Theta shrugged again. “I’ve been to a lot of clubs.”
“That a fact?”
“Yep.” She dragged on her cigarette. “Poet, huh? Why don’t you read me something?”
“Whatever you say, Creole Princess.” Memphis opened the book and read while Theta once again flipped casually through his journal. He had a nice voice, one well suited to poetry. “ ‘I sing the body electric/The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them/They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them/And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul….’ That’s Mr. Walt Whitman. One of our finest poets.”
Theta had turned another page. Now she stared at the radiant eye-and-lightning bolt symbol somebody had doodled in the corner of the page. Her heart beat faster. “Did you draw this?” She tried to keep her voice even.
“That? Oh, just something I saw in a dream.”
“In… a dream?” Theta repeated. She felt hot and dizzy. “What is it? What do you know about it?”
“Nothing. Like I said, just something I saw in a dream.”
The drawing seemed to have upset the girl for some reason. Memphis wanted to ask her why, but he also didn’t want to scare her off. “Here, let me show you around the club.” He reached for his notebook, but Theta held on to it. She looked right at him, but she didn’t seem angry; she seemed astonished, maybe even a little scared.
“I’ve seen that same symbol in my own dreams,” she said.
Memphis didn’t know where to start. “Do you know what it is or where it comes from? Have you seen it somewhere before?”
Theta shook her head. “Only in my dreams.”
“When did it start?”
“I don’t know. About six months ago? You?”
“ ’Round about then.”
“How often do you dream it?” she asked.
“Twice a week, maybe more. Used to be only here and there, but lately, it’s happening more often.”
Theta nodded. “I’m having it more often, too.”
She dreamed of the same symbol. Memphis dealt with odds every day, and he knew the odds on this were staggering. It had to mean something, didn’t it? “Tell me exactly what you dream.”
Theta sank into a chair. She was shaking. “It’s always the same. I’m somewhere a long way from New York. I don’t know where. No place I know. I’m standing on a road, and the sky’s lousy with storm clouds—”
Memphis could feel his heart thundering in his chest. “Is there a farmhouse? An old white farmhouse with a porch?”
Theta’s eyes widened. “Yes,” she whispered. “And wheat fields, or corn. Some kind of fields. And in the distance there’s this tree—”
“With no leaves on it. Just a big old gnarled tree, with limbs as thick as a giant’s arms.”
Goose bumps rose on Theta’s back and neck. “And something’s coming on the road….”
“Just behind a wall of dust,” Memphis finished for her.
Theta nodded. She felt cold all over. What was happening? “The worst part is the feeling,” she said softly. “Like something terrible is coming. Something I don’t want to see.”
“Something you’ll be called to do something about,” Memphis said.
“What does it mean?”
A loud crash came from above, followed by screams and the sounds of police whistles being blown. Frantic footsteps thudded across the ceiling. Memphis ran to the door and poked his head out, only to see a full squad of policeman barging their way into the kitchen.
Theta’s eyes widened. “Holy smokes! It’s a raid.”
“Can’t be,” Memphis said, throwing his knapsack over his shoulder. He still held the book in his hand. “Papa Charles has the cops in his pocket.”
“That pocket’s got a hole, Poet.” The terror of the shared dream was replaced by the real fear of being arrested. “How do I get out of here? I can’t afford to get pinched.”
“This way!” Memphis offered his hand. “I know this place like my own skin. I’ll get you out of here. Trust me.”
Theta grabbed his hand and they set off running down the narrow hall.
Mabel gasped as the doors to the club were broken down and two lines of police stormed the club. One grabbed her by the wrist. She tugged, but his grip was strong.
“Right this way, Miss. I’ve got a car waiting,” the officer said, smiling.
