Ghosts.
The reporters followed up—it made for good morning copy:
—What were they doing? they asked.
—Watching us, the people said.
—Just watching?
—Just watching. Closely, though. Like they were studying us.
Sometimes there were more frightening sightings that made the back pages of the tabloids: A night watchman making his rounds in Brooklyn followed noises to the weedy lot behind the factory. When he lifted his lantern, its weak glow fell upon a pack of glowing things, hairless and deformed, their wan bodies covered in sores, their sharp mouths smeared in blood as they feasted on squirming rats. Before he ran for his life, he thought he heard them whisper, More. Late on a chilly night, the caretaker of Prospect Cemetery heard an animal’s cries. He stepped onto the path in time to see the ghost of a woman in Puritan gray floating between the tombstones, the hangman’s noose still tight about her neck, a mewling cat tucked beneath her incandescent arm. The hanged woman stopped suddenly, turning her head completely around on her broken neck until it faced backward. And then she hissed at the caretaker, and he saw that her eyes were clay-pale and soulless in her pallid, peeling face.
On his way into the 21 Club with yet another starlet on his arm, Mayor Jimmy Walker tried to soothe the city’s fears. “Seems like most of these so-called ghost sightings can be traced back to poisoned bathtub gin. If you see ghosts, you might want to call your bootlegger instead of the mayor’s office,” he joked.
There were reassurances: The honeymoon couple at the hotel didn’t want to pay for the room. The diner cook was angry with his boss and had likely stacked the cans himself for attention. The poor night watchman hadn’t slept in two days. The caretaker’s wife had left him for another and he was not himself. That was good enough for most New Yorkers. People who hadn’t felt the air go cold as death’s hand as they passed the flophouse where several forgotten men had died. People who didn’t hear the faint whinny of horses followed by the momentary vision, camera-flash quick, of a funeral carriage driver whipping down the cobblestones along the seaport. Who hadn’t had disquieting dreams, visitations from dead relatives warning that a storm was coming.
“Why aren’t we out there making a name for ourselves fighting these ghosts?” Sam asked after yet another disappointing effort at combining their abilities had resulted in nothing but headaches, nosebleeds, and exhaustion.
“I’ve told you—we don’t want to panic the populace,” Will said.
“But the populace is already panicked,” Sam said.
“No,” Will said gravely. “True panic is ugly. You’ll know it when you see it.”
That afternoon, Ling and Sister Walker worked side by side, comparing notes on the Metaphysickometer’s readings.
“You don’t like Mr. Marlowe much, do you?” Ling said at last.
“I admire his genius and I deplore his methods.”
“How could you work by his side if you hated him—”
“I didn’t hate Jake—”
“Disliked him, then.”
“In this life, you have to work with people you dislike. You find compromises. But sometimes you find that a person’s beliefs are so harmful that you must speak against them. You can’t let such harmful statements stand without challenge. They have a tendency to grow into tumors.” Sister Walker paused.
“Is that why you went to prison?” Isaiah asked, and Ling’s mouth opened in surprise.
Memphis nudged Isaiah hard with his elbow. “Isaiah! Apologize.”
“What? Ever’body knows Sister went to jail. She knows it most of all!”
“Isaiah,” Memphis warned.
Isaiah stared down at his shoes. “Sorry, Miss Walker.”
“That’s all right, Isaiah. You didn’t mean any harm.”
“Is that true?” Ling asked.
“Yes.”
“So did you steal something?” Isaiah asked, unable to help himself. “Did you kill somebody, Sister?”
“No. And no.”
“Then what?”
Sister Walker took in a deep breath. “Sedition.”
“What’s that?” Isaiah asked.
“It’s when you rile people up and disobey authority.”
“When I acted up, my mama just got the switch. Who’d you make mad?” Isaiah asked.
“The United States government,” Sister Walker said. “I spoke out against something I thought was wrong. I tried to stop it.”
“And they threw you in the slammer for that?” Sam said.
“We were at war, and I worked for the Department of Paranormal, a government agency.” Sister Walker took a sip of her tea, then continued. “They said what I did wasn’t patriotic.”
“Weren’t they right?”
“I suppose it’s all in how you define patriotism. Some say that’s only saying good things about your country. Others say that it’s speaking against what you feel is wrong with your country and trying to make a change.”
“I don’t understand. Isn’t freedom of speech guaranteed by the First Amendment?” Memphis asked.
“Guarantees. You mean, like the Fourteenth Amendment?” Sister Walker said pointedly. “All right. Now you know about that secret, too. Will there be any more bloodletting required, or may we get back to your training?”
Memphis leaned down and whispered to Isaiah. “You’re gonna hear about this on the way home.”
“It’s all right to ask questions, Memphis,” Sister Walker said. “That’s how we learn.”
“Sister, I think you might be a Diviner with that hearing,” Memphis said, shaking his head.
“Sam, I’d like to try testing your powers again,” Sister Walker announced. So far, they’d had little luck in boosting his gifts. He tried not to let it bother him, passing it off with jokes—Can’t improve on perfection!—but it made him feel small and lacking, like when he was a kid in Chicago running from the bullies who tormented him with fists and taunts of Jew! When he realized he could make those bullies go blank in his presence, Sam had, for the first time in his life, experienced what it was to be powerful. That power had gotten him from Chicago to New York. It had helped him survive on the streets. He’d come to rely on it. In fact, he’d been downright cocky about it. But now, surrounded by everyone else, what he felt was competitive.
“Let’s try a control. Theta? Would you mind?” Sister Walker asked.
Theta blanched. “Me? Oh, I don’t know, Sister….”
“Aw, Theta’s too smart to fall for my hooey,” Sam said, trying to save her. “Besides, she knows all about my powers.”
“So does most of New York City by now. The question is, will your powers work now that they are known? Does that knowledge affect people’s suggestibility?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that,” Sam said.
“Theta, could you, please?” Sister Walker extended a hand to her.
Theta put out her cigarette and, feeling nervous, took a seat opposite Sam.
“Okay?” Sam asked.
“Okay,” she said.
“Evie, since Sam seems to affect your reading ability, let’s see if you have any sway over his powers. Come sit close to him, if you would, please,” Sister Walker said.