Before the Devil Breaks You

by Libba Bray

  Jericho glowered. “Evie is a swell girl. And I’m not throwing myself.”

  “Now, now, don’t get sore. I’m simply saying you can do better. Why, after this exhibition, when the girls get a gander at you, you’ll have your pick. It will be, ‘Evie who?’”

  Jericho couldn’t imagine such a thing. For him, there was one girl, and Evie was it. He was thrilled to receive her reply that she would be up to visit come the weekend, and he wasn’t about to let Marlowe derail his good mood. “What will you do with this serum once it’s perfected?” Jericho asked, forking waffles onto his plate.

  Jake’s eyes gleamed as he stirred his coffee. “Why, sell it, of course. What if, simply by taking a New and Improved Marlowe VitaHealth Tonic each day, expectant mothers could grow a nation of healthy, exceptional Americans whom you could count on to make the right-thinking choices? Crime would plummet. Industry would advance. Patriotism would soar.” Marlowe leaned back against the cushion of his chair. “We would be the greatest and most powerful nation on the face of the earth.”

  Jericho swallowed down his bite of waffle. “But isn’t that strange and wonderful unpredictability part of humanity? Aren’t all of our differences what already make us a great nation?”

  Jake leaned forward again, his dark brows furrowed. “Some people just can’t be assimilated. Remember the bombings that took place on Wall Street a few years ago? The work of foreigners! What if war came to us again? How could we be sure that the Italian shoemaker or German sausage-maker would be loyal to America?”

  Jericho didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. He’d been warming to Marlowe, and this was a cold note. “You still haven’t said—what will I do at the exhibition?”

  “Mostly demonstrations of your superior strength and health. The perfect walking advertisement for the glorious future of Marlowe Industries’s newest health advancement. And it’ll make me a very rich man to boot.”

  Jericho laughed. “You’re already rich. Why do you need more money?”

  “You can never be too rich,” Marlowe said with a wink. He paused, then: “I need the money to fund my real passion.”

  Jericho had assumed the super-powered vitamin tonic—and Jericho’s part in it—was Marlowe’s real passion. He couldn’t help feeling a bit rejected by this new knowledge that he was second. “And what’s that?” he asked coolly.

  Marlowe smiled like a man with the most delicious secret in the world. “What if I told you that there is another world out there, Jericho? A dimension of untold wonders just waiting to be discovered and claimed?”

  “I’d probably say you’ve read too many H. G. Wells novels.”

  Marlowe sipped his coffee. “Oh, it’s real, all right. I’ve glimpsed it. I made contact with it once. It spoke to me. But the power coming through was too much for my poor little machine to take. Ever since, I’ve been working to make improvements in the hope of reestablishing contact. We’re awfully close. I can feel it.”

  Jericho had no idea what Marlowe was talking about. It really did sound like something from a fantasy novel.

  “Can you imagine what that would mean, to control such a vast amount of energy? What new creations and wonders might be wrought from it? ‘Oh brave new world!’ I’d be the new Columbus!” Marlowe pounded the table with his fist. Jericho had never seen him so excited. “Of course, to reach into that dimension requires quite a lot of energy, too. But I did it before and, by golly, I can do it again. That’s the American spirit!”

  “Could I see this machine?” Jericho asked.

  “Not yet. When it’s ready. For now, it’s our little secret,” Jake said, grinning, and even though Jericho knew not to trust him, not completely, he couldn’t help feeling that he’d been chosen by Jake. And being chosen felt good. Special.

  Jericho cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh, been meaning to ask you, who is that woman I saw here, Anna Provenza?”

  A shadow passed over Jake’s sunny face. He stirred his coffee even though he’d already stirred it. “Oh. Just someone I’m trying to help. Poor girl.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Mental patient. Hears voices. Thinks she sees the future.”

  “A Diviner, then.”

  Marlowe trained his gaze on Jericho. “Do you know what Diviners are? They are a plague upon the nation.”

  “My friends are Diviners.”

  “So were some of mine,” Jake said, and Jericho could hear the hurt in it. “They’re not to be trusted, though. That sort of strangeness, well, it’s unnatural. It leads to clannishness—that sort sticks to their own kind. They think they’re better than the rest of us. They’ll turn on you eventually. Be careful.” And then, like the sun parting clouds, Marlowe smiled. “But enough of this. We have work to do.”

  In the basement laboratory, Marlowe showed Jericho to a long, hinged-top tank with a ladder on the outside. The tank had been filled with water, like a bathtub.

  “What is this?” Jericho asked.

  “It’s called sensory deprivation,” Marlowe explained. “You’ll be floating inside, completely relaxed, while the vitamin tonic enters your bloodstream. There’s a microphone inside. We want to know what you see and hear while you’re in that meditative state.”

  A panicky feeling came over Jericho. Ever since the time he’d spent trapped in Jake’s iron lung contraption, Jericho had developed a fear of confined spaces. Just looking at the thing made his heart race. “You want me to climb inside that?”

  Marlowe frowned. “Come now. You’re not afraid, are you? It’s just water.”

  Yes, Jericho wanted to say. I am, in fact, afraid of being sealed up in that thing like a watery coffin. But he didn’t want to look like a coward. And besides, he didn’t really have a choice.

  Marlowe administered the vitamin serum, and Jericho could feel it warming his veins as Marlowe guided him to the tank. He climbed inside. Pure panic overtook him as Marlowe shut the lid, sealing Jericho in darkness.

  “It’s all right,” Marlowe’s voice assured him. “Just relax.”

  Jericho tried, but he hated the isolation. It was like a practice death. To calm himself, he conjured the memory of that Ferris wheel ride with Evie again. He pictured her laughing face, and beyond it the whole of the sky. Soon, he began to lose sense of his borders. It was as if he had no body at all. Time was meaningless. Jericho wasn’t sure how long he’d been floating there when he began to hear murmurs, like eavesdropping at a summer picnic from a distance.

  “I hear… voices,” he said.

  “Good! Good.” Marlowe. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”

  “Open… the… door again as before… but this time, you must keep it open.”

  The murmurs turned into an insect-like hiss that made Jericho’s skin crawl.

  “Talk to the voices, Jericho. Ask them how I do that.”

  “Hello,” Jericho said. “How do we keep it open?”

  The insect drone grew louder. It was as if he were at a summer picnic and a fierce thunderstorm were bearing down. “The souls must be refreshed,” Jericho repeated. “He will give further instructions soon. But you must not fail this time.…”

  That terrible sound made Jericho’s heartbeat go wild. Underneath, it sounded as if all the demons of hell were loose. And in his current state, he felt joined to it. Like he was back in his dream watching the sky tear open, exposing the horrors hidden inside.

  Calm, Solnyshko, calm, a woman’s voice directed. It was the same voice that had warned him not to stay during his first week at the estate.

  “Who is that? Who’s talking to me?”

  “Jericho, do you hear someone?” Marlowe. “Who’s in there with you?”

  “A woman.”

  Tell them nothing about me! the woman instructed. Talk to me only in your head. I can hear your thoughts.

  But why?

  You are in danger. You must get away.

  What do you mean? Why am I in danger?

  T
he past is a ghost. He is making a terrible mistake. You must stop him.

  “Jericho? Are you all right?” Marlowe’s voice.

  “Yes,” Jericho answered. At least, he thought he had. It was hard to tell. His edges were blurring into unreality. He was the water in the tank, and the water was Jericho. He was eternity.

  “You mentioned a woman,” Marlowe said. “What did she say? Who’s in there with you?”

  Say nothing, Solnyshko.

  “No one. She went away. I mean, all the voices went away.”

  “Okay,” Marlowe said, and Jericho could hear the disappointment in it. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  Jericho heard the hinges on the tank creak. Marlowe was letting him out.

  Thank you, the woman’s voice said.

  Who are you? Jericho thought.

  He sensed light spilling across his face, smelled the antiseptic room, felt hands reaching in for him.

  My name, the voice said, is Miriam.

  THE NEW JERICHO

  The next afternoon, Jericho waited in the foyer, counting down the minutes until Evie arrived. He’d slicked back his hair with pomade and put on his best suit. From the garden, he’d snipped one red rose. The door chimes rang. “I’ll get it, Ames!” Jericho called out.

  He opened the door and held out the rose. “Welcome.”

  “Aww, Freddy, you shouldn’t have,” Sam said, taking the rose and threading it through the buttonhole of his coat. “This is so sudden! I don’t know what to say. Oh, okay. You’ve won me over, you big brute. The answer is yes.”

  With that, Sam jumped into Jericho’s arms.

  “Wow. You got even more giant… er. He’s a mighty oak of a man! My hero.”

  Jericho put Sam down with a thud. It wasn’t just Sam. Henry had come along, too. “What are you doing here?”

  “Golly. Don’t tell me I’m not welcome. I put on aftershave and everything. Smell.” Sam leaned his jaw toward Jericho. Jericho pushed him back, and Sam reeled for a second before catching his balance. “Holy-moly, that’s impressive. What’ve they been feeding you, Freddy?”

  “I didn’t know you were coming. I thought it was just Evie and Ling.”

  “Oh, dear,” Henry said.

  Evie looked horrified. “Oh no! I could’ve sworn I told you it was the four of us.”

  “I brought pastries,” Henry said in apology. He held up a box tied with string.

  “It’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jericho said. “There are certainly plenty of rooms.”

  A sheepish Evie moved closer to Jericho. “I’m awfully sorry, Jericho. But Sam wasn’t about to miss out on the card reading, and Henry needed some country air and—oh, I hope it’s not a terrible bother.” She kissed Jericho on the cheek, and Jericho didn’t care what he had to tell Marlowe. He was just glad to see his friends—especially Evie.

  Sam whistled. “This is some fancy prison they got you in, Freddy. Or do I call you Sir Frederick now?”

  “You call me Jericho. For a change,” Jericho said.

  While the others settled in, and after Jericho had explained apologetically to the less-than-thrilled Ames that there would be extra guests for the weekend, Jericho waited in the ballroom. He stared at the fancy oil painting of Marlowe’s dead ancestors, a long line of stern, pale men posed atop horses or beside hunting dogs. They all had the same expression in their eyes: a simple acceptance that they were the masters of their fates and nothing would get in the way to change that.

  “Must be nice,” Jericho said.

  “What must be nice?” Evie said, sweeping into the room like the sun inching across a cold floor.

  “Having you here is nice,” Jericho said, grinning. “Even if I have to put up with Sam, too.”

  He crossed the room with the relaxed gait he’d now come to own and stood beside Evie. She smelled good, like rosewater and vanilla. He had a strong urge to kiss her, and he wondered what she would do if he swept her up in his arms and did just that. “I’ve missed you.”

  He guided her to the chaise and sat beside her, their knees nearly touching. “Here. A welcome gift.” Jericho placed a folded paper figurine in Evie’s hand.

  “A dog?” Evie asked.

  “A wolfhound,” Jericho corrected. “Evie, meet Evie.”

  Evie laughed. “Gee, this is swell!”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t quite figure out how to give her a proper ascot,” Jericho said, and the two of them laughed as if they were drunk. Gently, Jericho brushed a wayward curl out of Evie’s eyes, and he saw her catch her breath. Jericho thought that if Nietzsche was right about the eternal recurrence and that one’s life repeated, unfolding in the same fashion throughout all time, then he would be glad of living this moment over again, with the sun shining through Marlowe’s pretentious stained-glass windows and falling on Evie’s upturned cheeks in a wash of color.

  “Amor fati,” he said.

  “What’s that mean?” Evie said. It wasn’t the reflection from the windows, Jericho realized. Her cheeks were really flushed.

  “It means love of fate.” Impulsively, he wrapped his fingers in hers and pulled her close. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. It smelled clean; it smelled hopeful.

  “You seem so… different,” Evie said, gazing up at him. Her stomach did that twirling thing. What was it about Jericho that attracted her so? She didn’t know entirely, and she was tired of trying to explain it to herself. It just was. Especially with the way he was looking at her now.

  “I feel different,” Jericho said. “I feel terrific, in fact. This new stuff Marlowe’s been giving me has made me much stronger. Less…” Afraid, he wanted to say. He was the new Jericho, and the new Jericho wasn’t waiting for life to come to him. “Well, I feel really good. It’s almost like… like I’m part Diviner now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can hear the maids talking all the way down in the kitchen sometimes. And I can run for miles without tiring. Yesterday I lifted a steel cabinet over my head.” Jericho laughed and leaned in to Evie with a conspiratorial grin. “You can see why I needed some companionship.”

  “And how!” Evie said, laughing, too. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to get away from New York and gossip and ghosts. And even though she knew they had a mission, seeing Jericho felt like a small respite. She wished she could call Mabel right now—Mabesie, you’ll never guess where I am!—and then she’d pos-i-tute-ly swear to turn all of Marlowe’s fancy ceramic figurines on their heads just to make her happy. But Mabel hadn’t spoken to Evie since their fight, and thinking about it would only make her sad. She was determined not to be sad this weekend.

  “So this is where the party is. Sorry I missed it,” Sam said, barging through the doors. He gave Evie and Jericho a long sideways glance. Then he walked around the room as if studying it.

  “Are you casing the joint, Sam?” Evie said, annoyed by his interruption.

  “No. I’m having déjà vu.” Sam folded his arms and squinted at the meticulous oil paintings of pinch-mouthed men.

  “Again?” Henry quipped, coming into the room along with Ling.

  “Because you were here before,” Evie said. “I remember it from reading your mother’s photograph. This is where she brought you when you were little. Right over there—that’s where Rotke tested you with the cards.”

  Sam sat in the Louis XVI chair Evie had pointed out and rested his hands lightly on the arms, as if he could find the memory that way. He shook his head. “I got nothing. It’s almost like somebody tried to keep me from remembering.”

  “There were other children here, too,” Evie said.

  “Diviner kids?” Henry asked, and Evie nodded.

  “So what happened to them?” Ling asked.

  “I don’t know,” Evie answered.

  “That’s why we’ve got to read these cards,” Sam said. “So we can find them. Jericho, where’s this card reader and when can we fire it up?”

  “
We’ll have to wait until tonight,” Jericho answered, keeping his voice low. “Marlowe is hosting some sort of gentlemen’s club dinner. The whole house will be occupied with that. Nobody will notice us.”

  Ling stood in the middle of the room grinning one of her rare, unguarded smiles. “I can’t believe I’m in Jake Marlowe’s house.”

  Despite everything they now knew had happened during the war, Ling still admired Jake Marlowe. He’d made terrible mistakes, she knew, and he didn’t seem to love Diviners very much, but he was also a top-notch mind. Some people couldn’t separate the man from the work, but Ling could. With luck, maybe he’d see something in her, too. Maybe she would change his mind about Diviners. “He’s contributed so much—all those inventions and medical advances. And all of it has happened so fast, just since the end of the war.”

  Jericho hadn’t thought about it, but Ling was right. By all accounts, Marlowe had been struggling before then. He’d been a failure in many regards. But in the past nine years, he’d had one triumph after another. His stock had soared. He was an American hero.

  “And I hear he may find a cure for paralysis,” Ling said.

  “Yes. He’s working on that and much more. He’s very close,” Jericho said. If the experiments Marlowe was running on Jericho could somehow help Ling in the future, that alone would be worth it.

  A truck marked MARLOWE INDUSTRIES ambled up the long driveway and parked outside.

  “What’s that?” Ling asked.

  “Uranium delivery from the mine. They come every week,” Jericho explained. “There’s a lead-lined pool in a shed where he stores it.”

  “I was too embarrassed to ask before, but what is uranium?” Evie asked.

  “Uranium is a radioactive element capable of producing tremendous energy and heat,” Ling explained. “When you mine uranium ore, you get radium.”

  Henry snapped his fingers. “Say, maybe he’s using it to make himself one of those water jars, a fancy new Revigorator. Aren’t they lined with radium and all that jazz?”

  Ling made a face. “Nobody should drink radioactive water.”

  “Radiation is supposed to be good for you! That’s what all the advertisements say. Even Al Jolson wears Radio-X radium neck pads to keep his vocal cords relaxed!”