“That’s my name. You sure acting funny,” Isaiah said, stretching. “I’m thirsty.”
His brother was healed. He was healed, and Memphis had done it. His palms still tingled from the touch. He hadn’t lost the gift; it was back. Memphis gathered Isaiah up into his arms, crying.
“Whatsa matter?
“Nothing. Nothing, little man. Everything’s just fine now.”
“I’m still thirsty.”
“I’ll get you something to drink. Stay right here. Don’t go nowhere.”
“Anywhere,” Isaiah corrected sleepily.
“That, too.”
Memphis ran to the kitchen and stuck a glass under the tap, willing it to fill faster. “Thank you,” he said, though he didn’t know who he was saying it to, or why. He turned off the water and hurried back to Isaiah’s side.
Outside the kitchen window, lightning crackled high in the clouds. The crow looked on in silence.
THE COMING STORM
Evie, Theta, and Mabel walked out into the clear, crisp afternoon. It was a bright, cloudless day; the air felt newly born, and Evie had a hankering for a new hat. It had been four days since she’d faced down John Hobbes, the Beast, in that small room. Four days since she’d trapped his soul in her most sacred relic and let it go in order to save them all. Even now, her hand went to her bare neck under her scarf, wishing for the weight of it. She’d not had a single dream since, but she tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about any of it. She and Uncle Will had barely spoken of that night. He seemed even more remote than before, cloistered away with his books and newspaper clippings till he was almost a ghost himself. Later, she would ask him about the Diviners. She would ask him how she would know if there were others like her, and how she could make her power stronger, more within her control. There was so much Evie wanted to know. But that could all wait. For now, she, Mabel, and Theta were on the trolley, headed to a hat shop Theta knew about, where Evie intended to buy a new cloche with a ribbon tied into an elaborate bow to signal that she was single and quite available. This was their city. This was their time. She’d promised Mabel they’d make the most of it, and she intended to fulfill that promise at last.
The trolley idled at a light and just before it moved again Sam hopped on the outside, holding fast to the bars at Evie’s shoulder.
“Hiya, ladies,” he said.
“Sam! Let go!” Evie scolded.
Sam peered behind him at the rapidly moving street. “Seems like a bad idea.”
“I’m still amazed they let you out of the Tombs.”
“Chalk it up to my charm, sister. I did manage to make off with some handcuffs, though.” His smile suggested something naughty and Evie rolled her eyes.
“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone for a few days,” he told her.
“I’ll wear a black veil and cry all night.”
Theta and Mabel giggled and looked away.
“You’ll miss me. I know you will, sister.” He gave her one of those wolfish grins.
“Hey!” the conductor called. “Get down from there!”
“Sam, you’re going to get in trouble!”
Sam grinned. “Aw, baby, I thought you loved trouble.”
“Will you get down before you kill yourself?”
“Broken up about my well-being?”
“Get. Down.”
Sam leaped from the trolley, nearly upending a woman pushing a pram. “Sorry, ma’am.” He brushed his hands clean and shouted after them, “One day, Evie O’Neill, you’re gonna fall head over heels for me!”
“Don’t hold your breath!” Evie shouted back.
Sam mimed an arrow through the heart and fell down. Evie laughed in spite of herself. “Idiot.”
Theta’s eyebrow inched up. “That boy’s got it bad for you, Evil.”
Evie rolled her eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. It has nothing to do with me. That boy only wants what he can’t have.”
Theta looked out at the bright lights of Broadway, winking into existence against the dusk. “Don’t we all?”
By the time Evie reached the museum, it was dark and the day’s last visitors had gone. Humming a tune she’d heard on the radio, she dropped her scarf, coat, and pocketbook on a chair and made her way to the library. The doors were slightly ajar, and an unfamiliar woman’s voice came through the crack.
“The storm’s coming, Will. Whether you’re ready or not, it’s coming.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Will said. He sounded tense.
“Do you really think this was an isolated occurrence? You read the papers like I do. You’ve seen the signs.”
The conversation grew hushed and Evie edged closer to try to hear.
“I told you then that it would come to no good.”
“I tried, Margaret. You know that.”
They must have moved; the sound became muffled and Evie could make out only bits and pieces: “Safe haven.” “Diviners.” “Going to be needed.”
Evie leaned closer, straining to hear.
“What about your niece? You know what she is. You have to get her ready. Prepare her.”
Evie’s heartbeat quickened.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You have to tell her, or I will.”
Unable to bear it, Evie burst into the room. “Tell me what?”
“Evie!” Will dropped his cigarettes. “This is a private conversation.”
“I heard you talking about me.” Evie turned to the tall, imposing woman standing at Will’s desk. It was the same woman who’d come calling nearly two weeks ago, the one who’d left her card. The one Will pretended not to know. “What isn’t he telling me?”
“Miss Walker was just leaving.” Will glanced in warning at the woman, who shook her head slowly—in resignation or disapproval, Evie couldn’t be sure.
“I expect I was.” The woman secured her hat. “I’ll see myself out, thank you. Storm’s coming, Will, whether you’re ready or not,” she said to him again and marched out of the library in her regal way.
Evie waited until she heard the quick snap of the woman’s heels on the marble tile outside, then she turned on Will. “Who is that woman?”
“None of your concern.”
Will lit one of his cigarettes and Evie snatched it from his fingers, furiously stubbing it out in an ashtray.
“But she was talking about me! I want to know why,” Evie demanded. “And you said you didn’t know her before!”
For a moment, Will hesitated at the desk, looking utterly lost. Then that scholarly cool washed over him and he was the unimpeachable Will Fitzgerald again. He pretended to adjust the objects on his desk into some phony semblance of order. “Evie, I’ve been thinking. It might be best if you were to go back to Ohio.”
Evie reeled as if she’d been punched. “What? But Unc, you promised me—”
“That you could stay for a while. Evie, I’m an old bachelor, set in my ways. I’m not equipped to look after a girl—”
“I’m seventeen!” she yelled.
“Still.”
“You couldn’t have solved this case without me.”
“I know that. And I’m trying to forgive myself for getting you involved.” Will sank into a chair. He wasn’t used to sitting still, and he seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands, resting them at last on the arms of the chair as if he were Lincoln posing for the memorial.
“But… why?” Evie said. She stood pathetically before him like a schoolgirl begging the headmaster for another chance. She hated herself for it.
“Because…” Will began. “Because it isn’t safe here.”
Evie could feel that she was on the verge of angry tears. Her voice quavered. “Why won’t you tell me what’s happening?”
“You have to trust me on this, Evie: The less you know, the better. It’s for your own good.”
“I’m tired of everyone deciding what’s for my own good!”
“There are certain people in this world, Evie. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
Tears beaded along Evie’s mascaraed lashes. “You promised I could stay.”