“Sam is strange in every way,” Jericho said, shaking his head and getting his bearings. Mabel and Will were still under, Evie noticed.
“I didn’t go anywhere. I was right here. But it’s funny. I felt really alive—like I was hitting on all sixes!” Sam scratched at his arms. “Jeepers, that smarts. Aaah! Feels like ants!”
“That could be an aftereffect of the invisibility,” Sister Walker said.
Sam left his chair to rub his back against the grizzly bear’s stiff hide. “Wait—my swell new power gives me a rash? Aww, that ain’t fair at all!”
Theta snorted, drawing Sister Walker’s eyes. Too late, Theta realized that she should have faked going under for longer. The Metaphysickometer hummed loudly as the needle shot to the other side for a second, then settled.
Sister Walker eyed her suspiciously. “Theta, have you ever experienced any abilities?”
Theta tucked her hands under her thighs in case they got the idea to heat up. “No.”
“Were either of your parents gifted?”
“I wouldn’t know. They left me on a doorstep when I was a baby.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Sister Walker said.
“Why doesn’t Sam’s power affect you, Miss Walker?” Evie asked. The others were starting to come around now, and Ling was filling them in on the breakthrough.
“Training,” Sister Walker said. “I suspect Memphis’s healing powers make him immune. As for you, Evie, it would appear that you and Sam share a special bond.”
Evie looked over at Sam, who was still scratching himself against the bear. “Swell,” she said.
Sister Walker still scrutinized Theta. “It’s possible that you have some latent power you’re only now coming into, Theta. If you could let us test you—”
“The only test I’m doing is a screen test for Vitagraph. And then it’s on to Hollywood, to one of those pretty bungalows with a lemon tree out back. They say the sun shines out there all the time, Miss Walker. I like the sun. So, please, just look after my pals and leave me out of it,” Theta said, grabbing her pocketbook. “’Scuse me. I need to powder my nose.”
Theta sneaked out to the small scrap of garden behind the museum. She unfolded the note that had been left on her makeup table back at the theater. Somebody knows.
“You ever gonna tell ’em?” Sam said from behind her.
Theta quickly stuffed the note deep into her purse. “You might warn a girl before sneaking up on her.”
“Defeats the purpose of sneaking up.” Sam folded his arms and leaned against the cold brick. “Asked you a question.”
Theta squished a mealy acorn under her shoe. “Tell ’em what?”
“About what happened down in those tunnels, how you set fire to one of those wraiths with your bare hands.” When Theta didn’t answer, Sam pleaded with her. “Theta, you got a big power. Bigger than mine. We might need it?”
“Shhh!” Theta hurried over to Sam and lowered her voice. “Whatever this disease is inside me, I just want it gone.”
“Maybe they can help you with it,” Sam tried.
“Nothing doing.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the only one of us whose powers are bad!” Theta blurted. “Makes me feel like I’m dirty or something. Like a killer.” Theta looked Sam in the eyes. She hated feeling so vulnerable. “You gonna snitch on me?”
Sam let out a long exhale. “Nah. I’m no snitch. But I really wish you’d tell the professor and Miss Walker about what you can do.”
“Yeah. Well,” Theta said sadly. “We all wish for something, don’t we?”
CHASING GHOSTS
Before heading out, Evie paused at Will’s office door. The light from his lamp bled under the crack, along with the sound of his old Victrola playing a classical record, and Evie could imagine Will staying up half the night, reading spooky ghost reports in the deepening gloom while a Chopin nocturne kept him company.
Evie knocked and poked her head in. “Mind if I come in?”
“Make yourself at home.”
“Same old Creepy Crawly,” Evie said, taking in the mess of papers and books and odd supernatural knickknacks. She picked up a book from the edge of Will’s desk and was surprised to discover it wasn’t some macabre ghost tome but Dickens. “A Tale of Two Cities?”
Will managed a fond smile. “That happens to be my favorite book.”
Evie made a face. “It’s no one’s favorite book.”
“It’s mine,” Will said on a laugh. “It reminds us that even in the midst of chaos and terror, there is the capacity for change. For a new and better society. For selflessness. I admire Sydney Carton tremendously.”
“Because you fancy yourself a hero?” Evie said. She hadn’t meant it to sound so sneering.
Will’s smile vanished. “Because I know that I’m not.”
Already, the conversation was making Evie uncomfortable. She lifted the book’s cover. The first page was inscribed, To Will with love from Rotke, Christmas 1916.
Will cleared his throat. “Do you mind?”
Evie snapped the book shut and returned it to its spot before resuming her slow circle of the room. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Do you remember a few weeks ago I had an incident on my radio show?”
“I don’t listen to the radio much,” Will said.
Evie stared in disbelief. “How can you not listen to the radio, Uncle Will? It’s 1927! Everyone listens to the radio. It’s how we live.”
Will fought another smile. “I’m as much of an artifact as everything in here. But I’m guessing you had something else to tell me.”
For the past few months, Evie had gotten used to thinking of Will as the enemy. But he was family, too. And Will knew things. Things that could be helpful. She was just going to have to risk trusting him a little bit.
“A curious thing happened,” Evie said, finally coming to rest in a button-back leather club chair that she wished she could steal for her own room at the Winthrop. “A fellow named Bob Bateman came on the show and asked me to read his friend’s comb. He said his friend had died in the war. While I was under, I did see soldiers. They were on a train. I saw the soldier who tried to shoot me—Luther Clayton? He wasn’t much older than I am now. He still had his legs and his mind was unbroken. And then I saw James on that train. Will, that comb belonged to James.”
“You’re sure?” Will asked, his face grave.
“Positive.”
Her uncle reached for his ever-present cigarette case, selecting one from inside its sardine-like hold and tamping the end against the top of his desk till the loose tobacco conformed. “How did this Bateman fellow get James’s comb?”
“Here’s where it gets stranger. I chased Bob Bateman down the street and demanded to know where he’d gotten the comb. He told me he’d been paid to say that by some men in dark suits.”
“That’s not particularly helpful. You might as well say, ‘I was paid by a man with a mustache,’” Will said, reaching for his lighter.
“I know.” Evie pushed the words out on a heavy sigh. She snapped her fingers. “Adams! That was the man’s name.”
Will fumbled with his cigarette lighter. He raked his thumb against the little wheel until the flame caught.
“Does that name mean something to you? Do you know who that is?” Evie asked.