Lair of Dreams

Dumbfounded, Jericho put the letter down. Why had they never talked about any of this? After Jericho’s illness crippled him and his parents had abandoned him to the state, it was Will who’d stepped in as guardian. He had sheltered Jericho, fed and clothed him, and taught his ward what he could about running the museum and about Diviners. For that, Jericho supposed he owed him a debt. But Will hadn’t given Jericho the parts that mattered most. He hadn’t given himself. The two of them had never gone fishing in a cold stream early on a summer’s day and shared their thoughts on love and life while they watched the sun draw the curling morning mist from the water. They’d never discussed how to find one’s place in the world, never talked of fathers and sons, or what makes someone a man. No. He and Will spoke in newspaper articles about ghosts. They conversed through the careful curation of supernatural knickknacks. And Jericho couldn’t help but feel cheated at how little he’d gotten when he’d needed so much more.

Why was there so much silence between men?

“Jericho?” Mabel called, bringing Jericho back to the present. “Sorry, but I have to head home now.”

“I’ll be right down,” Jericho said, pushing the letters to the side. As he did, an odd scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a very brief note in Will’s handwriting. There was no date. It read, simply:


Dear Cornelius,



You were right. I was wrong. I am so very sorry.

Sincerely,

Will





“Thanks for your help today,” Jericho said, easing Mabel into her coat. “It was a nice change. I’m used to working with Sam. Or rather, working around Sam.”

Mabel shifted from one foot to the other and back again. “I could come back and help you some more. If you want me to,” she said, agreeable to the end. The way she looked at him just then, with a mixture of curiosity, affection, and admiration, was rather nice. Maybe it would be nice to be adored for once.

“That’s okay. I can manage,” Jericho said after a pause.

“Oh. Sure,” Mabel said, trying to hide her disappointment. “I suppose you’ve heard the news about Evie and Sam,” Mabel said as they walked the long hallway. “I had no idea she and Sam were engaged. She never said a word. Did Sam say anything to you?”

“No,” Jericho growled.

Mabel knew she shouldn’t have brought up the topic of Evie. But now that she had, it was like a scab she couldn’t stop picking. “Well. I suppose we should be happy for them.”

“Why?” Jericho asked.

“Because…” Mabel let the rest of the sentence die on the vine.

Outside, the street lamps winked on, trying to do battle against the gentle gray of the late afternoon. A few snowflakes swirled in the blustery air. Mabel shivered as she stood uncertainly on the top step, wondering what she could say to prolong the moment. A Model T shuddered down the street, and Mabel remembered her earlier strange encounter.

“Oh! I nearly forgot to tell you. I noticed something odd on my way in today. There were these two men in a brown car just sitting, watching the museum.”

Jericho craned his neck, looking up and down the street. He shrugged. “I don’t see anybody now.” He crossed his arms, pensive. “I suppose they could be taxmen.”

Mabel shook her head. “Those fellows don’t sit quietly in cars. They come right up to your door and turn out your pockets. These men reminded me more of Pinkertons, or Bureau of Investigation.” Mabel shoved her hands back into her coat pockets. “Well, see you at the Bennington.”

“Yeah. See you at the Bennington,” Jericho said, watching Mabel walking away in her deliberate fashion.

Why was he still pining for a girl he couldn’t have? Evie certainly wasn’t sitting around sighing over him. Apparently, she was out every night with Sam, having the time of her life. It was high time he did the same. If he’d learned one thing reading through Will’s letters today, it was that there was a whole world out there waiting to be explored, and Jericho was tired of caution.

“Mabel!” Jericho bounded down the steps after her. “Would you like to go to dinner or to the pictures sometime?”

Mabel’s face quicksilvered from shock to barely suppressed giddiness. “I’d love to. When?”

“Oh. Um. How’s tomorrow?”

Mabel grinned. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

“I’ll come for you at eight o’clock, if that’s agreeable.”

“Very, very agreeable.”

Back in the quiet of the library, Jericho congratulated himself. “I have a date,” he said to the empty room. A date. That was good, wasn’t it? It was progress. He gave the Metaphysickometer a gentle thump and set about tidying up the papers nearby.

Under the glass, the needle gave a tiny jump.