Joe Golem and the Drowning City: An Illustrated Novel Read Online Free Page B

chicanery. Had she sat at the table, they might have suspected her of helping him create some illusion or other, but out in the open where they could see her, it was clear she was there precisely for the reason Felix stated—to aid him should he be overcome by effort and require fresh air, or water, or someone to fetch a doctor.
    In the time since Molly had come to live with him, nothing of the sort had ever happened, though Felix was often unwell. Now, though, watching him closely, she worried at how pale and drawn he looked, and the way he had stiffened in his chair.
    Felix frowned deeply, his lips drooping into sadness for a moment before the muscles in his face twitched into a wince, as though he had inhaled the scent of something that filled him with revulsion. His breathing changed, coming in short sips, almost as if he were sobbing.
    Mrs. Mendehlson sensed the disturbance at last, and her expression grew troubled, yet she had such trust in Felix that she kept her eyes firmly shut, the crinkles at their edges telling a long tale of grief and woe.
    “What is it, Mr. Orlov?” she asked. “Is something wrong with David?”
    Molly wanted to put a stop to it right then. Felix had not made contact with David’s spirit, at least not yet.
    Though Felix always assured her that there was nothing to fear, every time she watched him conduct a séance, Molly found herself worrying for him. And just as he predicted, every time he made contact with the spirit world he emerged without any worrisome aftereffects, save the lingering sadness that so often accompanied his conversations with the weary dead.
    Now, though, she studied his troubled expression and a quiet alarm began to sound inside of her. Felix had seemed uneasy when he dropped into his trance, and Molly had imagined—as she always did—Felix searching a dark room with only his hands to guide his way, listening for the whispers of those who waited there. Today it had been almost as if he were surprised by the contours of that room, like the whole experience was unfamiliar.
    “Felix?” she ventured softly, because he hadn’t replied to Mrs. Mendehlson, and surely even in his trance, unsettled as he was, he must be able to hear her.
    Molly felt a trickle of ice go down her back, the fingers of something that should not be there. She had just broken two of her employer’s cardinal rules—not only was she not to interrupt a séance, but she was absolutely never to call Felix by his first name in front of the clients. He ought to have at least shown his irritation, but wherever Felix Orlov was in that moment, he could not hear her.
    “Yes, something’s wrong with David,” Mr. Mendehlson said, his beaklike nose wrinkling in distaste. “He’s dead.”
    Stung, Mrs. Mendehlson flinched and opened her eyes, shooting a stricken, heartbroken look at her husband.
    “Alan, you bastard,” she hissed. “I know he’s dead. But that doesn’t mean he’s gone. It doesn’t mean I can’t still love my son!”
    Molly barely listened. In the golden light filtering through the room, dust motes swirling, she blinked and tried to focus on Felix. Something had gone wrong, yes, but whatever it was it had not finished. Though the focus of the séance had been shattered, Felix remained closed off from the world, still holding tightly to the Mendehlsons’ hands. The old conjuror’s face had gone dreadfully pale and sweat beaded on his forehead and cheeks.
    Had he touched something besides a departed spirit in that other realm? Had he made contact with something … evil?
    “Felix?” Molly asked. “Please open your eyes.”

    The table jerked, legs scraping the floor. Mrs. Mendehlson yelped and her husband uttered curses. Molly took a step forward, wanting to go to Felix but not wanting to break his rules … his trust.
    It had occurred to her more than once that when he opened himself to the spirits, something else might find its way into him, and as she watched him begin to