by Libba Bray
All Isaiah could do was cry “Why?” over and over until Memphis thought his heart would break. No matter how hard you tried to keep the unfairness of life from kids, it found them sooner or later.
“You did right by those kittens, Ice. I was real proud of you the way you took care of ’em.”
“For what? So he could drown ’em!”
Memphis put a steadying hand on Isaiah’s too-warm back. “We can’t do nothin’ about what other people do. We can only do right by what we believe. It’s a hard path to be who you are and try to put your best self into a world that doesn’t always show thanks for it. A world that can be unfair. Downright cruel at times. But otherwise… well, you might as well be one of those soulless dead.” Memphis embraced his brother, sheltering him with his arms. “I love you, Little Man. I won’t ever, ever, ever stop. Never.”
“Promise?” Isaiah said. His voice was thick with snot.
“Promise. We’re going to get our powers working and put things back to order.”
Isaiah looked up. “Why?”
“Whatcha mean?”
“The order’s all wrong.”
Memphis’s heart tightened. No matter how hard you tried, kids saw the world as it was.
“Then we’re going to make a new one.”
The day was coming on hot. The bath Evie had taken last night was for naught. She sweated through the cotton of her shapeless dress. “I want to try again.”
“Yeah? You want to see all those dead faces again?” Theta said. “Because I don’t think I can.”
“And anyway, we can’t. Sarah Beth is still feeling poorly,” Isaiah protested.
“I know, but we can’t afford to rest,” Evie said. “The King of Crows certainly isn’t. Neither is Jake Marlowe. And we might not have long here anyway.”
The night before, the doctor had come to the house to see to Sarah Beth. The Diviners had made themselves scarce, but Evie and Memphis had accidentally run into him as they left their nightly broadcast in the barn. The doctor had looked from Evie to Memphis. “How do you do. I’m Virginia, Ada’s cousin,” Evie had said as Memphis slunk away to the farmhands’ quarters, out of sight. But Evie could see the suspicion in the man’s eyes. And Mrs. Olson was certainly not happy about what had happened to her daughter.
“Sarah Beth’ll be sore,” Isaiah grumbled. “She’ll be sore at me.”
“I’ll take the blame,” Evie promised, and Isaiah relented somewhat.
The Diviners came together once more.
“I’m scared.” Evie hadn’t meant to say it. It just crept out.
“You’re telling the truth,” Ling said.
Evie’s laugh was brittle. “Is that so unusual?”
“Yes. You don’t always trust us,” Ling said.
“Oh,” Evie said. “I’m sorry.”
Ling took Evie’s hand. “What’s next?”
“Honestly? I don’t know,” Evie said. But wait—she did know something. Perhaps it was nothing, but sometimes the tiniest things moved mountains. “When I was attacked in Gideon”—she did not say, When Mabel attacked me—“there was a moment where I was just free. Like with Henry and Ling, trying to find each other in the dream world. Instead of trying to make something happen, let’s just look for one another.”
“When Theta created that disturbance in Times Square, she said ‘stop’ and then ‘stop’ was all I could think about,” Memphis added.
“Just look for one another?” Henry said.
“Yes,” Memphis said. “Feel for one another.”
The moment they shut their eyes, Sam started thinking of the stargazer and zooming through all that space, but this time he wasn’t afraid. It was as if he and his friends were floating up toward some great unknown all together. They were making a dimension. They were the dimension, and it, them. They were no longer bound by line and shape, by shame and fear. They simply were. A state of being so pure it was as if they had never been cut from the fabric of time and hurtled into physical bodies but existed in all time, all space at once. They were part of one another. It was beyond telepathy; they were transcendence. They could feel one another’s heartbeats. It was as if they lived in one another’s skins. Jericho’s fingers wanted to move across the piano keys of Henry’s memory and the face of a beautiful boy in New Orleans. Theta’s anger and fear swirled inside Sam, but so did her joy at singing and dancing. Evie was Memphis on Lenox Avenue, a poem half-formed in his heart. Ling was Isaiah saying, “Listen. Listen!” while people talked around him, over him, ignoring him. Memphis felt a nagging pain in his legs and then the beauty of physics making sense as he became Ling and she him and they were all one being. Jericho could touch Theta’s firepower, borrow it, make it his. Isaiah reached into his brother’s healing with a mischievous joy—so that’s how it is! Somehow, they had gotten past shame and pride and fear to vulnerability. They weren’t just combining powers, they were connecting. Anticipating one another’s moves. Beating with one heart. It was like the most beautiful voice surrounding them, looping through them, promising that no one is ever alone because aloneness does not exist. All are connected.
When they broke the circle at last, Memphis could still feel the others within him. It was fading, but he’d felt it nonetheless.
Ling smiled in wonder. “I think we’ve just discovered what we can do. We’re not a weapon. At least, not the one they were counting on.”
“So what, precisely, is the special Diviners power that’s going to help us win the day?” Henry asked.
“I think…” Ling started. “I think it’s trust.”
THE WRONG SIDE OF HISTORY
The two Shadow Men drove into the night. Adams had been driving, but he was tired now, and so Jefferson took the wheel. For a long time, there was only the soft purr of tires on road.
“You’re awful quiet,” Jefferson said at last.
“You ever have bad dreams?” Adams asked. The wind swam past the half-open windows.
“Me? I sleep like a baby.”
The brown sedan turned right at the crossroads. It, too, simply followed orders.
“This machine of Marlowe’s. I had a bad dream about it.”
“What dream was that?”
Adams frowned. “Don’t wanna say. It got me thinking, though. About what he’s doing. What we’re doing.”
Mr. Adams waited for Mr. Jefferson to say something. When he did not, Mr. Adams continued.
“Take Al Capone, for instance. You know he gives out food and toys to the families of the South Side? To them, he’s not a gangster; he’s a hero who looks out for them when no one else does. Doesn’t matter he’s the same character who orders another massacre and turns the streets bloody. Al Capone passes out some toys at an orphanage and makes himself the hero of his own story.”
“Is there a point to this meandering little tale, Mr. Adams?”
“You ever wonder if maybe we’re on the wrong side of history?”
The brown sedan bumped over rutted road. It scraped the car’s undercarriage.
“Most people are sheep, Mr. Adams. They must be led by men unafraid of consequences, men unafraid of power. Would you agree?”
Adams shrugged.
“They don’t want the responsibility of democracy. They’d rather shop the sales at Gimbels or see what’s playing down at the picture palace. They would prefer to think of democracy as a machine built by demigods, shrouded in heroic myth, controlled by forces beyond them, but always humming along, productive and inexhaustible, looking out for their interests.”
“We the people…” Adams muttered.
“Are. Mostly. Sheep.”
“Apes,” Adams said after a pause.
“What’s that?”
“If we evolved from apes, like that Scopes fella taught, that means there is no God. We’re alone out here.”
The moon was a fat circle. It sat above the land pregnant with some unnamed dread.
“Everyone’s alone out here,” Jefferson said.
<
br /> “Not me. I’m in the car with you.”
“I’m not here. You just think I am.”
Jefferson was joking, Adams knew, but it didn’t sit right. In his bad dream, Adams was stranded in the desert. The clang of the Eye was everywhere. Blood seeped up from the soft dirt and Adams saw that he balanced on the bony back of some long-dead animal. A wolf appeared in the darkness. It had a man’s face. It attacked Adams, gnawing through his stomach. No one could hear his cries, and when Adams looked up, he was the wolf.
Jefferson was talking. “You should try warm milk before bed. Puts me right out. Like I said, I sleep like a baby.” The brown sedan shuddered to a stop at the edge of the fairgrounds. Jefferson pulled on his black gloves. “Come on. Time to go to work.”
Jefferson cut the headlights and let himself out of the car. He walked purposefully toward the silent circus and did not look back. Adams stared down at his hands resting on his knees, at the bandage wrapped around his right hand. Blood seeped through in the spot where the last Diviner they’d forced into Marlowe’s Eye had bit him.
“Babies don’t sleep so well,” he said.
He got out of the car.
SARAH BETH
It was Saturday when Mr. Olson announced he was headed into town for some feed and groceries. “Happy to take anybody who wants to go,” he said.
“Oh, I would adore going into town! Any town,” Evie said.
“You suppose it’s safe?” Jericho asked.
“I don’t care,” Evie said. “I can’t stay on the farm one more minute. Besides, we might be able to get news about Marlowe.” There had been nothing further in the papers about Marlowe testing the Eye in the desert. It had gone very quiet all of a sudden, and that worried Evie.
It was decided that Jericho, Evie, Theta, Henry, Sarah Beth, and Isaiah would accompany Mr. Olson into town. Memphis and Sam were concerned about being seen. Bill wanted to finish painting the barn. Ling’s body hurt, and she didn’t think she could bear walking. “Bring me back something to eat, please?” she begged Henry. “Nothing with mayonnaise.”
Bountiful was a sweet little town, but Evie was longing for New York. Every night, she whispered to Sam, “I hope you don’t think you’re getting out of taking me to Goldberg’s Deli for that pastrami sandwich.” What she was really saying was, There’s a future. There’s always a future. She needed to believe in that just now.
“I need to bring a few things home for Mrs. Olson,” Mr. Olson said and stepped into the dry-goods store. It was clear from his tone that they were not to follow.
“I suppose we’ll wait out here and soak up all that Bountiful has to offer,” Henry said.
“Don’t be snide,” Theta said, grinning.
“Who’s being snide? It’s got fresh air. I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
Theta arched one eyebrow. “Yes. Snidely.”
“How do, Bert,” Mr. Olson said, nodding at the shopkeeper behind the counter inside the dry-goods store.
“Afternoon, Jim. I see you brought company with you today.” The shopkeeper looked out the window to where the Diviners strolled along the sidewalks. “Family of yours or Ada’s?”
“Mmm,” Mr. Olson said, ignoring the man’s nosy questions. “I’ll take a sack of flour, another of sugar, fifty pounds of feed.…”
The shopkeeper didn’t budge. “I heard from Maryellen that they’ve been staying on your farm and helping out.”
“Don’t even know why anybody has a telephone when they can just get the news from Maryellen,” Mr. Olson said. He tried to make the comment sound lighthearted, but that wasn’t his specialty.
“She got the news from Dr. Wilson. Heard Sarah Beth had another fit.”
Mr. Olson only nodded.
“Where do these folks come from? Who are their people?” the shopkeeper persisted.
“They’re helping ’round the farm. They’re hard workers. The rest ain’t my business.”
“It ain’t? They’re strangers staying on your farm. You got a wife and daughter to think of, Jim.”
“Then I’d best get my goods and get back to ’em. Uh, just put this on my bill, Bert.”
“You’re out of credit.” The man behind the register leaned forward. He lowered his voice. “Now, you know I don’t want to see your farm go under, Jim. The boys have heard about this.”
The boys. The Klan.
“Word spread from some of the other klaverns. Seems like those folks match up with these Diviners that are wanted. There’s reward money they’d split with you, Jim. Big money. You could get Sarah Beth a good doctor in Omaha. You could pay off what you owe, with money left over for a new tractor and plow. Fix up the house with electricity! The boys just want those Diviners. That’s all.”
Mr. Olson was a decent man. Or he’d always tried to be. What was a decent man supposed to do when times were so hard? The muscles along his jaw tightened. He said nothing. The shopkeeper took it as consent. “Just leave it to us. We’ll take care of it. Go on, take the feed, Jim. Seems your credit’s good after all.”
“No, thank you. I don’t believe I will.” Mr. Olson left the goods on the counter and pushed out of the store.
“Best be getting back,” he announced as he emerged from the store empty-handed.
“Oh, but Mr. Olson, didn’t Mrs. Olson need sugar?” Evie asked.
“They was out,” he growled.
The Diviners hoisted themselves into the back of the truck. Evie sat down gingerly and waved away the dust with a sigh. “I will be so happy never to ride in a chicken truck again.”
Isaiah passed by Mr. Olson. The farmer was just sitting there behind the wheel with his hands in his lap, staring out through the glass at the dry-goods store. Isaiah hadn’t forgiven Mr. Olson for the kittens. He wasn’t sure he ever could. But he could tell Mr. Olson was sadder than usual. He was worried it had something to do with Sarah Beth.
“Everything all right, Mr. Olson?” Isaiah asked.
Mr. Olson didn’t answer for what felt like a very long time. “Fine. Go on and get in the back, son,” he said at last and started the engine.
When they got back to the farm, it was afternoon. The sun was strong and high. The outdoor thermometer affixed to the back porch of the farmhouse read nearly eighty-five degrees. The day had bloomed into a true late-spring beauty.
The phone rang in the parlor. Mr. Olson answered. “Uh-huh. All right. About three o’clock. Right,” he said and hung up. “Ada and I got to go to town again. Forgot something,” he announced.
“Lands’ sakes, Jim. I’m not decent.”
“You look fine, Ada.”
“Sarah Beth? You want to go to town, honey?”
“No. I’m feeling poorly,” Sarah Beth said in such a perfect sigh that Evie had to admire the craft of it. Hadn’t Evie used that same sighing voice to get out of going to school when she was bored?
“Well. All right, then.” Mrs. Olson fixed Evie with a stare. “Can I trust you to look after my daughter?”
“Yes. Of course,” Evie said, feeling guilty.
Mrs. Olson smiled at her daughter and gave her cheek a kiss. “Now, don’t be any trouble.”
“Don’t be any trouble,” Sarah Beth singsonged in reply, too low for her mother to hear her.
Mrs. Olson grabbed her hat and joined her husband. In a moment, the truck was backing down the dirt drive toward the road into town.
Sarah Beth tossed off her blanket and crossed the room, helping herself to some of the bridge mix Mrs. Olson kept in a bowl on an end table.
Nicely done, Evie thought.
“You want to practice our powers again?” Sarah Beth asked.
“I don’t believe we should. You heard your mother—you should rest,” Evie said.
Sarah Beth’s lips tightened like she might spit or bite. It was a frightening transformation.
“You practiced without me, didn’t you?” Sarah Beth demanded.
“I… I don’t know what you mean.” Evie felt quite off
balance suddenly.
Sarah Beth narrowed her eyes. They were such an unnerving shade of gray. “You said I was one of you. And then you went and did that. You don’t care about me at all!”
“That isn’t true, Sarah Beth. We didn’t want to hurt you. That’s all.”
“You’re lying,” Sarah Beth said. “You’re a liar. Nobody likes liars.”
The girl ran off into the yard toward Isaiah, who was painting the fence. Evie sank into the chair, shaking. What just happened?
“Look what I found,” Sarah Beth said, startling Isaiah. She had a way of sneaking up on a fella.
“Hey-o, Sarah Beth,” Isaiah said, laying the paintbrush in the grass and wiping his brow with his wrist.
From behind her back, Sarah Beth produced a mason jar. Inside, a tiny frog hopped, desperate to be let out.
“It’s a chorus frog. They come out in the spring and sing. That’s how the lady frogs know it’s time to mate.”
Isaiah blushed at the word mate. He put his face up to the jar. The frog’s huge eyes blinked. It pressed webbed fingers against the glass like it was begging.
“We should put him in the river,” Isaiah said.
Sarah Beth yanked the jar away. “He’s mine. I caught him.”
“He’s scared. I can feel it. Maybe he’s got a family that’s missing him.” The kittens. He still ached for them.
Sarah Beth thought it over. “Okay. Come on. Let’s go to the river together. I have a surprise.”
Evie couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling in her gut about Sarah Beth. Yes, she was immature—she lived on a farm, isolated from others her age. But there was a cunning about the girl that Evie had seen in girls back in Zenith. The way they’d snipe or pinch when they thought no one important was looking their way. How they’d spread all manner of spiteful gossip, then go big-eyed and innocent, even blubbery, if they thought it would get them out of some trouble they’d caused. The truth was, Evie hadn’t been able to warm to Sarah Beth. She kept trying to talk herself out of that feeling. After all, the Olsons were so nice to let them stay, and Mrs. Olson had brought Evie soup and tea while she was recuperating—had treated her like a daughter. Sarah Beth’s birth had been difficult, and Jake Marlowe’s serum had clearly damaged her. She was lonely and strange, and that needy, petulant oddness isolated the girl further. But no matter how much Evie’s heart and head tried to strong-arm her gut, her gut got the last word: There’s something not right about this girl. There’s a reason you feel uncomfortable in her presence.