“I know who you are,” Ling said.
“Evie, this is Henry’s friend Ling Chan, the other dream walker I told you about,” Theta said.
“Right. Dream walker.” Evie slapped the chair. “Ever’body an’ his uncle’s a Diviner! ’S gettin’ crowded.”
“Pipe down, Evil, or I swear I’ll deck you,” Theta said.
“We have to do it tonight. At once,” Ling warned them, steering them back to the crisis at hand.
“Tonight?” Mabel said.
“We can’t wait,” Ling said. “It has to be now, before she draws him in any deeper.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Evie asked. “’S this a party game?”
“We got ghost trouble,” Sam said. “That sleeping sickness? It’s caused by a ghost.”
Evie shook her head vehemently. “No. Not again. Can I tell you a secret? I don’t like ghosts very much. They are terrible people.”
Memphis let out a low whistle, shaking his head.
Theta’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s got Henry, Evil.”
For the first time, Evie noticed Henry lying on the Chesterfield, still and pale. “Henry. Sweet Henry.”
“We’d better get started, Freddy,” Sam said.
Jericho ripped a piece of bedsheet from part of the exhibit and painted a sign in thick letters—CANCELED—then hung it across the museum’s front doors. “Getting awfully windy out there,” he said.
“Ling, how long should I set the alarm for?” Theta asked, adjusting the clock’s arm.
“Two hours. I don’t think it’s wise to be under longer than that. And I’ll need Henry’s hat,” Ling said.
Theta put Henry’s weathered boater in Ling’s hand, then sat down beside Henry, stroking his forehead. “We’re coming for you, Hen.”
Ling began removing her braces so that she could be comfortable. She noticed Jericho watching her intently, and her cheeks flamed. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t stare.”
Jericho blanched. “It’s not what you think.”
“Infantile paralysis,” Ling said brusquely. “Since you seem so curious.”
“I know,” Jericho said, so low and quiet he could barely be heard above the thunder. He draped a blanket over Ling. “Comfortable?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Go get our boy, Ling. Bring him back safe,” Theta said.
Ling nodded. Mabel put the clock on the table, and Ling listened to its steady tick-tock , wishing it were a comfort. She cradled Henry’s hat to her chest. With her other hand, she gripped the feather, a reminder of the battle to be fought. Then she inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and waited for the most important dream walk of her life.
Ling woke on the now familiar streets of old New York. But this part of the dream no longer had the same energy and color as before. When the wagon clopped past, it was little more than a suggestion of a man and a horse. Alfred Ely Beach’s voice ebbed in the fog: “Come… marvel… be amazed… the future…”
The entire scene was like a worn memory fading away to nothing.
For a moment, Ling worried that she wouldn’t be able to reach Henry at all. There was a muffled cry—“Murder!”—and a few seconds later, the veiled woman sprinted past, her presence so minimal it opened just the slightest wobbling space in the wall. Ling dove in quickly after her, praying it wouldn’t close as she attempted her pass. Without Henry at her side, the walk through the ghostly underground was dark and lonely and frightening. But Ling couldn’t waver now. At last, she reached the train station. It was aglow and welcoming, as if expecting her, but Ling took no comfort from it now that she knew the source of its making. Ling plinked a key on the piano.
“Henry?” she called. “Henry? It’s Ling. I’m coming for you.”