Witch in the White City: A Dark Historical Fantasy/Mystery (Neva Freeman Book 1) by Nick Wisseman (popular books to read .TXT) 📗

“Mysterious,” Derek commented after a moment. “Please don’t vault the table, though.”

Neva grit her teeth. But he was right—it wouldn’t help to chase the tall woman and bark more questions at her. Even if it was tempting. “Enough of this nonsense. Let’s leave.”

YET THERE WAS STILL plenty of foolishness left in the day.

It started with Derek, in a very un-Derek way, speculating about the necklace unprompted. “Not that I believe everything we just heard, but what if someone in Dahomey—or Oceania, I suppose—had the ability to ... well ... imbue objects?”

Neva looked at him askance. “You mean with magic?”

“Or whatever passes for it. Is it really that hard to believe?” He lowered his voice. “Given what we can do? And what we know others can do?”

“Perhaps not. But next you’ll be wondering if Excalibur resides somewhere in the Anthropology Building.”

“Not at all.” He forced a smile. “Still, if ‘imbued objects’ exist, they’re likely to be mixed into such a collection.”

Neva snorted as they entered the Court of Honor. “She was talking about ‘bad vodun,’ Derek. ‘Twisted spirit guardians’ and ‘mad ghosts.’”

“I know—I know. You said the shells did something to you, though ... Something less than pleasant. Maybe we should err on the side of caution and heed her advice?”

“And destroy the shells?” Neva motioned for him to follow her into Machinery. “No,” she near-shouted as they stepped into the building’s din. “It’s the only connection I have. I won’t break it just because someone told an ominous tale.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Will you wear them again?”

“Not until we know more.”

That seemed to mollify him.

Seeing Wiley didn’t.

“No Pullman boosters allowed,” the Boer said when they encountered him near the storage room.

Derek bristled as intended. “Why are we here?” he asked Neva.

Hating that she had to lie to him, but knowing he was ill-suited to handling the truth in this case, Neva launched into the story she’d prepared. “The Pinkerton wants to go over my testimony about the Pier—and Augie.”

Derek cocked his head, a school of questions swimming in his eyes. But only two emerged from his lips: “At ten at night? In Machinery Hall?”

Wiley got right into character. “It’s best not to let this type of matter rest. Administration is overcrowded, so we’ve reserved a conference room here.”

She solidified the ruse by smiling sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it earlier.”

Derek studied Wiley for a moment, then shrugged. “Not at all. I should get back anyway ... Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

“I’ll be careful,” Neva said. “Will you come tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure I can get away again so soon. I’ve already pressed my luck.”

“If you can manage one more day, I’d like to speak with Lucretia. Together.”

Derek winced but nodded. “Early morning. I can do that much. I’ll take the first train and look for you at the Algerian and Tunisian Village.”

“Thank you.” Neva squeezed his hand in farewell, and then he was on his way. Her second brother: newly revealed but blood from birth. God help her—God help them both.

Wiley led her to the storage room and undid the first lock.

“Did you run down any leads?” she asked quietly.

“What was that?”

“Any leads?”

“Maybe. We’re looking at a note taken from one of the unidentified victim’s pockets, but it’s unlikely to lead anywhere.” He rapped a pattern on the door—did the rhythm have more beats than before? A different code for a different day?—and waited. Neva’s eyes wandered during the delay: the hole she’d punched through the wall had already been plastered over. It wasn’t surprising. Director Burnham had maintenance crews working every night to keep the Fair’s buildings as picturesque as possible.

The door opened partway, enough to allow Brin’s lean face to poke through. “So you came.”

“I did,” Neva said, wondering again if she should have stayed away.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, but the others still need convincing. Brace yourself.”

The rest of the anarchists were already inside. Pieter looked cheery, but Quill seemed conflicted, and Roland downright dour.

“Welcome,” Pieter said as everyone either made room or found a seat.

“She ain’t,” Roland objected, gesturing at Neva. “Not sure why my vote don’t count, but there’s no call for a colored girl to be part of this. ‘Specially one that crawls in the walls like a damn rat.”

“Here, now!” said Wiley.

Brin slugged Roland on the shoulder. “She overheard you same as she did us, you eijit. Might as well hear her out. And she’s not a bad sort.”

He crossed his beefy arms. “Says the girl who likes girls. And the Boers who want to paw her Zulu shakebags. And her old teacher. None of you is seein’ this clearly.”

“And you are?”

“What if she’s a plant for the Pinkertons? They’re not good at much, but they’re good at spyin’. Maybe they’re on to Wiley.”

Wiley rotated his wrists. “We’d already be in chains.”

“Maybe they’re playin’ a longer game than you think.”

“What else is there to play for? Chicago Day is next week. If the Pinkertons knew what you lot wanted to do, we’d be having this conversation in a cell.”

“Still time for that.”

Brin clucked her tongue. “They wouldn’t use a colored girl. Probably not a girl at all—they’d look to someone like Wiley or yourself.”

Roland shook his head. “And why the hell would we use a colored girl?”

Quill held his hand up for quiet. “Neva, crude as it is, I think that’s your cue. Why don’t you tell us why you’re here?”

She couldn’t help swallowing. “It’s fine,” she said when Wiley reached for her shoulder. “I don’t mind.” After taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she turned to the others. “I came to the Fair as excited as anyone else. Even when it was just scaffolding and mounds of earth, I knew it would be something to see, something to behold: Chicago’s rebirth, a vision of what a modern city could be—a chance for renewal. And there are certainly wonders here. I’m reminded of that every time I walk the grounds. But there’s injustice too.”

Pieter grunted appreciatively.

“The racial hierarchy to