The Diviners (The Diviners 1)

Fire. The golden glow had come from a fire burning on the center altar. And as he tried to piece together what was happening—A fire? In the Gothic Room? How?—the door slammed shut behind him. He pulled on the doorknob, his mind whirring with logical explanations: It’s a prank. Some hooligans in need of a lesson. They’ll be very, very sorry for this. Holding this door shut from the outside, they are. Youth today—no respect. Hooligans, all.

The whistling stopped. A deep, resonant voice echoed in the room. “ ‘For they did not walk in the path of righteousness and lo, was the Lord’s anger sorely provoked.’ ”

A dark shadow passed across the wall. It seemed at first glance to be the long shadow of a man. But as the shadow drew closer, it became clear that whatever lurked behind Eugene Meriwether was far from human.

“ ‘And for the seventh offering, it was commanded: Turn the heretics from the Temple of Solomon under the watchful eye of God and purify their sins with an offering of blood and fire. For there is no expiation of sin but by blood….’ ”

Eugene Meriwether put a hand to his chest, feeling the furious beating of his heart beneath the small square box meant for Edward. Clinging to thoughts of his love, Eugene slowly turned. And as the walls began to whisper, he lost his footing on the precipice of reason and began the terrible fall into a hell beyond imagining.

RECKONING

Evie and Mabel spent the entire night in a cell of the city’s notorious downtown jail, the Tombs, surrounded by drunken flappers, prostitutes, and a large woman who growled like a dog whenever anyone got too near. Mabel’s mother arrived first, sweeping down the hall with her characteristic hauteur. “I do hope you girls have had time to reflect upon your evening,” she said, but it was Evie she glared at and it was clear who she thought should shoulder the blame.

“So long, Evie,” Mabel said as her mother escorted her out. She looked like a prisoner being led to the electric chair without a last meal.

By the time Uncle Will posted bail for Evie, it was just past seven o’clock. They city was rumbling to life, another morning in Manhattan, as she and Will emerged onto White Street.

“I should have let you sit there longer,” Will snapped. He was walking so quickly that Evie could barely keep up. Her head thudded with each step.

“I’m awfully sorry, Unc.”

“We had an agreement: I give you your freedom, and you keep out of trouble.”

“I know, and I feel like a real Dumb Dora, getting pinched like that.”

Will wagged a finger. “That is not the point, Evangeline. You deliberately disobeyed my quite reasonable request that you stay at home last night. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie, exactly….”

“Sneaking away is lying.”

“Yes, but… could you slow down, please, Unc? My head’s killing me.” The morning sun made her eyes feel bruised.

Uncle Will stopped near a newsstand and ran a hand through his hair. A street urchin waved a newspaper at him and he shooed the boy away. “This was a terrible idea. I’m a bachelor; I haven’t a clue how to be a parent, or even an uncle.”

“That isn’t true. You’re terribly uncle-ish. Why, you’re the most uncle-ish person I know.”

“Uncle-ish isn’t a word.”

“Well, it should be. And it should have your picture beside it in the dictionary.”

“The charm won’t work, Evie. I forbade you from going out last night for a very good reason. Yet, you chose to disregard my reasonable request.”

“Oh, but Unc—”

“And I specifically warned you about getting into trouble, did I not? Well, I believe it’s quite clear that this arrangement will not work.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Evie asked. Her stomach had begun to hurt.

“It’s best if you return to Ohio. I’ll ring your mother tomorrow”—he looked at his watch—“today, and make the arrangements.”

“But… it’s only the first time I’ve been in trouble!” As soon as it was out of her mouth, Evie realized how ridiculous an argument it was—almost a promise of more trouble to come—and she wished she could take it back. “Please, Unc. I’m very sorry. I won’t ever disobey you again.”

Will sagged against a lamppost. He was softening, she could tell, so she kept up her attack. “I’ll do anything. Sweep the floors. Dust the knickknacks. Make sandwiches every night. But please, please, please don’t send me back.”

“I do not intend to have this discussion on White Street with someone who smells like a distillery. I will take you back to the Bennington and you may have a nap, and—I might suggest—a bath.”

Evie gave her coat a sniff and grimaced.