Lair of Dreams

Jericho raised an eyebrow. “That’s certainly descriptive.”



Strike two. “Sorry,” Mabel said. “What is all of this?”



“Will’s notes from his paranormal-researcher days. We found them in the cellar. I’ve been going through them for the past hour. Did you know there’s mention of Diviners since the dawn of this country?”



Jericho paused, and Mabel wanted to respond with something clever. But being this close to Jericho made her antsy. “Huh-uh.”



“John Smith writes about a Powhatan brave—a healer and mystic—who visited Jamestown. A Diviner servant in George Washington’s household had a vision that helped Washington narrowly avoid capture by the British. And there’s evidence that a few of the witches at Salem were actually Diviners. But this is when it gets really interesting.”



Jericho jumped up from the table. From behind a bookcase, he rolled out a large chalkboard. Mabel could just make out the faint remaining chalk lines of Evie’s notes from the Pentacle Murders investigation. Quickly, Jericho swiped the eraser across the surface, eradicating the last traces of her presence from the museum. He wrote the date September 1901 on the chalkboard.



“All right. I’ll bite,” Mabel prompted. “What happens in September 1901?”



“The assassination of President McKinley?” Jericho chalked McKinley beside 1901.



Mabel blushed. “Oh. Oh, of course.”



“It seems that in August 1901, a Diviner, a former slave named Moses Freedman, tried to warn the president about a possible attempt on his life. But no one believed him. In fact, he was taken into custody under suspicion of being an anarchist agitator, and was questioned for months following McKinley’s assassination. They held him for nearly a year without charging him.”



“But that’s illegal!” Mabel protested. “What about habeas corpus?”



“Suspended, under the constitutional provision stating that a person can be held without charge if the public safety might require it.”



“That’s a slippery slope toward fascism,” Mabel grumbled.



“I’m sure Moses Freedman would have agreed with you.”



“What happened to him?”



“In early July 1902,” Jericho said, adding that date to the board, “he has a vision about a possible mine explosion in Johnstown, Pennsylvania—another warning that goes unheeded—”



“The Rolling Mill Mine Disaster. It was one of the worst mining disasters in American history. It killed more than one hundred men,” Mabel blurted.



Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”



Mabel shrugged away the compliment. “If your parents were union organizers, you’d know these things, too. Some girls are raised on fairy tales; I was raised on mining disasters.”



“You had a very interesting childhood.” Jericho gave a little half smile, and Mabel felt it deep down.



“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “Rolling Mill?”



“Right. Rolling Mill. After that, President Roosevelt sits down with Moses Freedman and determines that he’s telling the truth. And that gives him an idea. In 1904”—again, Jericho scribbled with his chalk—“the president creates the U.S. Department of Paranormal to explore the fantastical world. He wants to find and use Diviners to work in the interest of national security. After all, if you’ve got someone whose supernatural abilities can help them see disaster or danger coming, why not use them?”



“So where does Dr. Fitzgerald fit into all of this?”



Jericho wiped his hands against his trousers, leaving chalk-dust finger streaks. “He was recruited for the U.S. Department of Paranormal. He traveled the country seeking out Diviners, testing them, hearing their stories, and registering them for the government.”



Mabel whistled. “You’re right. That really would perk up the Diviners exhibit. But won’t Dr. Fitzgerald be angry that we’re using his private letters and research from that time?”



“Then he shouldn’t have left it to us to save his museum,” Jericho said bitterly. “We’ll only use the letters about Diviners.”



“How long did you say you have to put this exhibit together?”



“Ten days.”



Mabel shook her head. “That won’t be easy.” It seemed impossible, in fact. Unless… “Would you like some help?”



Jericho’s eyes widened. “Are you volunteering?”



“Reporting for duty.”



He gave her another half smile. “That would be swell. Thanks.”