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Reluctantly, the other Shadow Man pocketed his wire. “See you tomorrow, deserter. Sweet dreams.”
Just before dawn, Will Fitzgerald stole into the ward and crouched beside Luther’s bed. “Luther, can you hear me? It’s Will Fitzgerald.”
Luther turned his face to Will’s. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and his eyes were swollen and red. Will whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
In the dark of night, Will helped Luther to a waiting car. “Ben Arnold?” Will asked the driver.
The driver nodded, and Will deposited Luther and his crutches into the backseat.
“Where’m I taking him, Mr. Fitzgerald?”
“Somewhere he can’t be found.” Will handed Ben all the money he had.
“Sorry to hear about your fiancée,” Ben said. “The machine really do that to her?”
Will’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Just make sure you help him disappear.”
Ben Arnold set Luther up in a flophouse on the West Side, not far from Times Square. The war ended. An armistice was signed. Bombs exploded on Wall Street. The country raided houses and deported “aliens.” Motor cars rumbled through the skyscraper canyons. Ragtime birthed jazz and jazz birthed an age. Women cut their hair and raised their hemlines to dance. The country outlawed liquor; bathtub gin made outlaws. The neon lights of Broadway had never beamed brighter. People placed their faith in stocks; they were rich and getting richer.
On the streets, Luther Clayton begged for food and spare change. The one forty-four still screamed on the battlefield of his mind. The dead whispered to him, told him secrets. A pretty flapper passed by and tucked a dollar into his tin cup. Her, the dead whispered. She’s the one. Her face was familiar. Like James’s. She smiled. Her smile, like his.
The screaming got worse. The Shadow Men found him. They’d been watching for some time. They came with their dark suits and false smiles and murdering hands that looked so clean. “We need you to complete one last mission, soldier.” They put the gun in his hand. Told him to shoot the girl. “It will stop the screaming. Do this, and everything will be fine.”
They lie, the dead warned from their graves. They have always lied.
But there were other dead, and they were hungry and mean. The ones who belonged to him. Their voices drowned out the others. “Kill her,” they urged. “Kill her so that we might be free!”
Luther raised the gun. Watched Evie’s face shift to surprise. His hand shook. The screaming reached a fever pitch. The other Diviner, Sam, stopped Luther from shooting. There were police and a ferry ride to the island and the cell. But the screaming hadn’t stopped.
“You failed us!” the hungry dead hissed. “He will punish you!”
But the other dead whispered softly as a mother’s lullaby: Rest. Then speak of what you know. Show them what you have seen. Witness until their comfort yields to questions. Till their eyes cry with truth. Till their ears would hear the voices of tomorrow. Till their hearts, heavy with knowledge, beat in understanding.
DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL
When Evie surfaced from her reading with Luther Clayton, her body trembled uncontrollably. Her stomach roiled as if she’d been on rough seas. She’d been under too deep for too long.
“You knew my brother. You…” she said at last between shaking breaths. “You loved him,” she said softly.
Luther’s face was wet. His pale, chapped lips quivered. “Y-yes. James. They never… should’ve d-done it.”
Evie’s throat ached with the bitter truth of what she’d seen. What they’d done. She knew the truth now. She knew, and there was no going back.
Luther looked into her eyes. There was some fire still left in him. “S-save him. Save them. Set them all f-free.”
“How? Where are they? Tell me how to find them!”
“They’re with him. The K-King of C-Crows,” Luther whispered. “Follow the Eye. The Eye keeps it open. Heal… the breach.”
“I don’t understand what that means, Luther. What is this Eye—how do we find it? How can we close it? Please. Please, can you tell us?” Evie pleaded, but Luther had struggled to hold on to tha
t much. He had retreated into his memories again and was lost. Evie tucked the blanket around him and shut the door.
In the common room, the radio in the corner played an opera program softly as Evie told Memphis, Ling, and Sam everything she’d witnessed with Luther. A steely-eyed Sam sat on the edge of an abandoned wheelchair and pounded his right fist absently against the spokes. “They did that. Will and Sister Walker, Rotke and Jake.” He paused. “My mother. They shot those soldiers up with super serum and turned them into an experiment. They might’ve done that to us at some point.”
“Haven’t they already done that to us?” Evie said bitterly. She was pacing again, like Will. She didn’t care.
Memphis straddled the piano bench, his arms folded across his chest. “There’s something about us and that other world. Don’t you feel it? Like we’re joined in some way. We’re the ones who can talk to the ghosts and the King of Crows. We’re the ones who’ve seen that eye symbol in our sleep.”
