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

surely hope you can help me, Mr. Huffstadler. I’m just beside myself,” Theta said, baiting the hook. “You see, I work for Mr. Ziegfeld, in the Follies?”
    “The Follies?” Reynaldo blurted eagerly before catching himself. “That is, I sensed it.”
    “No kidding? Golly!” Theta cooed, batting her lashes until Henry had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Sometimes Theta’s best acting wasn’t on the stage. “Well, Flo—Mr. Ziegfeld, that is—he’s looking for a new song, and the other night, I was in a little nightclub, and I heard the dreamiest number! But I don’t know who wrote it. I was kinda hoping you might know or, gee, bein’ as you’re such a Big Cheese, maybe you even published it?”
    “Well, if we didn’t, we oughta!” Mr. Huffstadler winked at Theta. “So what’s this dreamy tune called, honey?”
    “Jeepers, I don’t really know.”
    “Reynaldo?” Mr. Huffstadler looked to the Diviner, who paled.
    “Er… the spirits don’t see fit to tell me at this time.”
    “Perhaps if you sang a little of it, Miss,” Henry prompted.
    “Of course! It went something like this.…” Theta launched into the chorus of Henry’s song, purposely forgetting some of the words and humming along as if she’d only heard it once.
    Henry’s eyes widened in mock-surprise. “Why, Miss, that’s my song!”
    “Your song? You don’t say!”
    “I do say.” Henry picked up the chorus, supplying the right words, and Theta gazed at him with a swoony face. At the end, she applauded enthusiastically. “Oh, that’s wonderful! You’ve gotta come by and play that for Mr. Ziegfeld.”
    “Of all the luck,” Henry said, grinning. “I don’t believe it.”
    “I don’t believe it, either.” Behind the desk, Mr. Huffstadler scowled. “You kids think I fell off a turnip truck this week? Your song stinks, Mr. DuBois—and so does this phony act. Now get out before I throw you both out.”
    Theta dropped her smile, along with her breathless voice. “Yeah? You wouldn’t know a good song if it came up and bit you in the a—”
    “Ascot!” Henry said quickly. “May I escort you out, Miss Knight?”
    “I wish you would, Mr. DuBois,” Theta said. She leaned in to the Amazing Reynaldo. “And if you’re really a reader of thoughts, you oughta be blushing to beat the band if you can read mine right now, ya big phony.” She slammed the door behind her for good measure.
    At the front desk, David Cohn grinned up at Henry and Theta from behind his typewriter. “Nice try.”
    “Well, it almost worked.” Henry tipped his hat. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
    “Likewise.” David fiddled with some paper, glancing shyly at Henry. “Hopefully, we’ll meet again. Hey!”
    “Yeah?” Henry said, turning around.
    “For what it’s worth, I thought your song was pretty good.”
    “Good or pretty good?”
    “Nothing wrong with your song that a little more heart and a lot of hard work couldn’t fix.”
    “You a Diviner, too?” Henry joked.
    David Cohn smiled. “No. Just honest. But nobody pays you for that.”

After saying good-bye to Theta, Henry hopped the El to Chatham Square and made his way through Chinatown in the brisk chill. He moved in and out of shops, pretending to be interested in ceramic bowls and fabric for a new suit, while surreptitiously looking for the girl he’d only met inside a dream.
    A commotion erupted in the street. Police were turning out a restaurant, allowing the health inspector passage. The owner protested the disruption to his business mightily: “This is a clean place! No sickness here.”
    “Do you have your papers?” the policeman asked one of the waiters, who didn’t seem to understand. “Your resident permit?”
    A translator spoke quickly with the frightened waiter.
    “He left it at home,” the translator explained to the police. “He’ll go get it now.”
    “Nothing doing, pal. No papers, we take you in.” The policeman