A Dawn Most Wicked (something strange and deadly )

by Susan Dennard

  “I only have one other secret, Cass.” I inhaled until my ribs were fit to crack. Then I let it all rush out. “I’m leaving the Sadie Queen. I ain’t takin’ Lang’s offer.”

  Her cheeks paled. The spyglass thwumped shut. “Are . . . are you joking?”

  I shook my head. “After I gather my things, I’ll be gone. For good.”

  “Why?” she breathed, shoving the glass in her pocket and stepping toward me. Her eyes searched my face. “I don’t really care about your past, Danny—I was just surprised is all.” Her hand reached for my cheek.

  I didn’t move. Not even when her calloused fingers brushed down my jaw. I just stood very still.

  She flinched as if I’d slapped her. Her hand wrenched back. “You mean it. Oh God, you mean it.” She clutched her stomach. “But what about being an engineer? What about me? I thought . . . I thought we were a team. You. Me. Engineer. Pilot.” Her breath hitched, making her chest kick up. “What about . . . what about feeling something more than friendship? Did that just vanish?”

  “No,” I ground out. “That’s still here. Probably always will be.”

  “Then why would you go?” She stumbled back a step, toward the open window. “I need you now—more than ever, Danny. Please.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Please, don’t do this.”

  I looked away. There were tears in her eyes, and I couldn’t watch them fall. I stared at the front of the ship. At the jack staff. At the Lang Company flag. “I’m no good for you, Cass. I told you that before, and it’s still the truth. You know it is.”

  “And I told you that’s not your decision! I make that choice—”

  “Kent Lang wants to court you,” I interrupted, lifting my voice over hers. I had to get this out before she started crying. Before I changed my mind. “He’ll be good for you. He can give you what you need.”

  “And you don’t decide that!” she shrieked. Her body tilted toward me like a tree in a hurricane. “You have no idea what I need, Danny Sheridan. Not you, not Father, and certainly not Kent Lang.” Fists clenching, she stomped closer. “You think I care about your past? You think I care about money or position? You know I don’t. Those are just excuses for you to leave. All I care about is what I feel here.” She pounded her chest. “And what I feel here is you. You’re my other half, and I won’t let you go.”

  “And that ain’t your choice.” I swallowed. “You can’t keep me here, Cass. You can’t make me stay.”

  She balked. Her fists unfurled. Then faster than I could react, her hand lashed out. She slapped me.

  White pain exploded on my cheek, and stars flickered before my eyes. Then she was shouting at me, and I forgot all about the pain. All about what I’d come here for.

  “So you kiss me like you plan to stay forever and then you leave? I am ashamed I ever let myself believe you cared!” Her lip trembled, and she shrieked louder. “You don’t love me. I should have known better—should have seen you were just playing with me. Well, I learned my lesson, Danny—”

  “Don’t.” I shook my head in warning. “Don’t you dare say I don’t love you. Not when you know it ain’t true. I kissed you because of how I felt—how I feel. But if I stay with you, Cassidy, I will be forever hated by your father. I will be forever lookin’ over my shoulder, wondering if my past is gonna bring you down too. I will be forever worried about Ellis not having the money she needs. And . . .” I drew in a ragged breath. “I will forever feel as if I’m holding you back.”

  “Holding me back?” she repeated, incredulous. Then she narrowed the space between us. “You don’t hold me back, Danny. You push me forward. On the river—in my life. You’re my engineer, and I’m your pilot. We’re a team.”

  And just like that, what remained of my resolve crumbled. We were a team. I couldn’t just walk away. I couldn’t pretend this was an easy decision. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t care.

  I did care, and I didn’t want this either.

  Then before my brain could switch back on—before my conscience could worm its way into the room—I gripped the sides of her face . . . and I kissed her. I pressed my lips to Cassidy’s with such ferocity and such need, that I lost all sense of the world. All I could think and feel and breathe was Cassidy.

  Her teeth cut into my lips. I tasted blood. I didn’t care. Then her hands were behind my head, and we were kissing like we might die tomorrow. Like we were dying right now. And God, I never wanted to leave this moment. I just wanted to fall into Cassidy forever.

  But then I tasted salt, and the tang worked its way into my thoughts. I touched Cassidy’s cheeks; they were slick with tears.

  “You’re crying.” I drew back. My eyes ran over her shining, flushed face.

  She nodded, dazed. “So are you,” she rasped.

  I blinked and touched my own cheeks. She was right.

  Then Cassidy’s arms slid around my waist and brought me back into the moment. Brought me back to her. “I don’t want this, Danny.”

  “Me neither.” I rested my chin on her head. She was holding me so tight that it hurt. But I liked the pain—it kept my mind where it needed to be. “But leaving is the right thing to do, and . . .” I licked my lips. “I’m determined to do the right thing, Cass.”

  She tipped her head back, her grip releasing slightly. “I can’t change your mind.” She spoke it as a statement, but there was a questioning in her eyes.

  “No,” I said simply.

  Her grip released completely. But she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

  “Please don’t forget me.” Her voice was small. Barely a whisper. “Please, Danny.”

  “Are you serious?” I huffed a laugh. “How could I ever forget you, Miss Cassidy? You are . . . everything. Everything I ever wanted. And you made me more than I ever thought I could be.”

  She nodded, as if satisfied by that response. “Will you write?”

  It was such an ordinary question—I was grateful for that. “I’ll write,” I answered, “if you promise to write back.” I trailed my fingers down her face and then gripped her chin. “And only if you promise . . .”

  “What?”

  “Promise to let me know if Lang ever proposes.” I cracked a smile. A sad, painful smile. “Or if you tell him ‘no.’ I’ll come back for you.”

  She sniffled and pulled away—out of my grasp. Out of my reach. “If I tell him ‘no’ now, will you stay?”

  I shook my head. “He isn’t a bad guy. He might even be a good one.”

  “But he isn’t you.”

  My eyes winked shut at those words, and I had to focus on sucking in my next breath. I was doing the right thing—I knew I was.

  Clack-clack-clack, thwump!

  My eyelids snapped wide. Cass had the spyglass in one hand, and she was holding it out to me. “Take it.” At the jump in my eyebrows she added, “So you can’t forget me. No matter what happens, you’ll look at this, and you’ll remember how it was. You’ll remember the freedom of the river and the power of the Queen.” She reached out and stroked the steering wheel fondly. Then her eyes, still puffy and overbright, slid back to mine. “And no matter what happens, you’ll remember me. Cassidy Cochran. The fastest pilot on the Mississippi.”

  I reached out, surprised to see my hand trembling, and ever so slowly I closed my fingers around the tarnished brass. Briefly I touched the palm of her hand—warm, rough, and unforgettable—and then I eased the spyglass from her grasp.

  Clack-clack-clack. I drew it open, examining it. Old fingerprints coated every inch of the brass. Thwump! I let it fall closed, and my gaze lifted to hers. “Good-bye, Cassidy Cochran. I wish you all the best. And I . . .” My voice faded, and before I could summon more words—before I could conjure more excuses to drag out this moment—Cassidy popped onto her toes, grazed a kiss on my cheek, and whispered, “Good-bye, Danny Sheridan.”

  Then, in that long-legged lope of hers, she strode past me, down the stairs, and out of my life forever.

  For a long moment I didn�
�t move. I didn’t even breathe. . . . But then I heaved a lung-ripping sigh and shambled to the open window. With the spyglass in hand I watched the final rays of daylight sink behind the horizon.

  And as I watched, I pretended that I was king of the world. That this gleaming steering wheel was taking me exactly where I wanted to go.

  I rolled my head back and let the breeze cool my cheeks. Let the sunset sear through my closed eyelids. And as I stood there, I felt a shift in the wind—a shift that rattled deep into my bones.

  It started with a prickle in my shoulders—like little pins and needles stabbing me from the inside out. Chill bumps rolled down my arms despite the sun, and all I could think was when had I gotten so cold? When had I forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a brief patch of sunshine?

  And then, just as suddenly as the cold had come, a wave of heat crashed over me. All my hairs shot straight up, and a painful joy stabbed through me. Through my chest. Through my gut. My knees almost buckled.

  Because I was alive. And no matter what came for me today or tomorrow, during last night—with Joseph and Jie—I had done something right. I had made a choice and I had fought for it until the end. It was more than I had ever done in my life. More than I’d ever known I could do.

  So let Clay Wilcox come, I thought. I would face him unflinching and unafraid. I would face anything life threw at me. Because breath still burned in my chest and my fingers could still curl into fists.

  There was no atoning for what I had done, but I could always keep it from happening again.

  And I would. I would.

  EPILOGUE

  PHILADELPHIA, 1876

  I scuffed toward the bottom of the hospital stairs. They led me to a wide, marble-floored room, and though I knew I ought to walk quietly, I didn’t. I was too preoccupied to worry about stealth.

  Because I wanted to go back to Eleanor. I really wanted to go back. My hand slipped into my coat pocket—to a familiar piece of brass. I withdrew it, slowed to a stop on the final step, and examined it in the dim moonlight.

  Cassidy’s spyglass. Three years since she’d given it to me. And almost two years since I’d managed to get the thing open. I didn’t know if I had left it untouched for too long or if it was well and truly broken. I had barely looked at in two years—two years and four months, to be exact. Ever since I’d seen an article in a St. Louis paper declaring the happy union of a Miss Cassidy Cochran and a Mr. Kent Lang.

  Lang gave her a brand-new steamship as a wedding gift, and last I heard, the Sadie Queen II had won the Baton Rouge, Natchez, Memphis, and even the St. Louis horns. I had done the right thing by leaving Cassidy behind . . . but that didn’t make the old ache hurt any less.

  Except . . .

  I cocked my head to one side. I hadn’t thought of her in weeks. Months, even. Not until right now had my old best friend and other half flickered through my mind.

  I flipped the spyglass over. Tossed it from one hand to the next. There was buoyancy in my chest. Maybe I’d finally let Cassidy Cochran go. And yes, the more I dug at the old wound, the more I realized it didn’t sting anymore. Actually, there was a new hole in my heart—a bigger, blacker hole than Cassidy had ever left behind.

  Because I wanted to go back to Eleanor. I really wanted to go back. She had pushed me in ways I hadn’t been pushed since . . . since Cass. And, the truth was, Eleanor had pushed me even harder. Pushed me even further.

  And God, that kiss beneath the streetlamp—it had left me dizzy from wanting her. Breathless and so hungry, I thought I would die from the inside out if she ever stopped kissing me . . .

  Hell, I might die now, just thinking about it. She was so . . . so fierce. Fierce when she smiled. When she fought. When she called me a scalawag . . . And fierce when she kissed.

  “Goddammit.” The word whispered off my tongue as I stared at the spyglass. Then, louder. “Goddammit.” Because why couldn’t I be the one for Eleanor? Why did I have to be in love with a girl leagues above me and miles more deserving?

  With a growl I tugged at the spyglass—not because I expected it to open but because I had pulled it from my pocket and didn’t know what else to do with it. I yanked once. Hard.

  The spyglass moved. I blinked.

  But then Jie’s voice slapped into my skull. “You coming?”

  My head bounced up. She slunk from a shadow beside the front door. “Yeah,” I murmured, and as I eased off the final step, my gaze dropped back to the spyglass. It had moved—I’d felt it move.

  I crossed the hall and tried tugging it again. This time, it snapped free.

  Clack-clack-clack!

  My jaw sagged. It was even more tarnished than three years ago, but it had opened. My eyes leaped to Jie’s. “Did you see that?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged one shoulder. “So?” Then a bored yawn cracked through her jaw. “Can we please go? Joseph is waiting.”

  “Sure,” I mumbled, nodding absently. But I quickened my stride, and just as I reached the door, I tried shutting the spyglass.

  Thwump!

  Then again. Clack-clack-clack, thwump! Clack-clack-clack, thwump! A laugh broke through my lips. After three years the spyglass had magically opened again. It was . . .

  Incredible. That’s what it was.

  “Let’s go,” Jie groaned, shoving the front door wide.

  “Right. Sorry.” I shoved the spyglass back in my coat pocket and followed her from the hospital. Our heels clicked on the front steps then sank into the grass as we jogged toward the street. Toward a top-hatted silhouette waiting beneath a streetlamp.

  But I felt eyes on my back. I knew Eleanor watched me . . . and it made my chest tighten. With need. With desire. With regret.

  My feet slowed to a stop. My fingers curled into fists that clenched in time to my pulse, and I couldn’t seem to keep my head from twisting around to stare at Eleanor’s window on the second floor. I couldn’t keep my eyes from finding her—a pale spot in the shadows.

  I turned around, took two steps toward her. My body was acting without me—moving of its own accord.

  Stop! I screamed at myself. My feet ground to a halt.

  But then I realized I could make out her eyes, gleaming in the moonlight, and before I knew it, I’d taken two more steps.

  Now I could see her lips and the twitch of a smile.

  Incredible. Fierce.

  In that moment I had her attention, and she had my heart. I had never thought I would give it away again.

  So I swooped off my cap, dropped to one knee, and bowed my head—declaring fealty to the one I wanted but could never have.

  Her laugh tickled my ear, and at that sound heat boiled through my chest. Then ice. Then heat again. My mouth was dry. My heart started hammering . . . and I couldn’t keep from grinning. Her laugh was such a happy sound. It spoke of futures where pain might fade and a life might take its place.

  I wanted Eleanor to be happy. Like Cassidy had done with Lang, I wanted her to find someone to take care of her. Someone with money and good intentions.

  I stood and my eyes found hers. Then I waved, a strange feeling rising through me. A notion that maybe it would be me.

  I flopped my cap back on and spun around. At the very least it was a nice dream for all the wicked dawns ahead. A warm fantasy I could hold tight. Me and Eleanor: a team.

  But as I jogged to the street, my mood surprised me by lifting higher and higher with each step. By the time I joined Joseph and Jie beneath the streetlamp, my heart was practically beating out the top of my skull.

  Because I had this deep certainty that I would see Eleanor again. That our story wasn’t over yet. That one day I might be the man she needed . . .

  Sure, I had my work cut out for me, but I had come this far, hadn’t I? I just had to face this next future unflinching . . . unafraid.

  Excerpt from A Darkness Strange and Lovely

  After denying his love for Eleanor, Daniel is reunited with his fiery Empress months later in Paris—as well
as a whole new slew of evil darkness. To see how it all plays out, check out this excerpt from Susan Dennard’s A Darkness Strange and Lovely.

  CHAPTER ONE

  When Jie’s letter came in the mail, I was so elated I forgot I had no hand.

  “Oh, thank heavens!” I cried, reaching for the battered envelope in the postman’s grasp. “I’ve been waiting for this for over a . . .” I trailed off. My eyes locked on the postman’s horrified face—and his eyes locked on my wrist.

  Yet it was not the poor quality of my gray gown’s lace sleeve that prompted his expression but rather the bandaged stump poking out from beneath.

  I yanked back my wrist, and the postman’s face erupted in red. “P-pardon me, Miss.” He thrust the letter at me.

  “Of course,” I squeaked, snatching the letter with my left hand. Then I bolted from the post office into the Philadelphia morning.

  Holding the hard-earned letter like a visor against the sun, I strode into the bustling Chestnut Avenue traffic. The road’s cobbles were layered in a sticky, dried mud from yesterday’s rain. It clung to my boot heels as I crossed into the rattling carriages, clopping horses, and distracted pedestrians.

  As I passed by shop after shop with their giant signs overshadowing the offices wedged between, I cursed myself for my stupidity. Almost three months with no hand, and one would think I would remember. The empty wrist ached all the time—itching in the night as if my fingers were still attached, reminding me constantly of how much more than a hand I’d lost. If not for that wretched injury, maybe I could put all the summer’s horrors behind me. Maybe I could push through each day instead of barely keeping my head above the darkness.

  It always hovered there, threatening to drown me in memories of Elijah . . . and Clarence . . . and Mama. . . .

  But it was not to be. Just as my hand would never return, this grief would never leave. Life—and death—did not work that way.

  Though sometimes, if I squinted hard enough, I fancied I could see a blue sparkle of spiritual energy, as if the ghost of my hand wanted me back as much as I wanted it. What with all the flickers and flashes of spirits I’d started seeing in the past few months, it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that I was actually seeing the ghostly remnants of my hand.