“He’s a Diviner, too!” a lady shouted from the back.
“He’s a Diviner! A Diviner! A Diviner!” They were all shouting questions now, pressing closer, cheering, clapping, calling Sam’s name. A flashbulb popped, and then another. Evie put up a hand to keep the light from hurting her eyes. T. S. Woodhouse’s sneer had been replaced by an expression of surprise.
“Evie, did you know? Did you know your fella was a Diviner, too?” a society reporter asked.
A teary Evie stared at Sam. “I…”
“She’s had a shock—give her some air!” somebody shouted.
“She didn’t know,” T. S. Woodhouse said, loud and firm. He moved his hand through the air as if he were blocking out tomorrow’s big headline. “‘Seer Didn’t See This Coming for Sweetheart’!”
“‘Their Love is Diviner and Diviner!’” another reporter yelled.
The flash again. Knifepoints of white.
“Come on, Sam, put your arm around her!”
Evie had never seen Sam like this. Bewildered. Frightened. A little lost. His shirt was sweated through, and he looked ill and possibly ready to faint. She was still reeling from all the excitement, but she understood this much: Sam had done it for her. He’d risked his life to save hers. Evie slipped her arm through his, anchoring him. No one could see her gently easing the tension from his fist. No one else could see her fingers gripping his, keeping him close. The crowd swelled onto Sixth Avenue, causing a traffic jam. The policemen had given up and were redirecting traffic to the side streets. The mayor had his hands up, reassuring people, asking for calm.
Beside Evie, Sam trembled.
“I’ve got you,” Evie said. She reached over and wrapped his arm around her waist, letting him hold on to her as if she were a buoy. This pleased the people, who cheered and clapped and whistled. She could feel Sam’s pulse thumping.
“He was going to shoot you,” he whispered, dazed. “I had to stop him.”
A reporter got up in Sam’s face. “Hey, big hero! Look this way!”
Evie gave the shutterbug a push. “Leave him alone!” she growled.
“C’mon, Evie. Your fella is big news.”
“He’s not your story right now!” Evie tried to protect Sam, but there were too many people surging forward, and she lost her grasp on his fingers.
“Sam!” Evie shouted, reaching out, but the celebrating crowd had him. Strong men lifted Sam up in the air on display, moving down Sixth Avenue like a saint’s procession on feast day.
The broken soldier had come to as the police dragged him away through the streams of people, who booed and hissed and spat at him.
“They never should’ve done it,” the soldier cried over and over.
“Evie! Evie! Hey, outta my way—that’s my pal over there!”
Evie turned to see Theta running toward her, frantic. “Oh, Evil, you okay, kid?”
And with that, Evie burst into tears and let Theta hold her.
All afternoon, Evie searched for Sam. She even stopped by the museum, where she was surprised when Mabel answered the door.
“Hi, Pie Face. Is Sam here?”
“No. Do you want to wait for him?”
Over Mabel’s head, Evie spied Jericho lurking in the hallway. He saw her and walked back into the library without so much as a hello.
“No. Thank you. If you see Sam, will you tell him I’m looking for him and to call me either at the Winthrop or WGI?”
“Sure. Say, is everything all right?”
“I certainly hope so,” Evie said.