Lair of Dreams

“The disappearances,” Jericho said. “Missing people. It’s been in all the papers.”

“You think it’s all connected?” Mabel asked.

“I know it is,” Ling said.

Lightning flashed at the windows. A rumble of thunder followed.

“It’s been all around us. We just haven’t been paying attention,” Jericho said.

“Because it wasn’t happening to you,” Ling snapped.

“Yeah? You and Henry were happy to ignore it when it suited you,” Theta said coolly.

“You’re right,” Ling said. “Now that I know, I have to stop her.”

“Yeah? How you gonna do that?” Sam asked. “Ask her pretty please to stop killing people because it’s not nice? Somehow I don’t think she’s gonna be copacetic with that.”

Ling stared at her hands. “I don’t know, but I have to try. I’m going back into the dream world. I’m going to find Henry, and then I’ll face Wai-Mae.”

“What about those things in the tunnel—if they really exist, if Isaiah is right about that—your hungry ghosts?” Memphis asked. “How do we get rid of them?”

“At Knowles’ End, once Evie banished John Hobbes’s spirit, the ghosts of the Brethren disappeared, too,” Jericho said, breaking his silence on that topic. “Like they were an extension of him.” The room fell silent for a moment.

“You know for sure that’s the case here?” Sam asked at last.

“No,” Jericho admitted.

“Swell. Isn’t there some kinda ghost primer in this joint: Reading, Writing, ’Rithmetic, Ridding Yourself of Soul-Stealing Demons for Fun and Profit? Why isn’t there ever anything useful around here?”

Mabel handed Sam a watercress sandwich.

“Thanks, Mabes.”

“Bad death,” Ling murmured.

“What? Wha’ bad deaph?” Sam said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Don’t like the sound of that, either.”

“Wai-Mae said the ghost had a bad death. But we don’t know how she died. All we know is that our dream walk starts the same way each night: Wai-Mae runs past us toward Devlin’s Clothing Store. Beach’s pneumatic train station was built under Devlin’s Clothing Store on Broadway and Warren, near the City Hall station. There’s got to be something down there that’s important to her. But I don’t know what.”

On the Chesterfield, Henry’s fingers stiffened as he was caught in the net of dreaming. Two new burn marks appeared on his neck.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, let’s get started,” Theta said. “Please.”

Memphis put a hand on Henry’s arm. “I could try to heal him.”

Theta reached over and slipped her hand into Memphis’s. “She almost killed you last time.”

“But this time I won’t fall for her tricks.”

“No,” Ling said sharply. “You can’t protect yourself once you’re inside a dream. Anything can happen. You’ll be caught, just like Henry. It has to be me. I’m awake inside the dream. It’s different. I’ll go after Henry.”

“And what if that doesn’t work?” Jericho asked.

“It has to work.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” Jericho persisted.

Ling looked over at Henry. “We go into the tunnels. Find what’s so important to Wai-Mae that it keeps her here.”

Loud, haphazard pounding reverberated through the museum, as if someone was knocking and kicking the front door at the same time. And then a muffled voice yelled, “Hey! Lemme in! ’S freezing out here!”

“Evie!” Mabel said.

They opened the front door to see Evie leaning against the doorjamb. Her mascara was smudged and she reeked of gin.

“As promised, I should like to offer my services to the cause of this swell creepy-crawly party,” she said and gave a flourish of a bow, smacking her head. “Ow! Whennid you put in that wall?”

“Evil, are you blotto?” Theta demanded.

“Cerrrtainly not,” Evie mumbled. She blew out a gust of boozy air, lifting a curl from her forehead. “Well. Perhaps a soooo-sahn. That’s French. I know some French… avous.”

“Holy smokes,” Theta said, throwing her hands in the air. “Just what we need.”

Evie barged in, knocking a tray of poppet dolls from a side table onto the floor. “Uh-oh. Your poppets are pooped,” she said, giggling.