“Evangeline! Now!”
Evie closed the doors of the small office behind her. The wood thrummed with the gossiping of excited customers. “Yes, Unc?”
“What on earth are you doing?” Will demanded. He’d lit a cigarette and grabbed a handful of nuts at the same time and seemed uncertain which he should bring to his mouth first.
“I’m leading a tour.”
“I can see that. What sort of nonsense are you telling these people?”
“I am creating an atmosphere! Oh, Unc, we’ve finally got bodies in this joint! Paying bodies. We could have a good racket going here.”
“I’m not interested in a ‘racket.’ I’m an academic.”
“That’s okay, Unc. I won’t hold it against you.
“And since when do we have a gift shop?”
“Since last night. Now don’t cast a kitten—there are no precious artifacts being given away. I used your embosser and sealing wax on some tinfoil. Voilà! Instant charms.”
“That’s dishonest!”
“No, that’s business,” Evie replied. Will went to speak, but Evie silenced him with pleading hands. “Unc, when Lucky Strike sells you cigarettes, do they say, ‘We have a tobacco product in a box for you’? Why, of course not! They say, ‘Lucky Strike is the one for me!’ and they show you pictures of beautiful people in beautiful places enjoying that cigarette as if… as if they were making love!”
Will coughed out a lungful of smoke. “I beg your pardon?”
“They make you want it. You have to have it. It’s what everyone who’s simply anyone has, so you’d better get on the trolley, kiddo, or be left out. That is what I’m doing with our museum.”
“Our museum?” Will put the nuts back in the dish and took another drag on his cigarette. Then he pointed it at Evie. “You will not sell any more ‘charms.’ And stick to the facts. Do I make myself clear?”
“As you wish,” Evie said. She opened the pocket doors onto the crowd. “Right this way, if you please, folks. We’re walking to the dining room, where it’s possible that séances took place and spirits might have been conjured,” Evie said with a glance back at Will. “And while we don’t know for certain, it’s rumored that President Abe Lincoln himself may have communed with the other side at this very table.”
Will stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another.
“Ask me how much money we made today.” Evie beamed at Sam and Jericho. It was five fifty, and the last person had been pushed out only ten minutes earlier.
“How much?”
“Enough to pay the light bill and still have enough left over for a cup of tea. Well, hot water.”
“Good work, you,” Sam said.
“Good work, all of us,” Evie corrected.
The thud of the brass knocker echoed in the empty museum. Evie glanced at the clock. “It’s nearly closing time. Go away,” she said on an exhausted sigh.
“Want me to get rid of ’em?” Sam said.
“No, I’ll do it. Jericho, keep an eye on Sam near the till,” Evie teased with a wink.
Just outside, Memphis stood on the front steps of the museum, staring at the massive oak doors. Ever since Sister Walker had mentioned the story of the Diviners and Cornelius Rathbone’s sister, Liberty Anne, he’d wondered about the place. He’d wondered if this Dr. Fitzgerald might be able to shed some light on both the business with Isaiah and the strange symbol from his own dreams. Now, though, he wasn’t sure that he should have come after all. He didn’t even know these people. What could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a fool? And how did he know if he could trust them? For all he knew, the museum wasn’t even open to black folks. Acting like you haven’t got a lick of sense, Memphis chided himself, as if Aunt Octavia were nearby. He was about to turn and walk back to the subway when the massive oak doors opened and a small, doll-like white girl with blond curls and big blue eyes leaned against the door frame.
“I’m afraid the museum is closing in another ten minutes,” she said apologetically.
“Oh, I see. I’ll come back another day, then. Sorry to have bothered you.” Memphis cursed the waste of a subway fare.
“Ah, gee. Come on in. But I warn you, it’s been a long day, and I may have to take my shoes off.”
Memphis followed her into the grand, dark mansion with its wood-paneled walls and stained-glass windows. It was more like a cathedral than an old house.
“Evie O’Neill, at your service.”
“Memphis Campbell.”
“Well, Mr. Campbell, seeing as we’ve only got ten minutes, I could give you a quick peek-a-loo at the collections room, though you may have to specialize. Pick your poison—witches, ghosts, or voodoo priests?”
Memphis opened his knapsack and removed his notebook. “To tell you the truth, Miss, I read about you in the papers, and I was wondering if you might be able to tell me what this symbol means?” Memphis showed her the drawing of the eye and lightning bolt.
Evie studied it. She shook her head. “I haven’t the foggiest. I’m awfully sorry, but if you’d like to come back another day, you could look through our library and see if you can find it.”
“Thank you. I’ll do just that,” Memphis said. He was frustrated that he still had no answers. He was almost to the door when he turned back.
“Was there something else, Mr. Campbell?” Evie asked him.
“Yes. Um, no. That is, I feel a little funny asking. You see, there’s this old house up north of where I live. It’s just an old wreck of a joint, though I hear it used to be a real showplace.”
The girl was smiling at him in a patient way, like one might with a feeble-minded grandmother, and Memphis was once again struck by how ridiculous this whole enterprise was. Still, he was compelled to tell somebody, even if it was nothing more than his imagination at work and he looked like a fool for worrying about it. He fidgeted with the buckle on his knapsack.
“You see, sometimes I go up there and, well… there’s something funny about that old house lately. It almost seems lived in, and, well…” You sound like a madman, Memphis. “I was just wondering if you might have any books on Knowles’ End or know anything about it. It’s just an old wreck, so—”
“What did you say?” The girl’s eyes were wide.
“I said it’s a wreck….”
“Before that. Did you say Knowles’ End?”
“That’s the name of the house. Or it was a long time ago. Nothing but spiders and rotting boards now.”
She was looking at Memphis in a way that made him very uncomfortable. He saw that her hands were shaking. “Would you mind waiting here, Mr. Campbell? I won’t be a bootlegger’s second.”
Evie O’Neill hurried down the hall, her heels click-clacking against the dingy marble floors. As Memphis stood in the empty foyer, holding tightly to his hat, it dawned on him: What if she thought he was the Pentacle Killer?
Memphis didn’t wait for Evie to return. He slipped out the front doors and ran for blocks, slowing only when he realized that he was drawing odd looks from the white people on the street. He forced himself into a stroll, employing the charm of his smile as he walked, as if he didn’t have a care in the world even though his heart was racing. Still smiling broadly, Memphis turned a corner and walked smack into a girl. He caught her as she stumbled. “I beg your pardon, Miss!”
“Go on, beg,” the girl said in a familiar smoky voice.
Memphis grinned. His heart was racing again, but this time, it was with pure joy. “Well, if it isn’t the Creole Princess!”
“We gotta stop meeting like this, Poet,” Theta said.
Back at the museum, Evie returned with Will, Sam, and Jericho in tow to find an empty foyer and no sign of Memphis Campbell anywhere on the street.
“He was right here!” Evie said on a long exhale. “And, Unc, he was talking about Knowles’ End! Don’t you think that’s peculiar?”
“Are you sure he wasn’t a reporter?” Will asked.