splashing kerosene over anything that might burn. Evie crept up into the attic room that had once belonged to Ida Knowles. Through a crack in the boards nailed to the window, she could see the city in the distance. People were out there, reveling, dancing, celebrating the comet’s return, with no idea what it signified. From downstairs came the faint, dull thrum of music. It sounded vaguely like voices raised in the singing of a hymn. She motioned Jericho to stop sloshing the kerosene and stand still, but she no longer heard it.
“Let’s hurry,” she said. As they came down the stairs, one gave way, and Jericho nearly plummeted through. Evie had to yank him back to his feet. They returned to the ballroom and Evie gasped. The chairs had been arranged in a circle, as they had been at Brethren.
“Jericho,” Evie whispered, backing out of the room.
“Naughty John, Naughty John does his work with his apron on,” Jericho sang and laughed.
“Jericho, that isn’t funny.”
He had the strangest smile. “Do you hear that music?”
Evie cocked her head, listening, but this time she heard nothing but the groans and creaks of the old house. “No.”
“It’s like a party!” Jericho smiled happily. “Let’s dance. You love to dance, don’t you, Evie?” He swept her into his arms, turning her around so quickly she felt dizzy.
“Jericho, what’s the matter with you?” Evie said, and then she remembered: the puff of dust from the rosette. The powerful plants the Brethren used to make their wine and smoke. Jericho was under its effects now.
“I’ve always wanted to dance with you,” he murmured, nuzzling his face against her neck. “I’ve watched you, you know. When you didn’t think anyone was looking.” He brought his mouth to her ear. His breath was warm; it made her skin tingle. “I’ve thought about you, late at night. So many nights…”
She had to get him out of the house; that was the thing. She’d misjudged this place. It was a coconspirator, every bit as formidable as John Hobbes. It would do anything to protect him. “And dance we will,” Evie said, pushing away from Jericho. “But not here.”
“Yes. Here,” he said, pulling her close again, pressing her against him. The walls sighed, she could swear, and from somewhere came a dreadful cackling.
“I know a better spot! This way,” Evie said, dragging Jericho toward the kitchen. She had to get him out the door, out into the fresh air. Then she could toss a lit match into the house and run with Jericho as far away as they could get.
“Where are you taking me?” Jericho asked dreamily.
“Almost there,” Evie said, and though she tried to sound offhand, her voice shook. As if it could sense her plan, the door slammed shut.
“No!” Evie pulled on the handle, turning it wildly, but it wouldn’t budge, not even when she threw herself against the door again and again. They were trapped. The house would not let them go.
Jericho held out his hand. “Dance with me,” he said hoarsely.
“Jericho, we have to leave. Now. Do you understand?”
“I only understand that I want you.”