The Diviners (68 page)

The fire department turned its hoses on the smoking ruin of Knowles’ End as it caved in on itself, a final curtsy. There would be no saving it. The kerosene had seen to that even before Naughty John’s last stand.

Evie sat on the curb, a blanket thrown across her shoulders, and watched it burn. Jericho had refused to be seen by a doctor, claiming only a bump on the head. He came and sat beside her, still looking a bit glassy-eyed. A curious crowd looked on from down the street. Several kids tried to inch closer, drawn to the flame and the excitement, and their mothers admonished them to keep a safe distance.

Evie would never believe in safe distances again.

“You’re crying,” Jericho said.

“Am I?” Evie said faintly. “What a chump.”

She put a hand to the empty spot at her neck and wept.

In the small, dank interrogation room, Will rested his head on his arms. The clock showed five in the afternoon. The door opened and Malloy shifted his bulk into a chair opposite Uncle Will. “We picked up your niece and your assistant at the old Knowles house.”

“Is she…?”

“She’s fine. The house burned to the ground, but she’s fine.” Malloy paused for a minute too long. “Swears she struggled with the killer—the spirit of Naughty John Hobbes come back to life.”

Will stared at his clasped hands and said nothing.

“It’s the damndest thing, but that pendant you dug up? Well, seems when the boys went to take it out of evidence, it was nothing but a pile of ashes. Oddest thing they’d ever seen. Guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Will remained silent.

“Heard from the local boys up in Brethren. There was a fire up there last night, too—started around the time the comet came through, the same time as the Knowles’ End fire. Hadn’t been dry up in those woods—in fact, they’d had a whole day of rain. Wasn’t
arson, either. No, it seems the old camp in the woods—and just the old camp—burned completely to the ground in a flash. There’s nothing left. Not a stone or a stick.” Malloy leaned forward. The bags under his eyes were puffier than usual. “Will, what’s going on here?”

Will looked up at last. “What do you want me to say?”

Malloy seemed to consider this for a long while, finally letting out an extended soliloquy of a sigh. “Nothing,” he said at last. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, Fitz. I’d like to collect my pension in ten years, so
I’m
going to tell
you
what happened. As far as the city’s concerned, the Pentacle Killer was shot and killed and burned in the fire, no identity known. He was killed by one of our men in blue. Officer Lyga is due for promotion. He’s a good man. Now he’s a hero. Heroes are good. Heroes make people sleep better at night. That’s the story. You understand?”

“You think people will believe it?”

“People will believe anything if it means they can go on with their lives and not have to think too hard about it.” Malloy rose and opened the door. “You’re free to go.”

At the door, he put a hand on Will’s arm. His tone was urgent. “Will, what’s happening?”

“Get some rest, Terrence.”

“Don’t make an enemy of me, Will,” Malloy called after him.

Will walked the labyrinthine halls of the police station. He passed a windowed room with half-drawn blinds where two men in dark suits sat waiting to speak with the chief. Both men sat calmly, quietly, as if they had no reason to hurry. As if they were accustomed to getting their way, and this meeting would prove no different.

Will paled and hurried past, pushing through the doors of the station into the gray-wool haze of morning. He tossed two cents at
a newspaperman and read the day’s late headline about the death of the Pentacle Killer, which featured a posed photograph of Officer Lyga standing beside the American flag above the caption
HERO OFFICER KEEPS CITY SAFE
. They had worked fast. There was no mention of Will or the museum. Will left the newspaper on a nearby bench and shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets to hide their shaking.

Memphis waited until Octavia was fast asleep, then shut the door to the bedroom where Isaiah slept and crept to his side. He stared at his hands. It had been three years since Memphis had tried to cure his mother and felt the press of spirits amid a great fluttering of wings. Maybe he’d lost the healing gift forever. But he was tired of being too scared to find out.

Memphis kneeled beside the bed. He thought about praying, but what would he pray for? Was he asking for God’s help, or his forgiveness? He wasn’t sure he believed in either, so he said nothing as he placed his hands on his brother’s body and thought about the healing. As Memphis kneeled beside his brother, he felt nothing. No trace of warmth. No smell of flowers before he was transported into the world of spirits and strange sights.

“I’m not giving up, dammit,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you hear me? I will not give up!”

Memphis took a deep breath. It started as a twitch in his fingers. Then the old familiar warmth trickled through his veins like a tap suddenly turned on. And before he had time to think, he was sucked into that shadow realm between worlds. Around him, he felt the press of spirits, their hands placed gently on his shoulders,
his arms, a great chain of healing. He heard his mother’s voice, soft and low.

“Memphis.”

She wore a cloak as iridescent as a moonlit lake. She wasn’t sick and gaunt like the last time he’d seen her; she was lovely, if a little somber. It was his mother in this place, and he wanted to run to her.

“Our time is brief, my son.”

“Mama? Is it you?”

“I must tell you these things while I can. You will be called to make great choices and great sacrifices,” she said a bit sadly. “All will be needed, but only you can decide which is the right path to take. A storm is coming, and you must be ready.”

“What about Isaiah?”

His mother didn’t answer. “There is something I never told you. Something I should have told you…”

The soft comfort of spirits dissolved. They were standing at the crossroads of his dream. In the distance were the farmhouse and the gnarled tree. The sky roiled with dark clouds mottled with lightning. Memphis’s mother looked up at the sky with fear. The wind blew fiercely, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“You can’t bring anything back, Memphis. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Promise me!”

The dust was nearly upon her.

“Mama, run!”

“Promise me!” she cried as the dust wall swallowed her up.

Memphis stumbled forward on the road, trying to outrun the choking dust. Through the field to his right, he saw the wheat bending into blackened ruin as a thin man in a somber coat and a tall hat cut through. The crow darted across Memphis’s path.

The trance was broken. Memphis fell back onto the floor with
a hard thud. He was wet with sweat and shaking. He’d been to the healing place. He’d seen his mother in that world.

“Memphis. What you doing on the floor?”

Isaiah was awake and looking at him with sleepy eyes, as if it were any old morning.

“Isaiah?” Memphis choked out. “Isaiah?”

“That’s my name. You sure acting funny,” Isaiah said, stretching. “I’m thirsty.”

His brother was healed. He was healed, and Memphis had done it. His palms still tingled from the touch. He hadn’t lost the gift; it was back. Memphis gathered Isaiah up into his arms, crying.

“Whatsa matter?

“Nothing. Nothing, little man. Everything’s just fine now.”

“I’m still thirsty.”

“I’ll get you something to drink. Stay right here. Don’t go nowhere.”

“Anywhere,” Isaiah corrected sleepily.

“That, too.”

Memphis ran to the kitchen and stuck a glass under the tap, willing it to fill faster. “Thank you,” he said, though he didn’t know who he was saying it to, or why. He turned off the water and hurried back to Isaiah’s side.

Outside the kitchen window, lightning crackled high in the clouds. The crow looked on in silence.

Evie, Theta, and Mabel walked out into the clear, crisp afternoon. It was a bright, cloudless day; the air felt newly born, and Evie had a hankering for a new hat. It had been four days since she’d faced down John Hobbes, the Beast, in that small room. Four days since she’d trapped his soul in her most sacred relic and let it go in order to save them all. Even now, her hand went to her bare neck under her scarf, wishing for the weight of it. She’d not had a single dream since, but she tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about any of it. She and Uncle Will had barely spoken of that night. He seemed even more remote than before, cloistered away with his books and newspaper clippings till he was almost a ghost himself. Later, she would ask him about the Diviners. She would ask him how she would know if there were others like her, and how she could make her power stronger, more within her control. There was so much Evie wanted to know. But that could all wait. For now, she, Mabel, and Theta were on the trolley, headed to a hat shop Theta knew about, where Evie intended to buy a new cloche with a ribbon tied into an elaborate bow to signal that she was single and quite available. This
was their city. This was their time. She’d promised Mabel they’d make the most of it, and she intended to fulfill that promise at last.

The trolley idled at a light and just before it moved again Sam hopped on the outside, holding fast to the bars at Evie’s shoulder.

“Hiya, ladies,” he said.

“Sam! Let go!” Evie scolded.

Sam peered behind him at the rapidly moving street. “Seems like a bad idea.”

“I’m still amazed they let you out of the Tombs.”

“Chalk it up to my charm, sister. I did manage to make off with some handcuffs, though.” His smile suggested something naughty and Evie rolled her eyes.

“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone for a few days,” he told her.

“I’ll wear a black veil and cry all night.”

Theta and Mabel giggled and looked away.

“You’ll miss me. I know you will, sister.” He gave her one of those wolfish grins.

“Hey!” the conductor called. “Get down from there!”

“Sam, you’re going to get in trouble!”

Sam grinned. “Aw, baby, I thought you loved trouble.”

“Will you get down before you kill yourself?”

“Broken up about my well-being?”

“Get. Down.”

Sam leaped from the trolley, nearly upending a woman pushing a pram. “Sorry, ma’am.” He brushed his hands clean and shouted after them, “One day, Evie O’Neill, you’re gonna fall head over heels for me!”

“Don’t hold your breath!” Evie shouted back.

Sam mimed an arrow through the heart and fell down. Evie laughed in spite of herself. “Idiot.”

Theta’s eyebrow inched up. “That boy’s got it bad for you, Evil.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. It has nothing to do with me. That boy only wants what he can’t have.”

Theta looked out at the bright lights of Broadway, winking into existence against the dusk. “Don’t we all?”