Time Dancers by Steve Cash Page A

eyes. Even though I had good intentions in mind, I could feel the weight of my lies piling up.
    We were outside the station by 2:30.
    “Spread out and walk around,” I said, “and look for anything strange. Find all the entrances and exits. Let’s not go inside until the last minute.” I knew Opari and I carried our Stones, but if the Fleur-du-Mal was involved, I also knew they would be useless against him or any other Meq.
    In a drizzling rain, the Orphan Train arrived at 3:00 sharp. A large group of people stood waiting at the platform, I suppose in order to get an early glimpse. The two dozen or so children on board were supposed to exit the train with their chaperones and then be taken to a nearby theater, where they would be lined up and looked over by families and individuals.
    The three of us scanned the curious, leering crowd. “The faces of these Giza remind me of the Carthaginians,” Opari said sarcastically. “And believe me,” she added, “there was little welfare in their eyes.”
    One by one, the children stepped down from the train. Most were in oversized coats and shoes. All were tired and hungry. Only the older children bothered to see anything around them. One in particular, about my height, wearing an old black raincoat and a knit cap pulled down to the eyes, seemed to scan the crowd incessantly. Their chaperones were mostly women and all were wearing wide-brimmed hats and long dresses. They looked worn down by the miles, the job, and the hard, wooden seats on the train.
    “No bloody damn good, this,” Willie said quietly.
    Opari leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Why do you think Unai and Usoa have chosen such a train, my love?”
    I thought back to Cornwall and Caitlin’s Ruby and what Trumoi-Meq had told me. Though he hadn’t been specific about location, he said Unai and Usoa crossed in the Zeharkatu in 1908. That meant they were in their early twenties now. I thought they must be acting as chaperones, probably through Reverend Bookbinder, but if Usoa had become delusional, that would be unlikely. I watched more and more children stepping down, orphans who had known no other life than scraping by on city streets. Carolina had said, in many instances the Orphan Train was the only chance those kids would have, but it didn’t look like much of a chance to me.
    “Maybe someone chose it for them,” I said.
    In any case, Unai and Usoa never departed the train. Minutes later, the chaperones had the children walking in straight lines and shuffling off to the theater to find out their fates. The crowd lingered, then drifted along behind. We waited. The two cars that comprised the Orphan Train stood empty and silent. In the distance, there was the grinding, gnashing sound of other cars being coupled and uncoupled.
    “Do we want to be takin’ a look inside, Z?” Willie asked.
    “I think we should,” I said and glanced at Opari. “But just us, Willie, okay?”
    “I’ll be right outside, Z.” He winked and nodded toward the open door and the steps leading up to the train.
    Slowly, I walked on board and turned to my right, entering the compartment ahead of Opari. I was expecting to feel the net descending, the sensation I always felt in the presence of evil. I felt nothing. Yet, there was a foreboding, a weight in the silence. Cheap magazines and dime novels lay scattered in the otherwise empty wooden seats. Odd bits of clothing and a dozen toys were strewn through the car—chipped, broken, missing parts. We walked to the end of the aisle. Neither of us said a word nor made a sound.
    We crossed to the next car and as I reached out to open the door, I paused and Opari touched my arm from behind. I heard a strange sound coming from inside the compartment. My “ability” enabled me to hear a barely audible, irregular bubbling sound, somewhere to the back of the car.
    “Do you hear that?” I whispered.
    Opari pressed her fingers into my shoulder. “No, my love. I hear nothing,