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From the many, one; the one, many.
I am in you and of you, America.
You of amber waving grain, shining
Like fool’s gold in a plentiful river.
I am the dream coming, yes,
The Voice of Tomorrow
Ringing in freedom’s ear.
Do you hear it now?
Calling, calling, all:
Listen, America—
I am the story.
I am you.
I am.
Memphis’s pencil rested. He folded up his poem and stuck it in an envelope. On the front, he wrote, Attention: Mr. W. E. B. DuBois. The Crisis. And though it was the middle of the night, he mailed it in.
It was almost tomorrow, after all.
The moon smiled down on the bright skyscrapers, full of promise. It shone on the graveyards, where the restless spirits rose up, hungry and full of rage. It hovered above the houses where the ghosts prowled, getting closer to the people. It followed the brown sedan as it prowled the city streets, looking for Diviners.
The phone was ringing in Evie’s suite when she entered, and Evie grinned when she heard Jericho’s voice on the line.
“Is this the famous Sweetheart Seer?” he said. His voice had deepened. It did things to her stomach.
“Two shows a week. Don’t touch that dial,” Evie purred.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Evie lay back on the bed, picturing Jericho’s face the way he looked when he was thin
king about something and the light caught the edge of his face like a fire. “How is life upstate? I’ll bet you sit by the fire with wolfhounds at your feet now. Tell me the truth: Are you wearing an ascot?”
Jericho laughed. It was a hearty laugh, surprising for Jericho, and it made Evie grin like mad. “No ascot. No wolfhounds. But I’ll be sure to ask Marlowe if I can have both. I can see that I have a reputation to uphold.”
Evie giggled. Flirting. He was flirting? This was a new Jericho. He sounded happier, and she was glad. Going with Marlowe had obviously been the right thing to do, no matter how much Evie disliked him. She wanted to tell Jericho everything that had been going on since he left, but she wasn’t sure if anyone might be listening in. After all, she knew Jericho’s letters were read before they were sent. So instead, they talked of spring coming and made jokes. Evie felt lighter than she had in some time. She ached to see him.
“Is everything really okay there?” Jericho said suddenly.
“Yes, fine,” Evie said. She didn’t want to worry him. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“That would be nice. Seeing you, that is,” Jericho said, making Evie’s face go warm. “And I hope to have news for you about that antique you were curious about. Nothing to report yet.” And then: “I miss you. I wish you were here. It’s lonely without you.”
I miss you. So simple and honest that it took Evie’s breath away. That was the thing about Jericho that made him different: He was not cynical or guarded. He did not play games.
“I miss you, too.”
“Be careful, won’t you?”
