Lair of Dreams
“Please…” Wai-Mae begged.
For a moment, Ling’s courage wavered. She looked to Henry. “Can’t we save her?”
“We are saving her,” he reminded her.
Wai-Mae glowed, a star brightening before death. Bright rays fractured her body, a violent birth, an inevitable collapse. And then there was an explosion of white light, shooting out across the dreamscape. Henry and Ling shielded each other and shut their eyes against its brilliance.
In the graveyard of Trinity Church, Memphis and Evie dug at the muddy earth to make a shallow grave. She swiped a filthy, wet arm across her equally sopping brow.
“Where are they?” she called over the rain.
“I’m sure they’ll be here any second,” Memphis answered, but he sounded nervous. “Best thing we can do is to keep digging.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Evie groused.
“Memphis!” Theta came tearing around the corner of New York’s oldest church with Sam right behind her.
Memphis leaped up and embraced her. “I was so worried about you.”
“We ran into a little trouble with a fella who wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Sam said.
“One of those things had you cornered?” Memphis said.
Theta nodded.
“How’d you get away?” Memphis reached for Theta’s hands and she cried out. Memphis saw the weeping flesh there. “Theta! How’d you get these burns?”
“I-I…”
“It was a steam pipe,” Sam said with a quick glance at Theta. “Let’s just get these bones into hallowed ground and give ’em a proper burial.”
Sam, Evie, and Memphis dug furiously until they’d managed a decent hole.
“Good enough, you think, Memphis?” Sam asked.
“I say it’s good enough,” Evie insisted.
“Then here goes nothing,” Sam said, rocking back on his heels and breathing heavily.
Memphis and Theta lowered Wai-Mae’s skull and remaining bones into the shallow grave, then Memphis packed the dirt over it with hands made cold by the wet and the chill in the air.
“What kinda prayer do you say to get rid of a ghost?” Theta asked.
All of them bowed their heads except for Sam.
“Sam?” Evie nudged him with an elbow.
“Trust me: If God exists, he’ll know I’m faking it.”
Memphis kneeled in the mud. He placed one hand on the grave. “Be at peace, restless spirit,” he whispered. He felt the tiniest jolt, a fraction of connection, and then it was gone.
“Is that it? Did we do it?” Theta asked.
Sam shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the ghost expert. Is anything trying to kill us?”
Under the shadow of Trinity Church’s great gothic spire, they huddled together in the rain, listening for the hungry wraiths and hearing nothing but the drops and the sudden comfort of the city’s horns and irritable shouts and constant hum of noise.
“I think we did it,” Memphis said with both relief and awe.
“Let’s go back to the museum,” Theta said, teeth chattering. “I want to know if Henry’s all right.”
“Let me see those hands first,” Memphis said.
“Poet…”
“Theta.”
Reluctantly, Theta held out her raw palms. Memphis took them in his own hands.
Theta winced.
“Sorry,” Memphis said. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“It’ll be okay. I promise.”
Memphis shut his eyes. The spark when it caught was gentle, like being sweetly cradled in the healing trance. He heard drums and the joyful noise of ancestor spirits singing, and up above was blue, blue sky forever. His body warmed. He heard Theta’s voice calling, “Memphis?”
Theta stood in front of him, grinning like somebody seeing happiness for the first time. “I can feel you,” she said without actually speaking aloud. “And I’m not afraid.”
Her head dipped back and her eyes closed. A rush came over Memphis; he felt made of light. The singing was everywhere, and for just a moment the two of them were joined, one body, one soul, as if they’d jumped a broom and landed on the other side in a place of sunshine.
Memphis’s eyes fluttered open. Theta’s eyes were wide, and she was crying.