Lair of Dreams (The Diviners #2)

Ling gathered her crutches. “I was supposed to be home a half hour ago.”

“Oh, is that all? I thought you’d seen the ghost of Anthony Orange Cross.”

Ling’s expression was grim. “I’m not afraid of ghosts. But I am afraid of my mother.”

The moment Henry and Ling entered the Tea House, Mrs. Chan marched toward them, drying her hands on a towel, her eyes flashing. “Ling Chan! Where have you been? I have been worried sick! Lee Fan and Gracie have been back since half past three. I nearly had half the neighborhood out looking for you!”

For the first time since Henry had known her, Ling appeared truly cowed.

“I-I… um…”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Henry jumped in, pouring on the southern charm. “I don’t know if you remember me—Henry DuBois the Fourth, from the science club? Gee, I feel awful. This is entirely my fault. You see, Ling was separated from her friends, and I just happened to come along. Naturally, I wanted to be certain she was safe. But then I was so utterly entranced by our discussion of Einstein’s relative theory…”

“Relativity,” Ling corrected quickly under her breath.

“… that I completely lost track of the time.”

“Funny,” Ling whispered.

“What?” Henry said.

“Lost track of…” Ling shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Please accept my humblest apology, Mrs. Chan. I can assure you that I have been looking after Ling as if she were my very own sister.” Henry kept such a straight face that he doubted Theta’s acting skills could match his.

Ling’s mother softened. “Well. ’Ta, then, for bringing Ling home safely, Henry. Could we fix you a plate before you’re set on leaving us?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I have to get to the Foll—to Mass,” Henry said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ling’s mouth hanging open.

But Ling’s mother was smiling. “I can’t thank you enough, Henry. You’re a good soul. Why, you must come along on our outing tomorrow to see Jake Marlowe break ground for his new fair.”

“How I wish I could, but I—”

“I won’t be taking no for an answer,” Ling’s mother said, hands at her waist. “You deserve a proper thank-you for your kindness today. We’ll see you here at noon.” And with that, she went back to work.

“So very early,” Henry whimpered quietly.

Ling showed Henry out. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Mothers love me.”

“I meant for today. Earlier.”

“Oh. Well. That’s what friends do. From now on, no more secrets. For either of us.”

“No more secrets,” Ling agreed.

“I’m going to see if I can speak with Miss Proctor. See you tonight, the usual place?”

Ling nodded. “And tomorrow, too.”

“Yes. At noon,” Henry said, grimacing. He glanced over Ling’s head at Mrs. Chan, who was bustling about the restaurant like a general inspecting troops. “Your mother is truly terrifying, by the way.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ling said.

“When Louis arrives, I’m bringing him straight here for dumplings. He’ll love them,” Henry said. “And I can’t wait to get my lucky hat back from you. Louis gave it to me the first night we met. Took it right off his head and plopped it on mine. If you like, I’ll ask him to bring two more from New Orleans, one for you and one for Wai-Mae. Then we can become the dream world’s first barbershop quartet. ‘Constipation, constipation, constipation, constipationnnn!’” Henry sang out.

“You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

“There you go with that sweet talk again.”

Something nagged at Ling, something she felt she should tell Henry. It was just a feeling, though, and she didn’t yet know how to put it into words.

“Ling! Come out of the cold this instant!” Mrs. Chan called, her voice muffled on the other side of the glass.

“Your mother bellows, fair Juliet,” Henry said, bowing with a hammy Shakespearean-actor flourish. “Away with me! Fie! Fie! Ham on Fie!” he said, yanking on his own collar and stumbling backward.

Ling shook her head as she watched him go. “Definitely the strangest person,” she said, and she was surprised at how much she missed Henry already.

When Sam had worked for the circus, he’d managed to walk away with a very nice tuxedo tailored for him by a Russian tattoo artist who also had great skill with a needle and thread. The tuxedo had always managed to elicit attention; Ruth, the Bearded Lady, and Johnny, the Wolf Boy, had both given him an appreciative up-and-down appraisal whenever he’d stepped into the ring wearing “The Tux.” He hoped it might work some magic on Evie tonight.