The World Columbian Exhibition of 1893 was perhaps the greatest world’s fair there had ever been. It filled a full square-mile along the shore of Lake Michigan, and looked more like Ancient Rome than Chicago. Magnificent domed buildings, column-lined courtyards, and glorious fountains stood at the heart of the fair, all of it so alabaster white it became known as the Great White City—blinding in the sun, and glowing mystically by moonlight. These towering colonnades and hallowed halls of industry stood as monuments to the power and permanence of man’s creations.

Unfortunately it was all made of cheap plaster, and crumbled like a sandcastle once the fair was over.

However, the loss to the living world was a gift to Everlost. Here in Everlost, the Great White City still claimed the shoreline of Lake Michigan. The gilded Statue of the Republic forever towered resolutely at its heart, and George Ferris’s great wheel—the original Ferris wheel—continued to turn relentless circles—still the tallest piece of Chicago to cross into Everlost.

In short, the place was larger than life, but then, so was Mary Hightower, and she orchestrated her arrival with royal style.

The Hindenburg settled in the “court of honor,” the great courtyard at the heart of the White City, touching down in the reflecting pool that so eerily matched the giant zeppelin in size and shape, it appeared to belong there, fitting like a key in a lock. All around the court of honor, hundreds upon hundreds of Chicago Afterlights gathered to gawk as a ramp descended, and Mary’s Afterlights marched out two by two, into the shallow reflecting pool in size order. They then parted, and faced inward, creating a gauntlet; a pathway of Afterlights for Mary to walk between.

They stood at attention, and all waited in silent anticipation. Then Mary emerged, walking slowly, regally, her green velvet dress just brushing the surface of the ankle-deep pool, making her appear to walk on water. She strode to the edge of the reflecting pool and then stopped, waiting patiently for the Chicago Afterlights to dredge up the nerve to approach her. They all looked downtrodden and scared, with circles under their wide eyes that gave them the disconcerting look of zombies—but those eyes weren’t empty and mindless, they were full of dread—the first indication that all the rumors about Pugsy Capone were true.

Finally, a young girl, the bravest of these timid Afterlights, approached her and asked, “Are you here to send the Death Boss to hell?”

The question challenged Mary’s balance, but only for an instant. She smiled at the girl warmly. “I’m here to help,” she said. “Please tell Mr. Capone that Mary Hightower has come to see him.”