Free Lair of Dreams (The Diviners #2) by Libba Bray

took a seat at his desk, wiped his spectacles clean, hooked them over his ears again, and dove into the clippings. From the pile he selected four that caught his attention. Next he gave a cursory glance to the day’s headlines, flipping through the pages till he came to a picture of Evie smiling out from under a fashionable hat.
    SWEETHEART SEER HOSTS WILD PARTY AT GRANT HOTEL

    Nothing could be “DIVINER”
than a night with Evie O’Neill

    BY T. S. WOODHOUSE
    “It’s a nice picture,” Jericho said, standing beside Will.
    Will peered up at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder?”
    Jericho’s face remained impassive. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to be rude?”
    “Sorry,” Will said, chastened. “I’m sorry, Jericho.”
    “It’s all right.” Jericho tapped the clippings Will had put aside. “Why these?”
    “They’re all upstate, within a hundred-mile radius of one another.”
    “Brethren isn’t too far from that path,” Jericho noted.
    “Mmm.”
    “That night, when you—when I was shot and you had to administer so much serum at once, was my behavior… what I mean is…” God, what was the matter with him? He could barely get the words out. “Did I frighten Evie?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Evie. Was she frightened, seeing me like that, with all those tubes and gears inside, knowing what I am?”
    “It wasn’t the only unusual circumstance she’s faced in the past few months. She appeared none the worse for it.”
    Jericho nodded, letting his breath out slowly. Maybe there was hope after all.
    “None the worse for what?” Sam said, pushing through Will’s office door.
    “Nothing,” Jericho said, his brows sharpening. “Where are the Mystical Mediums?”
    “The Third Eyes? I left ’em to play with the tarot cards.”
    “You
what
?” Jericho said.
    “Relax, Freddy. I told ’em the tarot cards can only be read by special people with special powers. Naturally, they think that’s them. Trust me: They’re as happy as clams.”
    “That’s a ridiculous analogy. As if someone could gauge the happiness of a mollusk,” Will grumbled, pawing at his messy desk till he found his cigarettes.
    What’s eating him?
Sam mouthed to Jericho. Jericho slid out the ominous tax letter, and Sam acknowledged it with a curt nod.
    During the Pentacle Murders, the Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult had drawn sizable crowds. Everyone wanted a look at the professor of the supernatural who was helping the police hunt down the gruesome, occult-obsessed killer. But then the murders stopped. Manhattan’s frenzied pulse beat for other crimes and scandals, and now, once again, the museum had been forgotten by most everyone except the taxman.
    Sam cleared his throat. “Professor, if you don’t mind my two cents…”
    “I’m fairly sure that I will,” Will said, his eyes on his papers.
    Jericho gave Sam a
Let it go
look, but Sam ignored his warning.
    “We’re barely hanging on. A lecture here, a group of self-appointed mystics there. A coupla curious tourists. It’s not enough to keep us off the auction block.”
    “We’ve always managed to pull through.”
    “Not this time, Professor. That’s a final notice. We need a surefiremoneymaker. What’s the biggest thing to hit the city since Chock full o’Nuts started roasting peanuts?”
    Will looked up, perplexed. “Chock… full—”
    “Diviners! You can’t pick up a newspaper, turn on the radio, or see an advertisement for chewing gum without bumping up against Diviners fever. Seems to me we’re overlooking an obvious gold mine.”
    “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t follow.”
    “We put together a Diviners exhibit. Capitalize on the fever while everybody’s feverish. Heck, half the loot in here is about or from Diviners already. Just make sure you add some razzmatazz, and you’re in business.”
    “Will, it’s a good idea,” Jericho said.
    “See? Even the nihilist