“ ‘The Harlot, the Whore of Babylon, was adorned in gold and jewels and worldly treasures, and she did look upon the glory of the Beast in all his raiment and cried out, for now her eyes were opened and she knew the wickedness of the world which must be redeemed through blood and sacrifice. And the Beast took her eyes and cast the Harlot Adorned upon the eternal sea within the Mark. This was the fifth offering.’ ”
“That from the Bible?”
“Not any Bible I’ve read.” Will drew in his notebook and jotted down notes.
Evie pointed to a series of symbols drawn along the bottom of the paper. “What are those?” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears.
Will turned the paper sideways and back. “Not sure yet. Sigils of some sort, I would guess. Terrence, I’d like to ask you some questions. Privately, if you please.”
The men moved away to a windy spot down the pier to talk. Evie looked again at the girl’s body, focusing on her shoes. They were water-damaged and worn, but Evie could tell they were special, probably the girl’s best pair. One rhinestone buckle remained, hanging loose from the strap. It was a final indignity and Evie wanted to right it. She tried to clip it back on, but it wouldn’t stick.
“Oh, please,” she whispered, near tears.
With renewed determination, she gripped it tightly. The object opened its secrets so quickly that Evie had no time to react. The images were fleeting, like a film sped up: A strip of peeling yellow wallpaper. Furnace. Butcher’s apron. A lock turning. The brand. Blue eyes rimmed in red. Terrible eyes, windows into hell. Whistling—a jaunty little tune horribly out of place, like a lullaby on a battlefield. And then her head was filled with screams.
Gasping, Evie dropped the buckle. She staggered to the edge of the pier and vomited up her pie from the Automat. Behind her, the policemen laughed. “No place for a girl,” one said. Someone was handing her a handkerchief.
“Thank you,” she said, mortified.
“You’re welcome,” Jericho said and let her clean up in peace.
On the river, a ferry cut the gray water into undulating peaks that rippled out into smoothness again. Evie watched the ferry chug along and tried to make sense of what she’d just seen. Those horrible pictures in her head were probably clues. But how could she possibly tell anyone how she’d come to know them? What if they didn’t believe her? What if they did believe her and made her hold that buckle and look again into that nightmare? She couldn’t face that. No one had to know about what she’d seen. Uncle Will would sort this out. There was no need for her to say anything.
“Evie. Time to go,” Uncle Will called.
“Coming,” Evie said, forcing strength into her voice.
A strong wind blew off the East River. It caught the edge of the dead girl’s beige scarf, pulling it up like a hand reaching for help. Evie turned and went around the long way, avoiding the sight of her altogether.
KEEPING AWAY THE GHOSTS
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” Uncle Will said. They were sitting in a restaurant in Chinatown. Evie’s headache had begun in earnest. All she could do was chase the glistening dumplings in her soup bowl with her spoon.
“Who would do something like that?” Evie asked finally.
“Given the course of human history, the more accurate question is, why don’t more people do things of that nature?” Will said. He expertly navigated a piece of beef to his mouth with his chopsticks.
“It could be a gang killing. Maybe her family owed money to someone,” Jericho suggested.
“But why go to all that trouble, then?” Will mused. “Why make it seem occult in nature—and oddly occult at that?”
Will and Jericho considered various ideas, rejecting most of them. Evie remained silent. She was desperate for a drink.
“Is it taken from the Book of Revelation?” Jericho asked. “The harlot. The Whore of Babylon.”
“Yes, I thought that, too. Revelation does mention the Whore of Babylon. But the harlot adorned… It’s a very specific phrase. I’m not sure I’ve heard that before.” He shook his head and took another bite of his food. “At least it’s not coming to mind.”
Evie stared into her bowl and thought of the terrible things she’d seen while holding Ruta Badowski’s shoe buckle. What if they were important? “Have… have you ever heard this tune?” Evie asked, then whistled the song she’d heard while under.
Will pursed his lips, thinking it over. “What is it, something from a radio program? If you guess it you win a prize from Pears soap or some such?”