Evie walked all the way back to the Winthrop to try to clear her head. At a newsstand, she bought the late-edition Daily News, frowning at a flattering front-page article about Sarah Snow and how she would be giving the opening prayer at Jake Marlowe’s Future of America Exhibition, complete with a great quote from Mr. Phillips about Sarah being “WGI’s brightest star!”
“I thought I was WGI’s brightest star,” Evie grumbled. And then, on page seven—seven!—was a tiny article by Woody about the Diviners banishing a ghost from a warehouse on the West Side.
“Say, aren’t you the Sweetheart Seer?”
Evie looked up to see a smart-set couple, all long pearls and spats, walking a wiry terrier.
She brightened. “That’s right!”
“There’s a ghost—save me! Save me!” The man burst out laughing.
“That isn’t funny,” Evie said. It felt like being slapped.
“Come now. It’s all a publicity stunt, isn’t it? You and your phony friends. Your days are numbered,” the man sneered.
“She used to be so delightful on the radio. Now she’s just a real wet blanket,” the woman agreed as they went on their way.
By the time Evie reached the Winthrop, her misery was a fully fleshed companion. She’d thought that hunting down ghosts and getting rid of them would’ve made the Diviners the talk of the town, welcome at every nightclub and swank hotel. She’d thought the citizens of New York would be grateful. But more and more, they were laughing at Evie and her friends. The Diviners were becoming a city joke. And they still had no answers about the Eye or Conor.
Evie picked up the phone to call Uncle Will. Then she thought about what Henry had told her, about James being in some sort of terrible place, and she slammed it down again. She was cheered to see that Jericho had mailed her a letter. She sliced it open with a fingernail, hoping she hadn’t ruined a perfectly good manicure, and read:
Dear Evie,
I hope this letter finds you well. Spring is trying to arrive here. I believe I saw a brave daffodil poking its yellow head up from the cold ground today. You would love the estate and all its furnishings. As a matter of fact, I saw an old antique that might interest you, Buffalo Gal. I know how you’ve been looking for just such a piece for your new home, and I know how you love to take on a Project. Perhaps you can come get a read on it and tell me if it’s of value?
Mr. Marlowe invites you and Ling Chan to his estate this Friday to stay the weekend. He’ll send a car to meet your train. I’m sure you’d love it here. It’s very beautiful. Say hello to the others for me.
Fondly,
Jericho
Evie fell back on the bed, smiling her first smile of the day. At least one thing was going right. They could finally get those cards read. And Jericho. She would see Jericho.
ALWAYS WATCHING
Theta couldn’t sleep. When she shut her eyes, she thought of Memphis. She missed him so much it felt as if she’d been emptied. As if she’d been abandoned on the church steps once more. And soon, she’d have to answer to Roy as well.
Archibald jumped up on the bed and pressed his whiskered face into hers. She kissed his furry head. “What am I gonna do about this mess, pal?” she asked the cat as he purred.
Theta poured Archibald a saucer of milk. There was a knock at her door. Theta tensed: What if it was Roy? What if he’d smooth-talked his way past the doorman like she knew he could do?
Theta opened the door to a distraught Miss Addie.
“I… I can’t find it. I can’t find my apartment,” Miss Addie said, running a trembling hand through her loose gray hair.
“Come on,” Theta said, throwing on a robe. “I’ll take you back.”
It was heartbreaking, Theta thought, the way Miss Addie could be so clear about some things and then her mind would lock up and she’d sit blinking out the window at the day, getting frustrated or angry or silent. Theta had been making a habit of stopping in to see the Proctor sisters each evening. She liked the way they took care of her, liked listening to their tales of days gone by—A great big steam train… Well, by the time I arrived at Aunt Martha’s that pink dress was coated in coal dust—but the tales that thrilled her the most were their stories of the paranormal. They told her about the charms they’d made—this one is for strong blood and this is for good sleep—the babies they had helped midwife back in Virginia, the spells they’d cast: for love, for courage, for safe passage both in life and in death. About the ways of salt and sage, of candles and earth, of clapping and bells.
But what is most important is intention, Miss Addie had cautioned. You must work always to understand your own heart so that it cannot be used against you. Know yourself here and here, she’d said, pressing the tip of her gnarled finger just above Theta’s heart and then to her forehead.
As they waited now for the elevator, Miss Addie suddenly stiffened. “He’s here,” she whimpered. “Oh, we must hurry! There’s not a moment to waste!”
They rode the elevator to the Bennington’s crumbling basement and stepped out into the gloom. Theta jumped as the golden doors closed behind them and the elevator rattled back up. It was very dark. The only light came from the weak glow of street lamps leaking through the high clerestory windows. Theta toggled the light switches but they didn’t work.
“I don’t think we should be down here, Miss Addie,” Theta warned.
“My salt!” Addie said, reaching into her pockets and coming up empty-handed.
Theta pressed the button for the elevator. “It’s okay, Miss Addie. Let’s go back upstairs and have tea. There’s nobody…”
Theta strained, listening. There it was—a shuffling, scraping noise somewhere deep in the basement. Mice, she told herself. Because lies were the only defense she had. Even though her heartbeat said otherwise. So did the gooseflesh rising up the center of her back. She’d just detected a smell. Rot. Decay. Death.
Theta pressed the elevator button repeatedly. The elevator sat at the tenth floor as if she hadn’t called for it at all. “Miss Addie, let’s get out of here. We’ll take the stairs.”
Miss Addie mumbled incantations under her breath, stopping short as one word whispered out of the darkness like a long-held desire: “Adelaide…”
“Wh-what was that?” Theta asked. Her knees buckled slightly. Her mouth was dry as sawdust.
“It’s him,” Miss Addie said, terrified. “It’s Elijah.”
The basement suddenly seemed enormous and too small at once. The shuffling grew louder until Theta wanted to scream. In the dark, she made out a tall figure, coming closer. The figure stepped into a shaft of street light. Theta gasped. Elijah might have been handsome in life. In death, he was a hideous specter. Maggots crawled from the wounds on his body and fell to the basement floor with a plop. His Confederate uniform was eaten through with rot, the few remaining buttons tarnished. His face was skeletal, half of his cheek eaten away so that Theta could see through to the teeth inside, the black drool dripping from the sides of his cracked, pale lips. Monster, she thought.
He spoke: “You did this to me, Addie. You brought me back.…”
“I didn’t mean to,” Miss Addie whispered. “I loved you so.”