Jericho had gotten in the habit of taking breakfast with Marlowe first thing in the morning before his physical regimen and the testing began. During these morning meetings, Marlowe was usually upbeat and friendly. Jericho had begun to look forward to their time together, talking about books and history. As much as Jericho cared about Will, he’d found him remote. Jericho and Will were both quiet and scholarly, and that made it harder for them to really talk. Their conversations were often filled with awkward silences or sentences that hung in the air. Jericho hadn’t realized till now how lonely it had made him feel. In that way, it was a relief to be with Jake, who was never short on conversation. He’d dig into his eggs with a chipper “So, Jericho, what did you think of that book I lent you?” “Jericho, who do you like better: Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton?” “Jericho, I’ve got the most brilliant idea—let’s take the Duesenberg out for a spin.” “Jericho, have you taken a gander at the art in the ballroom? There’s a Renoir I think you’d like.”
Against his better judgment, Jericho was coming to like Marlowe.
One morning, as they sat laughing over a story Jake told about meeting a bear in the woods—“The same bear Will uses to hang his hat on now?” “The very same one!”—Jericho grew bolder.
“What do you know about Project Buffalo?” he asked, biting into a square of toast.
Marlowe’s fork halted in midair. All mirth was gone. “Where did you hear that?”
“Some old letters of Will’s at the museum.”
“Project Buffalo was a mistake,” Marlowe said, and scooped up a forkful of egg.
Jericho swallowed down his toast. “I heard you invented some swell machines during that time, though,” Jericho said, still fishing. “Ghost measuring equipment. Diviner testing machines—that Metaphysickometer? Even punch code card readers.”
Marlowe’s easy demeanor shifted to something hard and cold. “I don’t talk about Project Buffalo. Is that understood?” Jericho nodded. Marlowe’s easy smile returned. “Now. Eat up. You’ll need your strength for today.”
In the afternoon, Marlowe knocked at Jericho’s door. “I’m heading to town for a few hours. Anything I can bring you?”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll take a nap, if it’s all the same,” Jericho said. He forced a yawn to back up his lie.
“Of course. Well, then. See you at dinner. We’ll resume our testing this evening.”
Jericho listened for the crunch of automobile wheels on the gravel outside, and then he slipped through the sprawling mansion, trying doors and peeking through keyholes. There were plenty of unoccupied bedrooms and old parlors, a billiards room, and a servants’ wing. The house had a lonely air to it, as if it had been emptied of joy long ago, and all that remained were the ghosts of happiness. If Evie were here, she’d most likely want to read everything. He could just imagine her mischievously grabbing some priceless object from a shelf as if it were nothing and diving right into its mysteries without fear. Now, Evie lived full out. Was that part of what attracted him to her? That she had qualities he lacked? Thinking about Evie stirred lust in Jericho. Since the serum, he’d been having more fantasies about her. He imagined taking her in his arms, slipping down her dress, his mouth moving across the curve of her neck and…
He was in an embarrassing state now. He took several steadying breaths and decided he’d better go back to his room and take care of the situation. But he took a wrong turn and found himself wandering into a part of the estate Marlowe hadn’t shown him, where all the furniture was still covered by white sheets like a summer lodge closed for the off-season. He heard a commotion and followed the sound to a large bathroom where two men in gray suits had hold of a haunted-looking woman in a nightgown who struggled weakly against their hold.
“Say, what’s going on here?” Jericho said.
One of the men looked up, glaring at Jericho for just a second before correcting it with a pained smile. “A mental patient Mr. Marlowe’s trying to help. Tough case.”
The woman’s dark hair was half out of its braid. She reminded him a little of the woman he’d seen in his strange dream. “Help me, please!” she pleaded.
“Go on, now. Give the poor girl her dignity,” one of the men said. His voice was full of sympathy, but he had a firm grip on the woman’s arm, and Jericho’s brain tried to make sense of those two inconsistencies. His gut told him something wasn’t quite right, but he had no reason not to believe what the men were telling him. He backed away and let them pass by.
“Tell my sister I am here!” the woman called to Jericho over her shoulder.
“Now, now, Anna. You’re only hurting yourself,” one of the dark-suited men tutted. They were outright dragging her now, her heels thudding a protest against the wooden floors.
“I say my name! Anna!” the woman cried, her voice strained to breaking. “Anna Provenza, Anna Provenza, Anna Provenza!”
A BETTER AMERICA
1917
Department of Paranormal
Hopeful Harbor, NY
Rotke and Will walked through the estate’s lush gardens. It was coming up on spring. Early pink flowers pushed through the green caul of their buds. But Rotke was worried. “You haven’t told him yet, have you?”
Will stopped to watch a sparrow building a nest on the limb of an oak. “It’ll be the end of our friendship. Jake is not accustomed to losing.”
Rotke peered up at him, and Will lost himself in her deep brown eyes. He had never known anyone who could make him feel like both a useless schoolboy and a lion at the same time.
“Don’t wait too long and let him find some other way, my love.” She kissed him gently and smiled. “Mrs. William Fitzgerald. I like the sound of that.”
The Founders Club fellows were leaving Jake’s library as Will entered. He nodded curtly as they passed by.
Seeing Will, Jake grinned and waved him over. “Ah! Here’s my favorite ghost explorer now. You’re just in time. Ames has brought around some delicious lemonade.”
“What was that about?” Will asked, taking a seat. He put up a hand to the lemonade and rolled a cigarette instead.
“I thought you didn’t like to think too much about where our money comes from.” Jake poured himself a glass of lemonade from a crystal decanter. “They wanted a report on Project Buffalo. That’s their right, since they funded it.”
“I don’t like them,” Will grumbled, striking a match.
“Eugenics, Will. The scientific eradication of inferior traits for a better America. That’s the future.”
“That’s not science, Jake. You know that. Or you used to know it.”
“I’ve changed my mind. All these foreigners coming into the country, polluting our ideals. This war with Germany.” He shook his head. “Fix the bloodline and you fix our troubles. We’ll build a superior race of Americans.”
“What about Margaret? What about Rotke?” Will challenged. His heart was beating fast. He had to tell Jake. He would tell Jake. He—
“Margaret is a pot stirrer. Always seeing trouble.” Jake sighed as if exasperated by a tantruming child. “But I’ve already begun working on Rotke.”
A chill passed through Will. “You’ve… wait. What do you mean?”
From his pocket, Jake fished out a vial of blue serum. “I’ve isolated the Diviner strain. And I’ve cleansed her blood of Jewishness.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Jake?”
“I’ve been injecting her with the purification serum for weeks now.”
Will was reeling. “You said you were giving her iron. For her anemia!”
“I was. But I was also correcting.”
Will leaped up, pacing the same square of carpet. “For Chrissakes, Jake, she doesn’t need correcting! She’s a human being!” The terrifying image of Rotke’s frequent nosebleeds swam in Will’s head. He whirled toward Jake, pointing an accusing finger. “I swear, if you’ve hurt her…”
Marlowe glowered. “I would never hurt Rotke. She’s my
fiancée, Will!” He stared into his lemonade. “Or she will be again soon enough, when this whole war business is over and she comes back to me. It’s her Diviner nature. She’s too sensitive. I’ll help her with that, too.”
“My god. Your ego.”
“I’m changing the future, Will! I’m making our nation great. The power and envy of the world. That was always the aim of Project Buffalo!”
Anger uncoiled inside Will and reared its head, eager to bite. “She’s not coming back to you, Jake. She’s never coming back.”
Marlowe chuckled. “Attaboy! There’s that Fitzgerald optimism! Thanks for your belief in me, old sport.”
“She’s not coming back to you because… because she’s marrying me.”
This time, Marlowe’s laugh exploded out of him. “Oh, Will. You and Rotke?”
“Ask her.”
“Come now, Will. You’re being ridiculous.”
Will balled his fists at his sides. “Ask. Her.”
Jake’s mouth parted in shock. “My god. You’re serious.”
The punch had landed. Marlowe, the golden boy, sagged against the mantel, vulnerable at last. The anger Will had felt earlier left him, taking his bravery with it. In its place was a sick emptiness. He adjusted his spectacles. “I’m sorry. I… we wanted to tell you, but…”
“You were my best friend, Will.”
“I’m still your fr—”
“No. No more. Never again.”
“Jake—”
Jake drained his lemonade and tossed the glass into the fireplace. It shattered into pieces. Will flinched. There were tears in Jake’s eyes. “You should be very happy, William. You’ve finally become what you love most: From this day forward, you are a ghost to me. I don’t even see you.”
THE FORGOTTEN
On the steamer ride to Ward’s Island, the sky was the color of slate, the threat of rain sewn into every cloud. Mist curled off the water in great tufts as the boat bounced mercilessly over the choppy East River. Memphis gripped the railing and kept his eyes on the distant serpentine curve of the Hell Gate Bridge and prayed for his stomach’s contents to stay put.
Beside him, a relaxed Henry pulled the briny air deep into his lungs. “Mmmm. Love that smell. Reminds me of my time playing piano on the steamboats that went up and down the Mississippi.”
They hit a swell. Memphis moaned.
Henry chuckled. “Kind of funny that a healer gets seasick.”
Memphis spat into the water. “Hilarious.”
“It’s miserable to be seasick,” Evie said, leaning against the ferry railing. “Why, once, I got splifficated on a boat and upchucked all over the deck. And I’d just had a good steak, too.”
“Please,” Memphis begged, putting a hand to his roiling stomach.
“Golly. Sorry,” Evie said. “Here.”
She removed her glove and put a cold hand at the base of his neck, and after the shock of it, Memphis began to feel slightly better. Some of what he felt was seasickness. The rest was fear. There had been a small flock of reporters to see them off, all of them shouting questions as the Diviners boarded the boat:
“How do you plan to get rid of the ghosts?”
“Whaddaya say to folks who think you’re all wet to believe in ghosts—that there are no ghosts?”
“Should we be afraid that those ghosts could cross the river and come to Manhattan?”
“How come you’re going, Miss Knight?” one of the reporters asked Theta.
“Couldn’t let my best pals go without me. Especially after what happened on Evie’s show,” she answered.
“Say, where’s your uncle Will, Evie? How come he’s not here?”
“Poor Unc has a terrible cold. I’d hate for him to catch his death of pneumonia. Who’d dust all of the spooky knickknacks then?” Evie lied, getting a few laughs from the newsboys.
In truth, Evie and Will had fought bitterly about the trip. “But why don’t you want us to go?” Evie kept saying. “Will, Luther Clayton knows things!”
“Leave that poor man alone!” Will had barked.
And Evie had spat back, “That poor man tried to kill me, I’ll remind you. I’d like to know why.”
“You should stay and continue with your training. That’s what’s most important.”
Evie remained defiant. “We’re going.”
“Then you’re going without me,” Will had said with the same defiance, like the two of them had been cut from the same stubborn cloth.
Memphis had purposely kept himself and Isaiah hidden during the reporters’ questions. He didn’t want their names and faces in the papers, where Papa Charles or Owney Madden might see. Evie had been out front, of course, lapping up the attention. Memphis wasn’t always sure what to make of her. One minute, she was self-absorbed and an attention hog, and the next, she was trying to cure his seasickness or looking after Isaiah. When Gabe had been murdered, it was Evie who had wanted to help find Gabe’s murderer. In some ways, she was like all those smart set girls who came into the Hotsy Totsy, and at the same time, she was nothing like them.
“Any better?” she asked him now.
His stomach had calmed a bit. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Is that it?” Henry asked, leaning over the ferry railing slightly to get a better look.
Behind the thickening haze, the imposing asylum emerged brick by brick, ward by ward, like some mythological beast willing itself into existence. Rows of windows bled yellow against the murk like infected eyes.
Evie gripped her coat collar tight against her throat. “That’s the joint.”
The warden waited on the pier, hands clasped tightly at his stomach. Mr. Smith’s demeanor wasn’t jovial, as it had been the first time he’d met with Sam and Evie. He seemed jumpy and his eyes were bloodshot. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know where else to turn,” he said as they disembarked.
“I’ve arranged for you to speak with several of the patients who claim to have experienced the ghosts, as well as some of our staff. Luther Clayton will not be one of them. I hope you will abide by the rules of decency this time, Miss O’Neill,” the warden said, frowning. “We should move quickly, however. They say there’s a storm moving in. This way, please.”
“Applesauce!” Evie muttered as they fell in behind the warden. “I’ve simply got to get to Luther!”
“Yeah, and before that storm moves in. I don’t like the sound of that,” Theta said as they trudged across the swell of land toward the hospital. The air was chilled and damp with no breeze; it clung to their necks and weighted their clothes. The gauzy haze sitting over the island gave everything the appearance of a dream. Clusters of skeletal trees appeared here and there like a memory that would not fully come.
“This place feels bad,” Ling said, and struggled forward with her crutches on the mucky path.
Henry frowned up at the forbidding asylum pushing itself into view. “I’ll be glad when this is over,” he agreed.
Nearby, several prisoners piled quarried stone for a new seawall while two guards with guns watched. The prisoners paused in their work for a moment to watch the spectacle of the Diviners moving past: Memphis and Sam carrying the bulky Metaphysickometer by its iron handles, Evie and Theta dressed to the nines like proper stars, Ling navigating the tricky ground with her crutches, Henry in his straw boater even though it was barely spring, and Isaiah, bringing up the rear, his head swiveling left and right as he tried to take in everything.
Isaiah ran to catch up with his brother and tugged at his sleeve. “We’re gonna be gone by nighttime, right?”
“Don’t worry, Ice Man. We are leaving here before the sun sets. Even if we gotta swim back.”
“If you tried, the cold would kill you,” Ling said. “If the cold didn’t kill you, the current would. These are some of the most treacherous waters in New York City.”
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.