It dawned on her that this was the first real, in-depth conversation she and Memphis had ever had. Sometimes it seemed as if he lived a world away, uptown in a place she barely knew, far removed from the narrow streets of Chinatown. She liked Memphis. There was so much she wanted to ask him, about their powers. About healing. About his life. She hoped they’d survive this terrible night and she’d get the chance.
Memphis risked a look out. The corridor was clear. No ghosts, no fog. “Find the others?” he asked.
Ling nodded. “And it’s ducks first,” she said definitively.
Sam and Evie had run after Conor, who had led them on a chase down into a basement of dark corners and low ceilings.
“You see him?” Sam asked as they peeked around a noisy boiler.
“Huh-uh. And I don’t like basements. Nothing good happens in basements. That’s where one-toothed murderers always live,” Evie whispered. “In basements.”
“Well, my mother used to put pickled herring in our basement,” Sam said, inching forward.
“See what I mean? If it’s not ghosts and one-toothed murderers, it’s pickled herring.”
“Maybe we should let him take his chances and go back upstairs with the others. Frankly, I’m not so sure I wanna be alone in a basement with Conor Flynn, the priest murderer.”
“Just one more minute, please? I’m worried about him,” Evie said.
“Okay, Baby Vamp. Okay.”
The basement was dank and smelled of the river. Several empty stretchers lined the hallway, and Evie shuddered to think of what could be hiding under those wadded sheets. Just keep walking, she told herself. Off to the right was the plunge bath cut into the floor. Water pushed inside and sluiced up the walls in violent spasms. The lights weren’t working. The storm had seen to that. There was a washroom, and Evie realized rather suddenly that she had to go.
“Stay right here. I need to iron my shoelaces,” Evie said.
“Now?”
“Sam. I need to go!”
“Fine. But could you be quick about it? Creepy down here.”
“I wasn’t planning to write epic poetry,” Evie grumbled, and shut the door behind her.
Sam leaned against the cold brick to wait. “Swell. If it ain’t ghosts, it’s weak bladders.”
There was a thud and a crash. Sam’s heartbeat quickened. He didn’t want to leave his post outside the washroom with Evie inside, but he needed to know what might be down there with them. Cautiously, he crept through the dark basement, blinking to let his eyes adjust. He heard a faint mewling off to his right. Stray cat? No. More like soft crying.
Sam peered around the corner. Conor sat on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. Sam was light-headed with relief.
“Conor. Hey. We, uh, we were looking for you,” Sam said, strolling over and taking a seat next to the boy.
Conor turned his face away, and Sam had the idea the kid would be embarrassed if Sam mentioned the crying, even though he shouldn’t be.
“I was wondering if you could tell me more about the lady in your head. About Miriam,” Sam said.
Conor sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “She started talking to me ’bout a month ago. She tol’ me how to keep the ghosts and the man in the hat out of my thoughts with my counting. And I can always feel when it’s not right and I gotta count. No sixes, though. I can’t land on a six. Sixes are bad,” Conor whispered.
“Got it. Sixes are bad. This lady say where she might be?” Sam asked.
Conor nodded vigorously. “She says they keep her underground where her powers don’t work as good. But they don’t know that she’s been working on getting stronger. They don’t know that. She says if she can get aboveground, she can talk to all the Diviners.”
Sam’s head was spinning. Could Conor really be talking to his mother? Was it the same Miriam? He didn’t want to hope, but he couldn’t help it. A lump had formed in his throat.
“You’re sad,” Conor said.
“No. No, I’m not.”
“You’re sad and you’re lying about it.”
“Everybody lies. It’s how we get along in this world. I don’t talk about sad things,” Sam said, irritated, then felt bad for it. “So where is this underground place where Miriam lives?”
“Dunno.” Conor fell silent. He tore at his cuticles. They were raw, all of them, as if he picked at them daily. “I ain’t seen my own ma in years.”
“Oh. What about your pop?”
“Ain’t seen him since I was five. No matter. ’Fore he left, he used to beat me wit’ whatever was around.”
Sam flinched. His old man had a temper, but he’d never once hit Sam. Mostly, his father was stubborn and sure he was right. He liked things to go his way. Who didn’t? But Sam remembered other things about him, too, like the time his father had taught him Torah and helped him learn to ride a bicycle. Sam hadn’t called or written his father in a year. Now he had the sudden urge to do that. Maybe his old man would bellow at him to give up on his mission to find his mother and Sam would hang up the telephone, angry and disappointed to be right. But maybe not.
“I’m bad. I’m wicked,” Conor said, and chewed at his cuticles.
“You’re not bad,” Sam said, even though Conor had murdered a priest, which seemed like the very definition of wicked.
“They want me to be sorry ’bout how I done Father Hanlon, but I ain’t. He shouldn’ta tried to take Jimmy for ice cream.”
Cold fear trickled through Sam. He was alone with a boy who, Diviner or not, was capable of murder. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I didn’t want him to do to Jimmy what he done to me,” he mumbled.
“What did Father Hanlon do to you?”
Conor put his thumb in his mouth, chewing at the damaged skin along his nail bed. He twirled a section of his hair, tugging hard, as if he could make himself come apart and disappear. His voice was thick with unshed tears. “He tol’ me nobody would believe me. His word against mine, an’ he was a priest. Who’d take the word of a street kid over a priest?”
The full horror of it rose up from Sam’s stomach. He struggled to catch his breath. “So, you tried to stop him from hurting anybody else?”
Conor nodded.
“I understand. You’re not wicked, kid. Somebody is, but it ain’t you.”
The washroom door creaked open and slammed.
“Baby Vamp, stealthy you are not,” Sam muttered. “Wait here,” he said to Conor. Sam ventured back out into the dark, open basement, but he didn’t see Evie. There was a tap on his shoulder, and Sam yelped and whirled around to see Evie right behind him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Sheba,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “You nearly scared me half to death.”
“I’m so cold,” Evie said.
“Yeah. It’s freezing down here.”
“Warm me up?” Evie asked, biting her lip on a smile.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “This is a bad time to be pulling my leg, Sheba. We’ve got ghosts to figure out.”
Evie drew closer to Sam. “What if I’m not pulling your leg? What if I’ve missed you?”
“I’ve missed you, too,” Sam said, confused. “Wait. On the level?”
Evie smiled. “Mm-hmm. But I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”
“Me not want to be with you?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding?”