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Memphis shook his head. “Well. That’s a comfort.”
“I read a lot.”
“Me, too. One Hundred and
Thirty-fifth Street Library,” Memphis said, a little cocky.
“Seward Park Library,” Ling answered in kind.
“It’s like you’re picking baseball teams for books,” Sam said. The Metaphysickometer was heavy and the chill cut right through Sam’s coat. He was eager to get inside. He couldn’t help noticing that the island felt different from the last time they’d been there. Something was off.
“There’s no birds!” he said at last. “When we were here last time, they were all over the place, chirping like a jazz band. Look around—there’s not a one anywhere.”
Theta glowered. “Are you saying that to give me the heebie-jeebies? Because if you are, it’s working.”
“We’re almost there.” Mr. Smith’s voice echoed through the soupy air. Up ahead, he was a ghostly silhouette.
By the time they’d reached the asylum and settled into a gracious visiting room near the back of the main building, the rain, which had started gently, had become a fierce pounding that danced off the roof in angry syncopation. Henry watched it soaking the ground into puddles. “We’re certainly stuck here until that lets up,” Memphis said.
“Swell. I can’t wait to try the tapioca,” Sam said.
“Say, it’s not so bad,” Theta said, shaking the damp from her cloche as she took in the room’s homey decor—several fat chairs, a thick carpet, and a coatrack. Two hissing radiators kept the cold at bay. An upright piano occupied the far wall. “I expected worse.”
“‘Expect the worst’ is my motto,” Evie said, hanging her coat on the rack. “Saves on disappointment.”
“When did you become a cynic?” Sam asked.
Evie smiled. “When I found out I was a little girl.”
Sam and Memphis set up the Metaphysickometer on a side table. Sam flipped the switch and thumped at the dials with a flick of his finger, but nothing happened. “Terrific. It doesn’t seem to be working. I think the damp got to it.”
Henry sat at the piano, plinking out a tune on the tinny keys. “There’s things in the night, out of infernal dreaming,” he sang. “Can you hear it now—my internal screaming?”
Isaiah made a face. “What song is that?”
Henry kept his fingers tripping along the keys. “It’s from a new show I’m working on, called I’ve Been Eaten by Ghosts with Big Teeth and I’m Very Upset About It.”
“Nobody’s getting eaten by ghosts,” Sam promised Isaiah, because he looked worried.
“I told you, all we have to do is interview a few of the patients and poke around a bit, make it look on the level. Once we’ve talked to Luther, we can leave,” Evie assured everyone.
“Well, let’s get this show on the road, then,” Theta said, peering out at the gloomy, wet skies. “The sooner we can get outta here, the better.”
They started with the patients first.
“What is your name, please?” Sam asked a nervous woman about his mother’s age. She had graying hair done up in braids across the top of her head.
“Mrs. Evelyn Langford,” she said. “I’m only here because my husband wanted to be with another woman. He didn’t want me anymore. So I stopped eating. And then I couldn’t start. It frightened me to eat. The doctors say I have to eat or I won’t get any better. I’m trying.”
Sam flashed Evie a what do I do look over his shoulder.
“Just talk to her,” Evie urged.
“You, uh, seen any ghosts, Mrs. Langford?” Sam asked.
“Oh, yes!” She leaned forward. “It was eight nights ago. I was playing Spite and Malice—that’s a card game, dear—with Mrs. Lowell, who cheats at cards, but beggars can’t be choosers. The lights winked on and off. And I saw a host of spirits standing outside the room, watching us. It got very cold. There were things that happened on this land. Savage, sinister things,” she said in ominous tones. “Murder and worse. The land runs with blood. Its heart beats with violence. I can feel it. The spirits rise up from that land. They want us to know! They don’t want us to forget!”
“I’ll be sure to send a card at Christmas,” Sam joked.
