by Libba Bray
“That’s not what the ghost of Mrs. Leong told me. She said it would make our bones crumble and our jaws rot off,” Ling said.
“Ugh,” Evie said. “I’m rather attached to my jaw.”
Henry sang, “Oh, the jawbone’s connected to the—”
“It all goes back to atoms,” Ling said, talking over him.
“That’s what my Sunday school teacher said,” Evie said.
“Atoms. Not Adam. Everything is made up of atoms. You. Me. This chair.”
“You know, I felt a real kinship with this chair,” Sam quipped.
Ling’s glare was penetrating.
Sam whistled and put up his hands. “Sorry.”
Satisfied, Ling continued: “Most atoms are stable. But that’s not true with radioactive substances. Their atoms are unstable. When they disintegrate, they give off energy. Uranium by itself isn’t all that valuable. It’s the radium it produces that everybody wants. So what does Jake Marlowe know about uranium that the rest of us don’t?” And why is the uranium being delivered here to his estate? she thought.
Jake Marlowe’s footsteps, sure and even, announced him before he entered. He was a handsome man, slender and well dressed, with a head full of dark hair parted neatly on the side and slicked back from his chiseled face. But more than his movie-star looks, it was his charisma that shone through—Jake Marlowe had “It.”
“How do you do? I’m Jake Marlowe,” he said, as if he needed any introduction. “Welcome to Hopeful Harbor.”
“Ling Chan. I’m looking forward to your Future of America Exhibition, sir,” Ling said, trying to hold back her excitement. “I still have your IOU.” She pulled the crinkled paper from her purse and showed it to Marlowe, who squinted at it.
“Wonderful! Well, I’ll have to make good on that promise.” Marlowe smiled, and Ling felt as if he’d granted her fondest wish.
“Henry DuBois. The Fourth,” Henry felt compelled to add.
“Sam Lloyd. The Only,” Sam said.
“Thanks awfully for having us, Mr. Marlowe,” Evie said with exaggerated politeness. She did not like Jake Marlowe, but for this weekend, she would try to think of him only as the man who had saved Jericho’s life.
“Miss O’Neill,” Marlowe said, his smile faltering for just a second before he launched it again, like a trustworthy vessel. “I’m awfully sorry I won’t be able to join all of you for dinner this evening. I’m afraid I have a prior engagement. But if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more hospitable, do let me know.” And with that, he was gone.
Henry elbowed Ling. “You’ll be giddy for at least a week, won’t you?”
And Ling was so happy that she didn’t even roll her eyes at Henry.
“I’d better go make sure everything’s okay,” Jericho announced. He sidled up to Evie, whispering low: “Invent an excuse and meet me in the rose garden.”
Evie waited exactly thirty seconds, then gave an exaggerated yawn and announced that she needed a nap. She slipped outside, finding Jericho among Marlowe’s neatly trimmed hedges. He looked so handsome standing there in a spot of sun that it quite took her breath away.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Jericho said.
When they were a distance from the estate, Jericho detoured to a gazebo covered by trailing ivy. The flowers had just started to bloom. They smelled wonderful.
“Golly, I can’t get over how much you’ve changed,” she said. When had he gotten so incredibly handsome?
“I feel different. Before I was just existing, in a way. I always felt so apart from everyone else because… well, you know. I never seemed to know what I wanted.”
“And now? I mean, have you, um, do you know what you want?”
“Yes,” Jericho said, staring down at her with those clear blue eyes that seemed to see everything.
She swallowed the lump caught in her throat. Evie rarely got nervous around boys. But that was just it—Jericho had never been a boy. Quickly, she changed the subject. “And, um, what about Marlowe? Have you found anything about what he knows of Project Buffalo?”
Jericho flinched. “Is that all you care about—Project Buffalo?”
“Well, no. Of course not.”
He took another step toward her and stroked the back of his hand across her cheek. “You are so beautiful.”
Evie knew she was not beautiful. She was, if anything, cute. But Jericho thought she was beautiful. No one had ever said those words to her and meant it so completely. It took her breath away. On impulse, she kissed him. When she pulled back, he was staring at her with an intensity that made her blush down to her toes. She could feel the heat coming off him. She wanted him to kiss her so badly that she thought she might die.
He leaned down and whispered low and deep in her ear, “Come with me.”
He took hold of her hand and she followed gladly.
They sneaked upstairs to Jericho’s room. Jericho shut the door and locked it. It was just the two of them.
“Well,” Evie said. “Here we are.”
“You asked me if I knew what I wanted,” Jericho said. “Being here, discovering myself, I’ve learned that I want to be with you. I don’t want to waste another minute.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
In three long strides, Jericho crossed the distance between them and wrapped his muscular arms around Evie, pulling her to him. And then they were kissing, their bodies pressed tightly together. This was not the sweet kiss of October. This was pure, unchecked passion. Evie hadn’t been able to let herself fall fully for Jericho because Mabel liked him and Evie would die before she’d hurt Mabel. And then there were her confusing feelings for Sam. But now that was all in the past. There was nothing to stop her from being with Jericho.
Still kissing her, he lifted her up and deposited her gently on the bed. Then he crawled toward her, lowering his body to hers. Evie pressed her lips against Jericho’s. He snaked a hand up inside her dress, caressing her thigh. Evie’s mother had always told her that no decent girl would pet like this. Maybe I’m not a decent girl, Evie thought, because she very much wanted Jericho to keep doing what he was doing to her. She liked kissing him, she found. His mouth was warm, and when he stroked a hand across her breast, it made her shiver all over.
He buried his head in her neck and murmured, “I love you, Evie.”
It should have made her happy. But for some reason, it made her sad instead. As if she knew she would only disappoint him eventually. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”
Jericho raised his head. His face was flushed, and the way he looked at her now, with real desire, made her feel dizzy in the best possible way. She wanted to live in this moment right here forever. Her emotions bounced around like the Metaphysickometer’s needle, from desire to doubt and back again. She wondered if that was normal.
“But I want to know you. I want to know everything,” he promised between kisses. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Evie smiled. “How much?”
“Let me show you,” he said, with such assurance it made her feel a little drunk. She loved how much he wanted her.
He unbuttoned the front of her dress and moved his mouth along her collarbone and down the center of her chest. He cupped one of her small breasts, and Evie thought she might explode. He was just guiding her hand down, to the front of him, when there was a loud knock at the door.
Evie sat up quickly, knocking Jericho in the nose.
“Sorry, sorry!” she whispered as he covered his injured nose with both hands.
His eyes were watering from the hit. But he was laughing quietly through the pain. “It’s okay. You can kiss it and make it better later,” he whispered.
“Dinner is served, Mr. Jones,” Ames called from the other side of the door.
“I’ll be right there, Ames!”
“Very good, sir.”
“I’d better go and freshen up,” Evie said, and kissed him again. It had been thrilling and maybe a little scar
y feeling his body between her thighs, his hardness pressed against her. She liked that she could do that to him just as much as she liked what he did to her, the way his kisses made her tremble.
“You look fresh enough to me. You couldn’t possibly get any fresher,” Jericho insisted.
“Sorry, pal. Bank’s closed.”
Evie pushed Jericho back. He groaned and flopped against the bank of floofy pillows.
Evie smoothed down her dress. She hoped she looked presentable. “See you at dinner.”
Jericho moved a pillow over his crotch. “Eventually,” he said, grinning.
Evie sneaked out, closing the door quietly behind her. When she turned around, she yelped in surprise. Sam was a few feet away, leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest.
“You startled me,” she said.
Sam wasn’t his usual good-time, smirking self. In fact, he looked as if someone had run over his dog. “What is it about that guy?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Evie said, a flush working its way up her neck.
“Come on, Evie. Don’t con a con man.”
Evie was both embarrassed that he’d caught her and furious that he was judging her.
“What do you care? You’re out with a different chorus girl every night. The papers say so!”
“The papers say a lot of things. Is it because he’s a brooder, a real Heathcliff?”
“He isn’t a brooder. He’s just a very deep thinker. He’s… philosophical. Some girls happen to find that charming.”
“Yeah, real swoon-worthy. Frankly, I never understood why girls go for that. It’s like the fella’s announcing he’s a miserable time, but I swear, that’s like honey for some dames. Misery honey.”
Evie’s eyes flashed. “Maybe you’re the one who’s miserable. You’re certainly conceited.”
“At least I know how to make a girl laugh.”
“And pull her hair out.”
“You know, some girls like that hair-pulling,” Sam said.
He was being deliberately provocative. Evie got up in his face. “Then remind me to shave my head bald.”
“Wait! Just answer me this: Does he make you happy?”
“If you must know, he makes me feel like I’m the only girl in the room.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Why was he doing this to her? “Are you one of those fellas who only likes a girl if another fella wants her? Maybe you should ask yourself that question. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to dress for dinner,” she said, moving past him.
Sam reached out and held her hand softly. “Evie…”
For just a minute, she was reminded of their fake romance. Except that the expression on his face seemed very real. Was it real? Was anything with Sam real? No. Sam-n-Evie, the romance, had had its chance. It hadn’t worked. This was just Sam being his usual pot-stirring self. And once he had a girl wrapped around his finger, he lost interest. She knew too well from experience.
She let go of his hand. “I don’t want to be late for dinner.”
Sam leaned his head back against the wall, thumping it gently. “Swell job, Lloyd. You schmuck.”
After a delicious private dinner that featured more silverware than anybody knew what to do with, they retired to the library, where they played cards and waited until they could steal into the room with the punch card reader. They listened to the hubbub of servants taking coats and men welcoming one another, of Marlowe ordering “our best port,” even though Sam had the idea that these were the very people who’d voted for Prohibition, then turned around and decided the rules didn’t apply to them. The men’s voices went fuzzy with distance as they retreated to another part of the house, and then it was silent. The grandfather clock in the foyer struck half past nine.
“Can we go now, Freddy?” Sam cajoled.
“Yes,” Jericho said, leaving his cards on the table. “And don’t call me Freddy.”
Jericho led his friends toward the former soldiers’ room. “Quickly,” he said, ushering them inside and shutting the door.
“Don’t see me,” Sam said, waving his hands over it. “That should keep anybody’s eyes from glancing this way for the next five minutes or so.”
Just above them, they could hear vague noises from Marlowe’s club meeting: The crack of a billiards game. Muffled laughter. Low talking. They were safe for now.
“So this is where my brother was before…” Evie said, giving the room a once-over. She longed to touch everything in the hope that some trace of James lingered here.
“It’s this way,” Jericho said gently, and led them toward the back. He opened the closet door. Sam whistled.
“So that’s it, huh?” he said, stroking a hand across the tabulating machine. “I’ll say this for Marlowe, this is a beauty. The one at Macy’s wasn’t like this. Say, Jericho, gimme a hand with this thing, will ya?”
Jericho dragged the machine from the closet as if it weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.
“I coulda done that,” Sam said.
Henry patted him sympathetically on the back. Ling shook her head.
Sam plugged in the machine. He pushed a button and it hummed to life.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, and fed the first card into the intake slot. A series of slim metal fingers bobbed up and down as they attempted to type out a report. The machine wheezed and shuddered.
“What’s wrong with it?” Henry asked. “It sounds like an angry cow.”
Smoke poured from the agitating card reader.
“No, no, no!” Sam tried to intervene and got a shock. He hissed and shook out his fingers.
“Stop it before it catches fire!”
Ling hooked her crutch around the cord and yanked it free from the outlet. With a last stuttering sigh, the machine spat out the severely mangled card and went dead.
Ling examined a few of the other cards. “Maybe they’re too old and dirty. Probably the machine is, too.”
“What do we do now?” Henry asked.
“Nothing, that’s what,” Sam said, sinking down onto one of the beds. “We can’t read these cards, we can’t find any other Diviners. We can’t know about ourselves and what they did to us. And I can’t use that information to find my mother.” Sam buried his head in his hands. “Could you… not look at me right now? Thanks.”
Evie had never seen Sam like this. He was usually the one finding a way forward. It was a little scary to see him at such a loss. She reached for the mangled card.
Sam glanced up. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to try to read it,” Evie answered, sitting beside Sam on the bed.
“You already told us you can’t read it,” Ling said.
“I couldn’t before. I still might not be able to do it. But we might. We already know that together we can strengthen one another’s energy and skills. With all of us working together, I might be able to break through.”
“You’ll be sick,” Sam warned.
“So I’ll be sick,” Evie said.
“Are you sure, doll?” Sam asked.
“Just hand over those cards and gather ’round,” Evie said.
Henry, Ling, Sam, and Evie huddled together on the bed while Jericho stood nearby.
“I wish this didn’t involve so much touching,” Ling grumbled.
“Concentrate, please,” Evie said.
The card was cold, like before. It hadn’t been held in many years. Evie wondered if people were like that, too—if something in them died when they were denied affection for too long. A memory bubbled up: Evie was a child desperate for her mother’s attention. But her mother was busy with housework. Evie threw her arms around her mother’s waist. “I’ll keep you here in my cage!” she’d giggled. Her exhausted mother had a schedule to keep. Irritated, she’d pushed Evie away. “Evangeline, you wear me out!”
A great wave of loneliness surged inside Evie at this sudden memory. That was the trouble with object reading—she was ope
n and unguarded. All the feelings could come flooding in, and none of her usual defenses—booze, parties, flirting, sarcasm—would keep them out.
She heard Jericho’s deep, sure voice: “Are you okay, Evie?”
“Fine,” she whispered. Begone, loneliness. I’ve no time for you.
Evie could feel the card’s barriers giving way and she leaned into it. Come on, show me who you are.… Its history began to come alive. First, there was the secretary who’d punched in the code. She was nursing a grudge against her sister for some small slight. Next, the messenger boy running the card to a new location. He wore short pants and suspenders and loved baseball. The warmth of his affection for the game spread through Evie. Every person who’d handled the card left behind emotions until the cards seemed as human as humans themselves. It made her think about the tubes and wires inside Jericho. The longer they were there, the more they became fused to his flesh, threaded to his organs until it was impossible to know what was man and what was machine. Humans infected all they touched.
Numbers and letters blinked fast behind her eyes, dizzying.
“We’re here with you. You can do this.” Henry’s voice in her head. Ling and Henry’s dream walker energy began to relax her, as if she were drifting off into a deep sleep. She needed to find the person who could read the code.
“Sam,” Evie whispered. “Can you help me see better?”
Sam’s hand was on her shoulder. She could feel him. And then, all at once, she broke through layers of old memories to Rotke Wasserman. Rotke knew what was on the cards!
Subject #9. Diego Perez. Mother: Maria Perez. Race: Negro (Dominican). Address: 155 W. 62nd St., New York, New York. Vitamin injections weekly. March 4, 1914. Age 5. Vivid dreams. Still wets bed. No abilities. September 22, 1915. Age 6. Levitated two pencils. Five seconds. October 5, 1915. Levitated coffee cup. Ten seconds. December 12, 1915. Levitated coffee cup. Twenty seconds. December 29, 1915. Headaches. Nosebleeds. Aural hallucinations. Sleeps for long stretches. Mother worried. Radiation therapy recommended, JM.
JM. JM…Jake Marlowe. Had to be.
