Lair of Dreams
Jericho nodded, letting his breath out slowly. Maybe there was hope after all.
“None the worse for what?” Sam said, pushing through Will’s office door.
“Nothing,” Jericho said, his brows sharpening. “Where are the Mystical Mediums?”
“The Third Eyes? I left ’em to play with the tarot cards.”
“You what?” Jericho said.
“Relax, Freddy. I told ’em the tarot cards can only be read by special people with special powers. Naturally, they think that’s them. Trust me: They’re as happy as clams.”
“That’s a ridiculous analogy. As if someone could gauge the happiness of a mollusk,” Will grumbled, pawing at his messy desk till he found his cigarettes.
What’s eating him? Sam mouthed to Jericho. Jericho slid out the ominous tax letter, and Sam acknowledged it with a curt nod.
During the Pentacle Murders, the Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult had drawn sizable crowds. Everyone wanted a look at the professor of the supernatural who was helping the police hunt down the gruesome, occult-obsessed killer. But then the murders stopped. Manhattan’s frenzied pulse beat for other crimes and scandals, and now, once again, the museum had been forgotten by most everyone except the taxman.
“I’m fairly sure that I will,” Will said, his eyes on his papers.
Jericho gave Sam a Let it go look, but Sam ignored his warning.
“We’re barely hanging on. A lecture here, a group of self-appointed mystics there. A coupla curious tourists. It’s not enough to keep us off the auction block.”
“We’ve always managed to pull through.”
“Not this time, Professor. That’s a final notice. We need a surefire moneymaker. What’s the biggest thing to hit the city since Chock full o’Nuts started roasting peanuts?”
Will looked up, perplexed. “Chock… full—”
“Diviners! You can’t pick up a newspaper, turn on the radio, or see an advertisement for chewing gum without bumping up against Diviners fever. Seems to me we’re overlooking an obvious gold mine.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t follow.”
“Will, it’s a good idea,” Jericho said.
“See? Even the nihilist agrees. And he likes nothing.” Sam grinned at Jericho, who rolled his eyes. “And… we could get a big name in to draw a crowd. Somebody people would pay to see.”
“Who, pray tell, would that be?”
Sam paused. “Evie.”
The muscles along Will’s jawline tightened. “No.”
“C’mon, Professor. You two can’t be on the outs forever. You gotta break the ice sometime. I saw her last night and—”
“Wait a minute: You saw Evie?” Jericho interrupted.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Professor, I’m telling ya, one word from her on the radio and we’re made. And if she agrees—”
“The Grant Hotel… If she agrees—”
“But how did—”
“Settle down there, Freddy,” Sam said. “Like I was saying, if she agrees to be our special guest for the Diviners exhibit party, everything’s jake.”
“I’m sure we’ll come up with the money for the taxes without having to sully the ideals of this institution,” Will said sharply.
“So you won’t make nice with her? Not even to save the museum?” Sam held up the notices. “We’ve only got until March before the city takes this place, Professor.”
Will shoved the tax letter beneath the stack of clippings on his desk. “We’ll pull through. As for these sightings, there are more of them in the past couple of months, ever since John Hobbes. Have you noticed?” And just like that, the topics of a Diviners exhibit, the party, and Evie were dismissed. Will tapped a fountain pen in a slow rhythm against the desk. “There’s something there. Somehow I sense that it’s all connected.”
“How?” Jericho asked.
Will was up and pacing. “I don’t know. Yet. But I don’t think I’m going to find out by staying here.” Will stopped beside the tall globe stand. He gave the world a spin, trailing a finger over its curved surface. “That’s why I’m considering going out into the field, like in the old days when I was a researcher. Do you think the two of you could run the museum while I look into a few of these cases? I’d only be gone for a short while. Ten days. A few weeks at most.”