“Evangeline!”
“They might as well know, Unc! I’m tired of keeping it a secret.” She turned back to Jericho and Sam. “I can read objects. A ring, a letter opener, a glove—they’re more than just things to me. Give me your watch and I might be able to tell you what you had for dinner… or I could tell you your deepest secrets. It just depends.” She looked to Will again. “What do you say, Unc?”
His hands behind his back, Will walked a full lap of the library. He stopped beside Evie, looking at her for an uncomfortably long time. “We will do this in a controlled manner. Do you understand?”
“Anything you say, Unc.”
“I will guide you. Do not go too far under, Evangeline. You are to remain detached. A spectator.”
“I’ll see what I can find and let go.”
“If you feel the least bit threatened, you are to drop it immediately.”
“I’m on the trolley, Unc.”
“I’m glad somebody is,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“It will become evident in just a moment,” Will answered. “Evie, come have a seat.”
Evie settled into a leather club chair.
“Comfortable?” Will asked.
“Yes.” Her heart beat quickly and her mouth was dry. She hoped she was ready for this.
“Remember, if you feel at all frightened…”
“I understand, Will,” Evie assured him.
“Will, is this safe?” Jericho asked.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Will assured him. “You may begin whenever you’re ready, Evie.”
Will placed the rabbit’s foot in her waiting hands. Evie closed her eyes and felt along the seams of it, waiting. Come on, she thought. Please… It took a few seconds for the connection, but once it was made, pictures of Gabe’s day came at her in a dizzying jumble. It was like Evie had plunged into a cold lake and was splashing her way up to the surface. “I can’t… I can’t make them out….”
“Slow down. Take your time. Breathe and concentrate,” Will instructed.
Evie’s breathing slowed. She could hear that and the gentle coursing of her blood. The earlier, inconsequential scenes of Gabriel’s day were gone. She was with him on the night-gloomy streets of Harlem. The scene had a haze to it, like a photograph not fully developed, but she could make out Gabriel walking under the El tracks, and she could feel what he felt.
“He’s angry about something….” Evie said haltingly.
“Not too close,” Will warned.
Evie took another deep breath. The street became a little less hazy as she concentrated. The flicker of distant neon, even the smell of smoke and garbage began to come alive in her mind. She heard the tread of footsteps, a strange hollow clicking.
“Someone’s following him.”
“Careful, Evie.”
“It’s gotten very foggy all of a sudden, but there’s someone there.” She saw the walking stick first, a silver thing with the head of a wolf. The man carrying it was still shrouded in shadow and mist. Gabe called out, and, hearing nothing, kept walking under the great shadow of the elevated tracks. Evie could only see what he saw. But she could hear the slow, deliberate footsteps on the street. She felt Gabe’s first stab of apprehension. And then she heard the whistling.
Evie gasped. “It’s the same song!”
“Evie, time to stop,” Will instructed, but Evie wasn’t about to stop yet. She was close. So very close.
Footsteps. Close. One, two, click. One, two, click. The stick glinted in the mist. “It’s him. He’s coming….”
“Evie. Stop,” Will commanded.
Evie clutched the rabbit’s foot tightly. The man stepped from the shadows and Evie’s pulse accelerated. “I see him!”
“Evie, stop!” Will thundered. He clapped loudly several times and the trance was broken. Evie dropped the charm and blinked, her eyes watering.
“I know him! I’ve seen him before!” Evie said.
She ran to their vast collection of notes and files, pushing aside papers until she found what she was after. Her stomach was fluttery with excitement and incomprehension. “It’s him,” she said, slapping the newspaper photograph of John Hobbes onto the table. “The man under the bridge was John Hobbes. Gabriel Johnson was murdered by a dead man.”
JUST STORIES
Will stared into the fire. His jaw was clenched.
“How is that possible, Uncle Will? How is it possible that a man who’s been dead for fifty years killed these people?”
“You saw somebody who looked like him, doll. That’s all,” Sam said.
“I know what I saw!”
“I’m telling you—it’s the power of suggestion. We’ve been all over the legend of John Hobbes. You’d seen his mug in the papers, so that was already in your mind when you went under. You supplied the killer with the first face that came to mind.”
“Will you stop staring at me, please!” Evie said to Jericho, who looked away quickly, blushing. The tiny claws of a new headache raked across Evie’s skull. “Unc, you haven’t answered my question. How could John Hobbes have killed Gabriel Johnson, and possibly all those others?”
Sam put an arm around Evie’s shoulder. “I’m telling you, baby vamp, it wasn’t him.”
“It’s him,” Will said, breaking his silence at last.
The room was quiet except for the crackling of the wood as it was consumed by fire.
“Will,” Jericho said after a moment, “you’re not honestly saying that you believe a ghost is killing these people, are you?”
“Yes,” Will said, his voice hoarse.
“I mean no insult, Professor—you’ve got a swell museum going here—but there are no such things as ghosts,” Sam said.
“Sure of that, are you?” Will turned to them. The firelight cast his face in shadows. “There are doorways between this world and the world of the supernatural. Ghosts. Demonic entities. The unexplained and undefined. The mysterious. I’ve whole books and archives dedicated to it.”
“But those are just stories people tell,” Evie said. The headache was spreading out behind her eyes.
“There is no greater power on this earth than story.” Will paced the length of the room. “People think boundaries and borders build nations. Nonsense—words do. Beliefs, declarations, constitutions—words. Stories. Myths. Lies. Promises. History.” Will grabbed the sheaf of newspaper clippings he kept in a stack on his desk. “This, and these”—he gestured to the library’s teeming shelves—“they’re a testament to the country’s rich supernatural history.”
“But, Will, you’re not just saying ghosts exist; you’re saying they can come back from the dead and kill,” Jericho said.
Will sank into his chair, but his foot tapped steadily against the floor. “I know. Impossible. They shouldn’t be able to….” he said more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ve been keeping watch.”
“Keeping watch over what?” Jericho asked.
The chair couldn’t contain him, and Will was again up and pacing. He swiped another handful of newspaper clippings from his desk on the way. “These. Ghost sightings. Supernatural activity. In the past year, it has escalated. Instead of a few reports here and there, there have been hundreds, something reported every day.”
“And you think it’s related to our case, that Naughty John has come back from the dead?” Evie sneaked a hand up to rub at her temple.
“I’m sure of it,” Will said. “The question is not whether John Hobbes has come back from the dead, but how and why.”
“Ghosts exist. Ghosts are real,” Evie whispered like a mantra. She looked up and saw Jericho staring at her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Jericho said, again looking away quickly.
Will gave in and reached for a cigarette. He took several puffs before speaking again. “The parts of the body,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “I think he needs to ingest them to become stronger. More corporeal. Spirit made flesh. A perversion of transubstantiation. He’s getting stronger with each killing. He’s very strong now. Soon, he’ll be unstoppable.”
Evie shuddered just thinking about it. “And then?”
“Armageddon. Literal hell on earth.”