Lair of Dreams

“If you wait a minute, you can ride with me to the radio show. We could all go together, like real swells!”


“Sorry, Evil. I hafta go back to rehearsal,” Theta said.

“Mabesie?”

For the past two months, Mabel had tried to ignore the changes in Evie. The way she now said eye-ther instead of eee-ther. The way she greeted people she hardly knew with a drawn-out daaahling. The way she always seemed to have time for parties and dates and her new glamorous pals, but not for Mabel. But this was too much. Weren’t she and Evie best friends? Shouldn’t a girl share the news of her engagement with her best friend first?

Mabel’s conscience told her that she should go and cheer Evie on. But she was angry and deeply hurt, and she didn’t think she could tolerate being just one of the faceless crowd again.

“Sorry. I’m not available,” Mabel said, turning on her heel. “I’ll get the elevator, Theta.”

“I’ll be right there, kid. I gotta powder my nose first.” Theta waited until Mabel was down the hall, then cornered Evie. “Evil, are you really marrying Sam Lloyd?”

“It’s in all the papers, isn’t it?” Evie said. It wasn’t precisely lying.

Theta’s eyes searched Evie’s for an uncomfortable second. “You break the news to Jericho about your engagement?”

“Why would I?” Evie said, looking away.

“Just a hunch, but I don’t think he’s gonna take it well.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Theta patted Evie’s face. “Keep telling yourself that.”





When Jericho opened the day’s paper, he had to read the headline four times before it finally sank in: Evie was marrying Sam Lloyd. Sam “A Girl in Every Port” Lloyd. Sam, that grifter who couldn’t be counted on, who only looked out for himself. She’d chosen that jackass over him. When had it happened? Was that why Evie had avoided him, why she didn’t respond to his letters? Was that the reason for her brush-off at the Bennington last night? Sam Lloyd. Did girls really go for fellas like that? Did they truly find bad boys more attractive?

Or did they just want to know that a fella was normal, a man, not a machine?

A few months ago, Jericho had been shot. The pain had been a sharp pop of fire in his chest. Reading the article on Sam and Evie’s romance hurt even worse. He was glad that Will had already left with Sister Walker so that he could bear the sting of it in private.

Off-key singing sounded in the hall, announcing Sam’s arrival, and Jericho cursed his luck.

“Honey, ready my slippers and pipe—I’m home!” Sam shouted as he blew into the library and dropped himself onto the worn brown leather Chesterfield, ruddy-cheeked and smiling. “Freddy, you would not believe the day I’ve had so far. A real roller coaster. But there’s good news: Evie’s on board to host the Diviners exhibit opening.”

“Congratulations. How’d you manage that?” Jericho said evenly.

Sam stretched his arms across the back of the sofa and smirked. “Well, I did my best. And my best is pretty irresistible. So what do you think—should we hire a jazz band or an orchestra? See, I think jazz band. But the professor seems like the orchestra type to me—violins and French horns. Frilly-cuff music. Oh, and we could get somebody to cater.…”

Jericho dropped the newspaper in Sam’s lap. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Gee, Freddy,” Sam said quietly, pushing the newspaper aside. “I, uh, didn’t want to rub it in.”

“Seems exactly like something you’d want to do. And don’t call me Freddy.” Jericho crossed to the fireplace, poking at the embers till they blazed.

“Did you ever consider that maybe you got me figured all wrong?” Sam said.

Jericho didn’t turn away from the fire. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got you figured exactly right. You’re a thief. You steal things. And people.”

Usually Sam enjoyed the friendly competition over Evie’s affections, but just now, he felt like a real heel. He didn’t know exactly what had happened between Jericho and Evie. Maybe they’d kissed. Maybe more than that. But whatever had taken place was a romance of circumstances, he was certain. Surely Jericho had to know he was all wrong for Evie. Jericho spent his nights reading or painting Civil War models. Evie was a bearcat, the life of the party. She’d eat him alive. The more Sam thought about it, the more he came to think that it was better this way. He’d snooped in Jericho’s room, looking for clues to Project Buffalo, and he’d found the letters that Jericho had started to Evie and never sent. It bordered on what his old man would call nebbishy. This phony romance would give Jericho time to lick the last of his wounds and move on. In four weeks, he’d be a new man. It would be, “Evie who?” And Sam would help Jericho along. He owed the giant that much. In fact, he’d be doing the big lug a favor.

“Listen, pal, I feel lousy about the way you found out about Evie and me. Let me make it up to you. How’s about you and me go out on the town sometime, huh?”