Lair of Dreams
Page 192

“Why, hello, Sam,” Evie said too brightly, and Sam knew she was halfway to drunk already.
“Evie, can I have a word?”
“See here, old boy, can’t this wait?” an older man with a thin mustache broke in. “Bertie was just telling us the most amusing story about—”
“I’m sure it’s a real knee-slapper, pal. I might need to go make out a will in the event I die of laughter. Evie, a word?”
“Well, I never,” one of the girls tutted.
“Doubtful,” Sam shot back.
Sensing trouble, Evie hopped up with a blithe “Keep my seat warm and my drink cold, darlings!” and followed Sam to a corner. Her beaded dress had come unstrung and she trailed tiny glass beads like an exotic, molting bird. “What’s the big idea, Sam? Why were you so rude to my friends?”
“Those are not your friends. Your real friends are wondering where you are. Did you forget?”
Evie’s blank expression told him that she had.
“The Diviners exhibit party at the museum. It’s tonight. You’re the guest of honor.”
Evie bit her lip and rubbed at her forehead. “Honestly, Sam. I can’t tonight.”
“Why? You sick?”
Sam pressed his lips to Evie’s forehead, and Evie’s stomach fluttered.
“No. But I… it was a bad show, Sam. Very bad.”
“You’ll have a better show next time.”
“No. You don’t understand,” Evie mumbled.
“I understand that you promised, Evie.”
“I know. I know I did. And I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But I—I can’t.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Why not?”
“I just can’t. That’s all. Oh, excuse me!” Evie called, flagging down a passing waiter. “Could you be an absolute darling and get me another Juice of the Venus de Milo?”
“Certainly, Miss O’Neill.”
“Do you know why they call it that? Because after two, you can’t feel your arms,” Evie said, trying for a smile though her head ached and her soul was weary. And now she was letting everybody down. Well, they’d get past it. It would all go fine without her. She couldn’t face all those people at the museum, not after tonight’s show. She could barely face Sam. He was staring at her with something bordering on contempt that pierced through the alcoholic fog she’d been sinking herself into for the past few hours.
“Is this all you want?” Sam asked bitterly. “A good time?”
“You’re one to talk!”
“I like a good time. But not all the time.” He held her gaze.
Evie blushed. “If you came here just to get a rise out of me, mission accomplished. You can scram.”
“Your friends are counting on you.”
“Their mistake,” Evie whispered. “You want me to go back to that museum? To talk about ghosts? You weren’t there in that house with that… that thing. You don’t know how it was!” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she spat out the words. “Ask Jericho. He knows. He understands what it was like.”
She wanted to wound now, and Sam’s flinch registered as one more sin she’d hate herself for come morning, but now that her tongue was loose, she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.
“I can see those… hideous beasts coming out of the burning walls. I hear Naughty John telling me—warning me—about my own brother! He knew about James, Sam. When I stand still, I see all of it. So I don’t stand still, and I certainly don’t go looking for more. And every night before bed, I pray for those pictures to go out of my head. When the prayers don’t work, I ask the gin to do it.”
Evie could feel a headache threatening. She’d let Sam lead her to this. That was her mistake.
“I’m sorry I’m not Jericho,” Sam said coolly.
“I’m sorry for everything,” Evie mumbled.
“That include last night?”
Evie didn’t answer.
“Evie, my dear!” a mustachioed gentleman called to Evie from the periphery. “You’re missing all the fun!”
“Don’t you dare start without me!” she shouted, wiping away tears with her knuckles.
With her smudged eyes and her dainty red Cupid’s bow lips, Evie reminded Sam of a sparkling party favor on the cusp of New Year’s, just this side of discarded. The comment about Jericho had hurt. Badly. He tried to swallow it down. “Evie,” he said, taking gentle hold of her hand. “The party can’t go on forever.”