Free Nevermore by Keith R.A. DeCandido Page A

here, hoping the country air would do him some good.” Anthony smiled.
    “Y’know, I still have trouble saying that with a straight face. Don’t get me wrong, I love it here, but country air?”
    Chuckling, Sam said, “Yeah, it is a little weird.
    But different times, I guess.”
    “ Oh yeah. The Bronx was a bunch of farms in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, owned mostly by families like the Valentines, the Johnsons, and, of course, the first settler, Jonas Bronck—the peninsula used to be called ‘Bronck’s Land,’ and that’s where the name comes from. Anyhow, Poe set up a room just for Virginia when she got sicker.” Anthony led Sam into the next room, which was actually a hallway that included a door to a stair-way up, the cottage’s back door, and another, much smaller room, that included a bed, a nightstand, and little else. The bed wasn’t particularly large, had a solid wooden headboard and an uneven mattress.
    “We’re pretty sure this is the actual bed that Virginia died in. We’ve modified it a bit—the original had hay in it, but that gets disgusting pretty quick, so we replaced it with those Styrofoam pop-corn things they put in packages.” Sam couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that.
    “Really?”
    “It’s not period, but it doesn’t stink up the joint, 84 SUPERNATURAL
    either.” Growing serious again, Anthony talked a bit about how Poe’s mother-in-law Maria Clemm did most of the work around the house and took care of Virginia while Poe worked and took long walks, and a little about the upstairs and downstairs areas, which were converted for use by the Historical Society and not open to the public. Sam tuned much of it out, thinking more about what it meant that Virginia Poe died in this bed, in virtually this very spot. Okay, moved across the street, but could the spiritual energy from that night still be present, even though it was a hundred fi fty years ago?
    When he was done talking about Virginia Poe, Anthony left the bedroom, pushed past Sam in the small confines of the back area, and pointed to a picture on the wall. Sam ignored him, instead taking advantage of Anthony having his back to him to pull out the EMF reader.
    Unfortunately, it didn’t read a damn thing. Well, it was a long shot.
    Anthony talked a bit more about the house, about Poe’s life, and about the plans to renovate the house and the surrounding area, including a visitor’s center, which was being held up by city bureaucracy.
    Sam made some sympathetic noises, bought a couple of postcards—a picture of the house and a portrait of Poe himself—and then decided to go for broke.
    “Hey, have you heard about those murders?” Never
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    Up until now, Anthony had been pleasant and genial and friendly. As soon as Sam asked that question, though, it was like a cloud came over his dark features. “Okay, that’s it. Get out.” Feigning innocence, Sam asked, “I’m sorry?” Moving toward the door, as if to crowd Sam toward it—though not actually touching him—
    Anthony said, “Look, it’s bad enough I have read this crap on the Internet, I ain’t about to—”
    “Whoa!” Sam held up his hands and refused to be moved. Anthony, to his credit, stopped moving forward. “I just read something in the newspaper and it threw me, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”
    “It’s a coincidence,” Anthony said fi rmly. Sam suspected he’d gotten this question quite a bit since the Reyes murder. “That’s all .” Sam quickly took his leave and went back to the car. While there wasn’t any EMF reading, the death of a loved one was probably still a good focal point for a ritual. The question is, what ritual? When he got into the car, he pulled out a Bronx street map he’d picked up the previous day on their way to the zoo, and figured out the best way to the corner of Webb Avenue and West 195th Street, where the body had been bricked up.
    It actually looked to be a fairly easy drive, as that