Lair of Dreams

“So that’s what it takes to shut you up!” Sam joked.

“Ah will draaahhph dese on your heeaad. Ah schwearrr Ah weeeal,” Evie managed to say as she stepped onto Sam’s finger bridge and he hoisted her up. Evie grabbed hold of the window as her stockinged feet scrabbled for a hold on the slick white-tiled wall. “Saaam!”

“Hold on!” Sam stepped up into a urinal and wedged his shoulder under Evie for extra leverage.

“Naaah eenufff!” she called, slipping.

“Okay. Then I’m apologizing for this in advance,” Sam said. He placed his hands firmly on her backside, boosting her up. He was glad Evie couldn’t see his grin. “Take your time. I’m good.”

“Saaam, Ah’d kick you if Ahh were’n afraaay you drophh me.”

With a grunt, Evie scrambled through the window and landed with an audible thud on the other side.

“Evie! You jake?” Sam called.

“Yes. Fortunately, there’s a desk by the wall. Sam?”

“Yes, Mutton Chop?”

“Remind me to kick you later.”

“Will do,” Sam said. “Just don’t forget to unlock the door.”

Sam ran around front as Evie opened the door, arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture. “How nice of you to stop by. I think you’re going to love what I’ve done with the place.”

It took a few seconds for Sam’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. He wished he’d brought along a flashlight. “The dust is a nice touch.”

“Isn’t it, though? I had a decorator come in. I said, ‘I’d like something a bit Fall of the House of Usher, but less cheery.’ Honestly, where are we, Sam?”

Not much remained of whatever the U.S. Department of Paranormal had once been. Three desks. A few chairs. An oak file cabinet. Bookcase lined with begrimed volumes of large, rather dull-looking books. An American Eagle Fire Insurance calendar hung from a rusted nail on the wall, left open to April 1917. Beside it was a map of the United States dotted with thumbtacks pressed into towns in every state. Each thumbtack had been assigned a different number: 63, 12, 144, 48, 97.

“What am I looking for?” Evie called, opening and closing desk drawers, where she found nothing but dust balls.

“Anything with the words Project Buffalo on it,” Sam said, marching to the file cabinet. It was locked. “Got a hairpin?”

Evie rummaged in her purse and came up with one, and Sam slipped it into the lock and yanked open the drawer. It was empty. They were all empty.

“Dammit!” Sam punched the side of the cabinet. “Ow,” he said, shaking out his hand.

“What now? There’s nothing here,” Evie said. She and Sam stood at loose ends in the middle of the office.

“I really thought we’d found it,” Sam said quietly, and Evie could tell how disappointed he was. It meant so much to him, and this was the best clue they’d had so far. She looked around for something, anything, that might prove useful.

“Sam…?” Evie said, an idea taking shape.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you say you found that letter from Rotke in a book?” Evie nodded at the bookcase.

A flicker of hope quirked Sam’s lips. “Baby Vamp, you’re a genius.”

“Oh, Sam, you’re just saying that because it’s true.”

They dove for the large leather-bound books. Evie swept away a layer of dust. “Ugh. That’s the end of these gloves. ‘The Declaration of Independence.’ Say, I’ve heard of that,” she said. When she opened the book, she found that it had been hollowed out, the pages cut into a ragged box that held two slim glass bottles. Whatever liquid the bottles had contained had long since evaporated, but a crusted blue film remained inside.

“Booze? Perfume?” Evie opened and sniffed one, shaking her head. “Definitely not either.”

“Let’s see what’s inside The Federalist Papers,” Sam said, coughing as the dust spiraled up into his face.

“Looks like an ordinary book,” Evie said. “Not hollow. Any hidden messages?”

On a hunch, Sam turned the book upside down and shook it. Several pieces of paper fluttered to the floor. Sam picked one up. It was a rectangular card with a series of patterned holes punched into it. The other cards were the same except for the typed headings: Subject #12. Subject #48. Subject #77. Subject #12. Subject #63. Subject #144.

“Sam, what are these?” Evie said, turning one of the cards over. “Why are there all these little holes?”

“It’s code.”

“Honestly, Sam, how can this be code? They’re just holes.”

“The holes are the code. Listen, one Christmas, I worked at Macy’s—”

“As an elf?”

“Yeah. I put you down for two lumps of coal,” Sam shot back. “As a punch card operator. We kept information on sales in code. That’s what these cards are—coded files. All these little holes? Information.”

“So how do we get to see that information?”

“They hafta be read by a special machine.”

“You see one of those special machines around here?”