As promised, Bill gathered his things and left without saying good-bye to Isaiah. Out on the stoop, under the porch light, Bill already seemed years younger. “I know you don’t wanna hear from me. But you gotta watch out for them Shadow Men. Don’t you let ’em even know about what you and Isaiah can do. Keep yourselves real quiet, understand? You don’t want them coming after you or your friends.”
“I can look out for Isaiah and me,” Memphis said, shutting the door in Bill’s face. He slipped into the bedroom he shared with his little brother and took off his shoes.
Isaiah stirred. “Thought I heard Uncle Bill leaving.”
“Thought you were asleep,” Memphis said, peeling off his socks and garters.
“Did he go?”
“Yes.”
“How come?”
Memphis took a breath. “Just had to. That’s all.”
“Where’s he going?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. He’s not family.”
“Is to me,” Isaiah said sulkily.
“Well, he’s not. I’m your family. Me and Auntie.”
“Didn’t he like living with us? With me?” Isaiah asked. He rolled over to look at Memphis. His eyes shone with tears.
Memphis’s heart ached. His brother had lost so much in his short life. And now Memphis was taking away someone Isaiah had come to love and trust. Well, the world was full of people and things you thought you could trust, and that trust gave you a black eye for it. Just because Mr. Conrad, who ran the five-and-dime, smiled and gave Isaiah a penny candy when they came to shop didn’t mean that the same Mr. Conrad would open his door to them if they were in trouble. Just because you loved somebody with your entire soul didn’t mean they wouldn’t break your heart. And just because somebody loved you didn’t mean they’d be able to stop themselves from hurting you to get what they wanted. Day by day and ghost by ghost, it was getting harder for Memphis to hold on to hope and faith in the goodness of people. But he wouldn’t take that from Isaiah.
“It’s not about you. Just something that had to happen,” Memphis said hollowly.
“Like Mama,” Isaiah said, and Memphis’s heart felt like it would burst.
“Is Mama in heaven? Is there a heaven, Memphis?”
Once, Memphis would have answered yes. No question, no doubt. But he was no longer quite so sure. Of anything. Even the idea of a heaven made him a little angry. Why place his faith in some peaceful, distant country when the one they lived in needed so much work right here and now?
Ling believed in the beautiful universe. In the hallelujah glory of atoms transforming, exploding, and becoming something new. Sister Walker had believed in fighting for justice. Henry had his music. Sam, his mission to find his mother. Mabel fought for the rights of workers. Even Evie believed in something, that something being Evie a lot of the time.
Memphis laced his fingers through his brother’s smaller, softer ones. “Little man, I believe in this right here. I got you. You got me. We got us.”
Isaiah broke into a rapturous, slightly embarrassed grin that warmed Memphis through. That was it, then. Memphis believed in the hope and love shining out from his brother’s eyes. That was the greater power he wanted right there. He’d believe in that love; he’d fight for that hope.
Isaiah yawned and rolled to face the wall. “Tell me a story.”
Memphis hugged his brother close. “Once upon a time, there were two brothers, and nothing in this world or the next could tear them apart.…”
Memphis talked until his brother snored softly. For the first time in ages, truth came down inside Memphis, and he sat with his notebook to try to capture it.
THE VOICE OF TOMORROW
America, America, will you listen to the story of you?
You bruised mountains, purpled by majesty.
You shining seas that refuse to see.
You, haunted by ghosts of dreams,
From the many, one; the one, many.
I am in you and of you, America.
You of amber waving grain, shining
Like fool’s gold in a plentiful river.
I am the dream coming, yes,
The Voice of Tomorrow
Ringing in freedom’s ear.
Do you hear it now?
Calling, calling, all:
Listen, America—
I am the story.
I am you.
I am.
Memphis’s pencil rested. He folded up his poem and stuck it in an envelope. On the front, he wrote, Attention: Mr. W. E. B. DuBois. The Crisis. And though it was the middle of the night, he mailed it in.
It was almost tomorrow, after all.
The moon smiled down on the bright skyscrapers, full of promise. It shone on the graveyards, where the restless spirits rose up, hungry and full of rage. It hovered above the houses where the ghosts prowled, getting closer to the people. It followed the brown sedan as it prowled the city streets, looking for Diviners.
The phone was ringing in Evie’s suite when she entered, and Evie grinned when she heard Jericho’s voice on the line.
“Is this the famous Sweetheart Seer?” he said. His voice had deepened. It did things to her stomach.
“Two shows a week. Don’t touch that dial,” Evie purred.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Evie lay back on the bed, picturing Jericho’s face the way he looked when he was thinking about something and the light caught the edge of his face like a fire. “How is life upstate? I’ll bet you sit by the fire with wolfhounds at your feet now. Tell me the truth: Are you wearing an ascot?”
Jericho laughed. It was a hearty laugh, surprising for Jericho, and it made Evie grin like mad. “No ascot. No wolfhounds. But I’ll be sure to ask Marlowe if I can have both. I can see that I have a reputation to uphold.”
Evie giggled. Flirting. He was flirting? This was a new Jericho. He sounded happier, and she was glad. Going with Marlowe had obviously been the right thing to do, no matter how much Evie disliked him. She wanted to tell Jericho everything that had been going on since he left, but she wasn’t sure if anyone might be listening in. After all, she knew Jericho’s letters were read before they were sent. So instead, they talked of spring coming and made jokes. Evie felt lighter than she had in some time. She ached to see him.
“Is everything really okay there?” Jericho said suddenly.
“Yes, fine,” Evie said. She didn’t want to worry him. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“That would be nice. Seeing you, that is,” Jericho said, making Evie’s face go warm. “And I hope to have news for you about that antique you were curious about. Nothing to report yet.” And then: “I miss you. I wish you were here. It’s lonely without you.”
I miss you. So simple and honest that it took Evie’s breath away. That was the thing about Jericho that made him different: He was not cynical or guarded. He did not play games.
“I miss you, too.”
“Be careful, won’t you?”
“I will,” Evie said. “Give my regards to the wolfhounds.”
“I’ll name one Evie. It will, naturally, be my favorite.”
His favorite. Evie bit her lip to keep the smile from taking over her face.
“What’s wrong with you?” Theta asked when she returned to Evie’s room with ice. “You look like you swallowed a whole Mary Pickford movie.”
“Jericho,” Evie said on a sigh.
Theta shook her head, sighing. “Evil. Your romances are like a tennis match—Sam one day, Jericho the next. I can’t keep up.” Theta settled the ice bucket on the dresser and took out her flask. “Here. Ice. We’re making Poor Man’s Manhattans.”