“Has it?” Evie said quietly.
“Has it what?” Memphis asked.
“Has it stopped for good?”
And with that, the conversation broke down into shouting and squabbling. Jericho tried in vain to restore order. He brought the gavel down hard, cracking the table. Sharp static burbled from the Metaphysickometer, silencing everyone. The needle jumped erratically.
“What’s that?” Sam said. “Why’s it doing that?”
“I don’t know,” Mabel whispered.
The front door to the museum banged open and shut, the slam echoing through the old mansion.
“Quiet!” Jericho whispered. Everyone crowded together around the table. Jericho lifted the fireplace poker from its holder and held it like Babe Ruth, ready to swing. The clack of shoes echoed in the hallway. The door swung open.
Framed in the doorway, Will stopped short, his gaze traveling from person to person. “Are you starting an orchestra?”
“Will, I—” Sister Walker came up behind Will. “Oh. I didn’t know you had company.”
“Neither did I,” Will said.
Memphis squinted. “Sister Walker?”
“Hello, Memphis. I’m happy to see you here. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time now.”
Will acknowledged Evie with a terse nod. “Hello, Evangeline.”
Evie folded her arms across her chest. “Uncle Will,” she said coldly.
“Well, Will. Looks as if they’re all here at last,” Sister Walker said.
She took off her hat and shut the door.
On the streets of Chinatown, drums thundered and firecrackers sizzled, exploding into pops of light. The Year of the Rabbit had begun. Neighbors crowded onto second-floor balconies. Children watched from fire escapes, eager to see the action below. The crowd was smaller this year; some people still feared the sleeping sickness, even though there’d been no new cases reported. Still, Mr. Levi had come with his grandchildren, who thrilled at the sight of the undulating lion dancers. And Mr. and Mrs. Russo, who ran the pastry shop on Mulberry, had also arrived with several cousins in tow. Everyone clapped and cheered, delighted by the spectacle and the food and the hope of the celebration—a new start was always welcome. Couples handed out red envelopes filled with money, eager for good luck to bless them. Ling tucked hers into her pocket. Later, she’d add it to her college fund. But now there was a banquet to serve. The Tea House was filled with hungry people eager to feast, and the smells of meat and fish, soup and noodles—the best of her father’s kitchen—made Ling’s stomach growl.
Behind the teak screen, Ling poured tea and placed two plates of oranges and a moon cake on the table: one to honor George, the other Wai-Mae.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered.
Jericho dripped with sweat as he drove himself through his daily physical regimen. He collapsed on the floor. Three hundred push-ups. Two hundred pull-ups. His arms didn’t even shake. He made a fist. It was no trouble at all. Silently, he slid open the drawer and took out the leather pouch stashed there beneath his undershirts. The ten empty vials clinked as he unwrapped the strings. Carefully, he removed the stopper in the smaller vial Marlowe had given him, drinking down an ounce of blue serum, enough for the week. Three ounces left. He dropped to the floor and started again.
Evie stepped from a taxi and rushed toward the monolithic WGI building. Her hand was on the door when she heard, from behind, “Look! It’s her!” A trio of excited girls huddled together, pointing and whispering.
Here we go, Evie thought. She braced herself as the girls surged forward, then grew befuddled as they ran right past her. She stepped out onto the street to see where they’d gone. The girls had stopped halfway down the block, where they surrounded Sarah Snow.
“We just adore you, Miss Snow,” one of the girls chirped.
Sarah beamed. “Bless you all,” she said and signed their autograph books.
Henry walked into the Huffstadler Publishing Company wearing a new jacket and holding tightly to the sliver of jade Ling had given him with a curt “Don’t lose this.”
Behind his desk, David Cohn greeted Henry with a raised eyebrow. “Back for more abuse?”
“I hope not. I wanted to leave my card in case you hear of somebody looking for a rehearsal pianist. I quit the Follies.”
“That was either very brave or very dumb. Let’s go with brave,” David said.
From behind Huffstadler’s closed office door, they could hear the publisher berating the Amazing Reynaldo—“What kind of two-bit Diviner can’t even let a man with a mistress know that his wife is on the way up?”
