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“Won’t, either. Say, what’s a Peeping Tom?”
“Something that gets you arrested,” Memphis said, opening the front door.
“You’re squawking at me for looking in the windows, and you’re just opening the front door and walking in!” Isaiah said, running to catch up.
“It’s okay. They’re expecting us.”
As they traveled the long hallway, Isaiah gawked at the museum’s many collections—the poppet dolls, the haunted ventriloquist’s dummy, the spirit photographs, and a slate used by mediums in their trances. He stopped in front of a painting of a root worker communing with a trio of wispy ancestors. Spooked, he ran to catch up to his brother.
“I thought we were gonna play ball.” Isaiah punched his fist into his catcher’s mitt. “You told Aunt Octavia—”
“Never mind what I told Octavia. Isaiah, I mean that—don’t tell her about this.”
Memphis slid open a pair of impressive pocket doors, and he and his brother caught their breath at the majesty of the museum’s library. Dark wood shelve
s stuffed higgledy-piggledy with leather-bound books lined the walls on both the first and second floors. A grand spiral staircase connected the two. High above, a mural stretched across the long expanse of ceiling: houngans, shamans, and witches stood side by side with gray-wigged Founding Fathers against a backdrop of mountains, rivers, forests, and wildlife. America the Supernatural.
“Salutations, Campbell brothers!” a petite blond flapper called from a plump chair where she lay sprawled with her legs dangling over its rolled arm. Evie O’Neill. The radio’s famous object reader, the Sweetheart Seer. Evie spread her arms wide to acknowledge the others in the room. “Welcome to our merry festival of freaks.”
Memphis smiled nervously at everyone in turn. The museum’s faithful assistant, Jericho Jones, nodded from his spot at one of the long oak tables, where he sat with an open book. His large, well-muscled frame dwarfed the chair. Pickpocket Sam Lloyd warmed his hands at the limestone fireplace. “Hiya, fellas!” he called good-naturedly. On the tufted brown sofa, dream walker and spirit conjurer Ling Chan wore a wary expression. She sat very straight, her hands tugging at the hem of her skirt as if she could hide her metal leg braces. Beside Ling, freckled and friendly Henry DuBois IV seemed to be writing a new piece of music in his head, his fingers playing imaginary arpeggios across Ling’s crutches, which he cradled against his shoulder. Mabel Rose sat at the same table as Jericho, occasionally stealing glances at him. She had what Memphis’s aunt Octavia would call a “wholesome face,” which wasn’t a comfort to the girls on the receiving end of that euphemism. Mabel wasn’t a Diviner. She was the daughter of union organizers, and she spent a lot of her organizing skills on trying to keep her best friend, Evie, out of trouble.
That left only one other person in the room. Theta Knight smiled at Memphis, and his breath caught. “Hey, Poet,” she said in her deep purr of a voice. Her sleek black bob gleamed in the warm glow cast by the library’s Victorian chandelier. And suddenly, Memphis wasn’t thinking about the reason they were all gathered in a musty museum of the occult. He was only thinking about Theta and how much he wanted to be alone with her.
“Evenin’, everybody,” Memphis said, but his smile, radiant and hopeful, was for Theta.
“Memphis,” Isaiah said, nestling closer to his brother.
“This is my brother, Isaiah. Isaiah, meet everybody. Meet the Diviners.”
Ling cleared her throat. She nodded toward the mantel clock ticking toward quarter past five. “I thought this meeting was called for five o’clock. They’re late.”
As if in answer, the library doors slid open, and the museum’s director, Professor William Fitzgerald, entered, trailed by his partner in the paranormal, Dr. Margaret “Sister” Walker.
Will tossed his hat and hung his umbrella on the stuffed grizzly’s stiff paw. “I see you’re all here. Good,” Will said, patting his pockets for his cigarette case.
“Some of us were even on time,” Ling muttered under her breath.
“Don’t bite yet, cher,” Henry whispered. “Save it for the finale.”
“Good evening, everyone,” Sister Walker said, drawing all eyes as she perched on the edge of a leather wingback chair. She sat as still as a queen surveying her subjects and waiting to hand down judgment. Seeing Isaiah, Sister Walker smiled. She had a broad smile, gap-toothed and welcoming. “Hello, Isaiah. My, I think you’ve grown a foot since I saw you last.”
“Two whole inches. Auntie marked it on the wall. Gonna be taller than Memphis soon!” The brightness drained from Isaiah’s face. He turned to Memphis in a worried whisper. “I thought Aunt Octavia said we couldn’t have nothing to do with Sister.”
“Anything to do with,” Memphis corrected quietly. “And that’s why we have to keep this secret for now, Ice Man.”
Sam cleared his throat. “All right, Professor. We’ve waited long enough to hear this. What in the Sam Hill is going on? And what does it have to do with us?”
Rain spattered against the dusk-painted panes in a steady beat as Will lit a cigarette and pocketed his silver lighter. At last, he turned to the waiting assembly. “Evil has entered our world. A force from beyond. It is spreading across the country, getting worse by the day.” Will paused to exhale. “And we are the only means of stopping it.”
“Gee. And I was afraid this would be bad news,” Henry said after a moment of stunned silence.
“You’re talking about the ghosts,” Memphis said when he found his voice again.
“Like John Hobbes,” Jericho said.
“And Wai-Mae,” Ling added quietly.
“And whatever those monsters were down in the subways,” Sam said, leaning against the fireplace, arms folded at his chest. “Those things that wanted to eat us.”
