A Dawn Most Wicked

by Susan Dennard

“Blood,” it hissed. “Blood everywhere.”

  Like flies to a shit pile the rest of the spirits swarmed. They twisted around and flew toward us, their dead throats wailing for our blood.

  “Mr. Boyer,” I roared over the cacophony of shredded voices. “I think we’re gonna have to run for it.”

  “What about stealth?” he shouted back.

  I didn’t bother answering. My back was slammed so hard against the wall that I could feel my shoulders bruising. And I could feel the guilt rising in my throat and threatening to break loose. I’d rather be gutted by Cochran and tossed overboard than be swallowed up by the tongues of my past.

  “You killed me.” It was the guard’s voice again. Layered a hundred times and pouring from a hundred different mouths.

  I latched hold of Joseph’s sleeve. “Run!”

  Cold, cold, cold. Ice forming on my lashes and scorching down my throat. Through ghost after ghost Joseph and I ran—until at last we reached the Passenger Deck and crumpled to the floor beneath the stairwell, shivering.

  My teeth chattered. I was so damned cold, and that man’s voice wouldn’t leave my ears. Not real. It’s not real. For several gasping breaths it was all I could do to hug my arms over my chest and keep from crying out. It’s not real.

  The need for Cassidy ached in my throat. Behind my eyes. I just wanted her here for a second. To pat my head. To smile at me. To remind me what it felt like to be alive . . .

  My one consolation was that Joseph was no better off. The Creole rocked back and forth with his hands pressed to his ears. “These are no normal apparitions,” he whispered, again and again. “These are not normal.”

  Joseph gave a soft groan and rubbed at his eyes. We’d been in my cabin less than an hour, the only sound the rapid flipping of pages and slapping of book covers.

  I paced—back and forth in front of the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “It is as I feared.” He tapped the page in his current book. “These apparitions and nightmares show all the signs of a lodestone curse.” At my confused expression he added, “They are curses stored in an object.”

  “What kind of curses? And in what kind of object?”

  “The type of curse that opens a hole in the spirit curtain and draws the Dead through—and into the real world.”

  “Like a lodestone to a magnet,” I murmured, understanding the curse’s name. I stopped walking and rubbed my eyes. “So you’re tellin’ me that ghosts have been drawn through? And that’s why they’re here?”

  “Non. These are still only apparitions.” Joseph slowly closed his book, his gaze turning distant and unfocused. “Have you ever seen a magic lantern show, Mr. Sheridan?”

  I blinked, surprised by the subject change. I had seen a magic lantern once. It had been completely by accident three years ago. I was supposed to crack into a safe at the McVicker’s Theater, and there just happened to be a magic lantern show going on when I snuck in.

  I remembered it vividly—like it was yesterday. It was one of the few memories I welcomed. One of the only moments in my life that stood out as good.

  The magic lantern show had featured images of Paris, and there was one picture—of an art museum that had once been a palace—that I could still imagine with absolute clarity. It had been the most beautiful building I’d ever seen . . . and I had vowed then, while I was tucked away on a ceiling beam, to see it one day.

  “I’ve seen a magic lantern show,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Why?”

  “So you know how the machine works?” Joseph pressed. “A small image is projected onto a wall using lights and mirrors.”

  I bobbed my head.

  “With this lodestone curse,” Joseph went on, “the spirits are being projected here from the spirit realm. A true apparition is nothing more than an image of the deceased—exactly like the magic lantern. Should the curse be cast, however, then the ghosts will no longer be apparitions. The ghosts will become real.”

  “Wait.” I lifted my hands. “You’re saying all those ghosts down there would suddenly be . . . real? As in solid?”

  Joseph gave a long, acknowledging blink. “It would be as if the pictures of the magic lantern were to suddenly transform into reality. The image of a dead woman would become the dead woman.”

  “So . . . we would have hundreds of—” My stomach clawed into my throat, choking off my next word. “Hundreds,” I tried again. “We’ll have hundreds of Dead. Walking corpses?”

  “Not the actual corpses, but a solid form— Wi. The ghosts will be able to touch us.”

  “And hurt us. Oh shit.” Lacing my hands behind my head, I resumed my pacing—faster this time. I had seen solid ghosts before. Black forms with claws of ice and pinprick eyes of endless gold. The forest outside Mr. Roper’s house had been haunted by one. So had McVicker’s Theater. I had seen it the very same night I had watched the magic lantern show.

  Images of ghosts were one thing. Ghosts that could kill me were quite another.

  “How the devil do we stop it?” I dropped my hands. “If the curse hasn’t even been cast yet, how do we make sure it stays that way?”

  “We must find the curse—find the object that contains the spell.” Joseph exhaled a heavy sigh and shrugged. “Do you perhaps know when the ghosts first appeared?”

  “Two months ago. In April.”

  “Then the curse could be in any object that came aboard two months ago.”

  “But that could be a million things.” I groaned. “Hell, I bought these boots”—I kicked up my foot—“in April. Maybe it’s them.”

  “Except a necromancer had to have held the object long enough to put the spell inside. It would have taken days.” Joseph tilted toward me, urgency in his voice. “My guess is someone hired a necromancer to make the curse. Thus, it was brought on by someone who likely hated Captain Cochran—but it must also be someone who did not want to kill the crew or destroy the steamer completely. Not yet, at least, for otherwise the curse would have been cast already.” Joseph opened his hands in a helpless gesture. “I realize it is not much of a clue.”

  “Or maybe,” I said slowly, thinking back to a conversation from the night before. We beat the Adams’s time back in April—why else d’you think that captain hates us so much? “Maybe it is a good clue. The Natchez horns—we won those from the Abby Adams back in April.” My words picked up speed as certainty coursed through me. “That’s two months ago, Mr. Boyer, and if there is one person who will benefit from the Queen’s downfall, it’s the captain of the Adams. He’s our rival—not just in the race but for business too. And,” I added with an emphatic fist at Joseph, “once the hauntings began, who do you think took over as the most popular luxury steamer on the Mississippi? Captain Dunlap wouldn’t want us all dead, but he would want our passengers.”

  Joseph’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And these horns—where are they?”

  “On top of the jack staff, just below our Lang Company flag.”

  “We must get them down.” Joseph rose unsteadily to his feet. “Is there some way to climb this flagpole?”

  I winced. We normally used a ladder to get to the top of that fifty-foot pole. “I’m stealthy,” I said with a shake of my head, “but I ain’t an acrobat, Mr. Boyer. Except . . .” I trailed off.

  Maybe I couldn’t climb the jack staff, but there was someone on this steamer who I would bet could.

  I jumped up, aiming for my bureau. “I got an idea, Mr. Boyer.” I swept aside gears and screws until I found what I needed: pliers. Then I jerked my hand toward the door. “I know someone who can help us get those horns down.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I found Jie exactly where I expected. It was within shouting distance of Lang but also where I’d said the ghosts would avoid: the back of the Texas Deck.

  She sat on the balustrade with her legs hanging off dangerously and her hair falling from her braid. If she’d wanted, she could jump right off the boat—and fall three stories to a watery gr
ave.

  Her body tensed when Joseph and I approached, but she pretended not to notice us until we stood directly beside her. I knew she was pretending because I’d done the same ear-perk a thousand times. A pickpocket always knew who was around him—but more important, how to act like he wasn’t paying attention.

  Of course she dragged this game out, and it wasn’t until I gave a loud cough that she pulled her eyes from the wake trailing behind the Queen. She gave me a once-over. “How’s your wrist?”

  I bared my teeth. “It’s just peachy. Thanks for asking.” Then I cocked my head toward Joseph. “Jie, this is Joseph Boyer.”

  She turned her face toward Joseph, a languid, catlike movement. “Hullo.”

  Joseph stiffened. “You’re the boy who cheated us at cards.”

  She barked a laugh and snapped her fingers. “I thought you looked familiar. Though . . . where’d your nice hat go? And your pretty white gloves?”

  Joseph’s nostrils flared, but before he could open his mouth, I cut in, “Don’t be a smart aleck. We need your help.”

  “My help, yeah?” She swung her legs around to face us. “With what?”

  “Something important.”

  “Very important,” Joseph intoned.

  “And very secret,” I added.

  Jie’s eyebrow slid up. “Let me guess: it’s also very illegal. Sorry, but I don’t break the law.”

  “Yet you are willing to cheat at cards?” Joseph gave her a penetrating glare—the sort of glare that said, “Do not get on my bad side.”

  Jie seemed to understand the look because she said—albeit grudgingly—“What do you want me to do?”

  “Climb the jack staff,” I answered.

  She hopped off the balustrade. “Why?”

  I motioned for her to follow and guided her to the edge of the Texas. Far to the front of the boat, we could just glimpse the tall pole with the Lang Company flag waving at the top. “See the glint just below the flag? It’s a pair of gilded antlers. Can you get them?”

  “Can I get them?” She snorted derisively. “Of course I can. The question is will I. What’s in it for me?”

  “What’s in it for you?” I clicked my tongue. “I reckon you owe us, Jie. After cheatin’ us—and damned near knocking me out.” I was grateful when Joseph didn’t mention that I had also demanded “what’s in it for me?” less than twenty-four hours ago. “Why,” I continued, “we could just tell Lang about that bar fight last night. I bet he doesn’t like his footmen startin’ brawls.” I tugged the pliers from my pocket and held them out to her. “Or you can climb the jack staff and get the horns.”

  “Hmph.” Her expression didn’t change, but she did snatch the pliers from my hand. “All right,” she said at last. “I’ll help. But”—she pointed to the pilothouse—“I’m pretty sure the captain’s gonna see me.”

  I huffed out a relieved breath. “Don’t worry about the captain. I’ll deal with him and you deal with getting those gilded antlers down.”

  “What of the first mate?” Joseph inserted, looking from me to Jie and back. “He is stationed at the boat’s bow and can also see you.”

  “You mean that old man yelling about twains and bottoms?” Jie arrogantly tossed her head. “He’s too focused on that rope of his to notice me. I’ll be up and out of sight before he can even read the next depth.” She rolled her shoulders and turned to me. “I’ll count to two hundred before I climb. That means you have exactly two hundred seconds to get that pilot distracted. You can count, yeah?”

  “Make it three hundred,” I said. “There’s someone I gotta see first, and it might take a few minutes of . . . persuading to get her to my side.”

  Jie nodded, twisting as if to go—but then she paused and wagged her finger at us. “If I lose my job because of this, you’re both dead.”

  “Should anything happen,” Joseph said, “I will compensate you.”

  “Fine.” She swatted at me. “Go on! I’m already to three in my head. And you, Mr. Boyer”—she turned to Joseph—“are coming with me to explain exactly why I’m risking my neck for a pair of golden deer horns.”

  I hurried over the Texas and counted—fourteen, fifteen. Three ghosts floated toward me. My pulse kicked up. I ducked into a shadow and flattened myself against the wall. They slid past, hissing for blood. . . .

  How much blood would they take if they could actually touch me? The thought flashed in my mind . . . and my gut knotted up. The idea of a hundred spirits demanding I pay—a hundred spirits piercing me with guilt and physical agony . . .

  It wasn’t the way I wanted to die.

  The apparitions passed out of view, and with a fortifying breath I forced my feet back into action. Twenty-two, twenty-three . . . Once I reached Cassidy’s cabin door, I briefly debated knocking—but then decided I didn’t have the time.

  So I barged in.

  “Eek!” She sat up in bed, still in her uniform and her sheets clutched to her chest. Then she realized it was me. Her breath whooshed out and her shoulders slumped. “Heavens, I thought you were . . . I don’t know. Someone who shouldn’t be in my cabin.”

  My lip quirked up at that—knowing she qualified me as someone who should be in her cabin—but then I shook my head and forced my mind back to the matter at hand. Thirty-five, thirty-six.

  “Listen, Cass. There’s something I need to tell you, and there ain’t much time to tell it.” I scooted to her and knelt at the foot of her bed. Then I told her all about Joseph. I told her how he had found me on the street—sixty-four, sixty-five—and how I agreed to let him on the Queen in exchange for a job. I told her how I’d seen him touch the ghosts—seventy-nine, eighty—and how they were here because of a curse. A curse that could, at any moment, rip a hole between worlds and make the spirits solid.

  I lost count shortly after one hundred. After I told her we needed the horns off the jack staff . . .

  After, she started trembling, and her knuckles turned as white as the linens she gripped. “Why didn’t you tell me about the curse?” she whispered. “If we could all die from it—”

  “Joseph just figured it out.” I pushed off the floor, slid my arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. “And I didn’t tell you about Joseph because I thought you might feel the same way as your pa—that you wouldn’t trust him. But I should have told you. It wasn’t right for me to keep it secret.”

  “I’m not mad, Danny.” She inhaled deeply, her chest expanding. “But I assume you came in here for something more than just confessing your sins.”

  I cringed and drew back to grip her biceps. “I need your help, Cass. We need you to distract your pa—and fast. He’s got to be out of the pilothouse long enough for Jie to get the horns off the jack staff.”

  “Without a ladder?” Her eyes grew large. “How can the boy manage—”

  My hand shot up. “Trust me. He can do it. But . . . can you help?”

  “Of course I can.” She slid off the covers, and her stockinged feet hit the floor. “But who will steer the Queen?”

  “You.”

  “Ah.” She scooted off the bed and strode to her boots. As she stuffed her feet in without bothering to lace them up, she asked, “And what do I tell Father?”

  I pushed off the bed. “Tell him the command bells are stuck. Remember that time outside Memphis when the bells weren’t working? He stormed down to the engine room himself.”

  Cassidy’s face scrunched up, unsure. “I don’t know.” She moved to the door and cracked it. “He’ll know the bells aren’t broken since the paddles will be working according to what he orders, and—”

  “CASSIDY!” The captain’s voice thundered from above.

  In the dim room we stared at each other, unmoving.

  Then Cochran’s voice roared out again. “Cassidy, come here! The bells aren’t working!”

  Cass gasped, and her mouth bobbed open and closed. “Did you do something, Danny?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “This has nothi
ng to do with me! But go! It’ll work just fine.”

  “Right.” She nodded decisively, and my heart swelled. To see her with her jaw set like that—to see the way she carried herself purposefully through the door . . .

  It was no wonder she had tamed the Mississippi.

  And it was no wonder I was in love with her.

  After her cabin door had swung shut and her drumming footsteps were out of earshot, I crept to the window and peeked behind the curtain. Eight long, tight breaths later, Cochran’s broad form stomped by and swooped down the stairs. Once his head vanished I counted to ten—enough time to get him too far ahead to see me—and then squeezed out the door. With my head constantly darting left and right I surged over the Texas and down to the Hurricane Deck.

  But as I raced to the next set of stairs, a flicker of movement at the front of the boat caught my eye. A body at the middle of the jack staff. My stomach hitched. Where was Cochran? If he was still stomping in the same direction as me, he could see Jie too. . . .

  Two heavy heartbeats thumped past. I didn’t move. But then Jie reached the top of the pole, and I realized that me standing still and holding my breath like a Nancy wasn’t going to change a damned thing.

  I sprang into a run. Once we had the horns, I needed to get Joseph and Jie out of sight—stowed away somewhere safe and private to deal with the lodestone curse.

  I bounded off the final steps and onto the Passenger Deck, my breaths coming in shallow and fast. Ghosts swooped and snarled, but I skittered left, right, left, and soon reached the main stairwell.

  It was then, just as my feet hammered down the last set of stairs and the Main Deck opened up before me, that Cassidy’s voice screamed out, “Depth! Barnes, I need a depth!”

  I jolted, almost tripping down the remaining steps.

  “Depth!” Cassidy shouted again, her voice now shrill. Panicked.

  Why wasn’t the first mate answering?

  For that matter, where was the first mate? I jumped off the last steps and aimed right, toward the edge of the Main Deck where the old man should be. . . .