The Diviners (The Diviners #1)

“I see,” Evie said, trying not to smile. She’d gotten what she needed, though her heart was racing. “I’ll just try Tiffany’s, then. Thanks all the same.”

“What was that hooey about binding yourself to the Holy Mark?” Sam asked after they’d slipped out of the Tombs and were walking briskly back to the spot where they’d parked Will’s car.

“He seems to believe that you can tie your spirit to that pendant, that it’s some sort of magical object that allows you to live on.”

Sam let out a whistle. He shook his head. “The things people will believe. So, you think he’s our killer?”

Evie shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. The killer didn’t send Ruta Badowski’s eyes parcel post. I made that up, and he went along with it.”

“Maybe he’s only pretending not to know.”

“Maybe,” Evie concurred, but she wasn’t convinced.

A newsie hawked the late edition on the curb. “Extra! Extra! Daily News! Pentacle Killer exclusive! Read all about it!”

Evie tossed the kid some change and gaped at the headline: COPYCAT KILLER! PENTACLE FIEND TAKING GRUESOME PAGE FROM HISTORY? “That fink!” Evie fumed. “I gave him that tip, and he went and used it to make a name for himself!”

“Never trust the press, doll,” Sam said.

Evie flipped to the story and they read it together on the street amid the swirl of pedestrians.

“ ‘In the summer of 1875, the partially decomposed body of an unidentified man was found at the Belmont racetrack. The body bore traces of strange tattoos, including a five-pointed star, and a note was found pinned to his shirt. Most of the ink had been washed away by the elements, but two words were legible: horseman and stars.’ ” Evie gasped. “The Pale Horseman Riding Death Before the Stars. The third offering. He is taking a page from history.”

They hopped into Will’s car and drove quickly back uptown, and while Sam parked, Evie burst into the museum, interrupting Will’s class.

She held up the newspaper. “I found the third offering!” and ran out, leaving Will and his students at a loss.

Will barreled into the library a moment later. “Evie, what the devil do you mean by interrupting my class?”

“Unc, listen to this!” She read to him from T. S. Woodhouse’s article. “Fifty years ago! The third offering happened fifty years ago….”

“Evie,” Will said.

“That’s why the killer started with the fifth offering—because the other four have already taken place, and he’s just finishing up the job!”

“Evie, Evie!” Will interrupted. “Jacob Call confessed.”

“He… what?”

“Just a half hour ago. Terrence phoned me. He confessed to all of it. Said he’s the chosen one, meant to bring about the end.”

“But he’s not the killer. He can’t be.”

“He is, Evie. The police in New Brethren confirmed that he’s been preaching about the coming of the Beast and the arrival of Solomon’s Comet for the past six months. He’s admitted his crime. It’s over,” Will said with finality. “Why don’t you give yourself a night off to go out dancing with your friends? You’ve earned it. Now, I must return to my class.”

Evie sat on the wide staircase and listened to Will’s voice floating out from the classroom as he talked about the nature of evil.

Jericho came to sit beside her. “Murnau’s Faust is playing at the Palace.”

“Swell,” Evie said, still turning things over in her mind.

“I was just wondering if you might—”

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll go,” Evie said, sighing. “Probably another reporter.”

“Want to go with me,” Jericho finished as he watched Evie walk away.

The Negro woman standing on the steps of the museum was tall and broad-shouldered and smartly attired in a brown plaid suit and a beige hat with a red band. She didn’t seem like a reporter; in fact, she carried herself more like a queen.

“May I help you?” Evie asked.

The woman’s smile was polite but formal. “I am looking for Dr. William Fitzgerald.”

“I’m afraid he’s teaching just now.”

“I see.” The woman nodded, thinking something over. “May I leave my card?”

“Of course.”

From her pocketbook, the woman retrieved a simple cream calling card. Evie rubbed a finger over the lettering. Miss Margaret Walker, with an address uptown. “Do you work for Mr. Fitzgerald?” the woman asked. There was something strange in the way she said “work,” with an air of suspicion that left Evie feeling guarded.