Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly - Trilogy)

by Susan Dennard

  “And this is our only hope?” I held up the canister. “An invention that can’t be finished?”

  “It can be finished,” Jie said. She marched between Joseph and me. “We’re wasting time talking about it. If you won’t break into the factory, then I’ll do it myself.

  “When the Dead come, we won’t be able to stop them. They will cover this city, and the Hungry will kill and kill and kill. That’s much worse than jail time, yeah? I thought it was our job to stop the Dead. Isn’t that what makes us the Spirit-Hunters?”

  Joseph closed his eyes. “Jie, I do not think you see—”

  “No, you don’t think! You’re not thinking at all, yeah? You just found out the Exhibition board has lied to you and put a grimoire on display. They don’t care about protecting the people here, but that is what we care about, Joseph. That’s our job. What matters more? Stealing something we deserve anyway or letting the entire city be slaughtered by the Dead?”

  Joseph’s brow wrinkled. He stared at the floor, and his gaze turned hazy.

  “I think Jie’s right,” I said. “You don’t owe the city’s officials anything—not after they’ve treated you so rotten.” I waved my hand around me. “This tiny lab, their unwillingness to help because of some election, and now this problem with your invention. I don’t understand why they even hired you to begin with.”

  “At first they believed in us,” Daniel said. “Then Peger came on the scene and stirred up a storm.”

  Jie threw her hands up. “It doesn’t matter if they trusted us before or if they’ll ever trust us again. What matters is now. We have to finish your invention, yeah? And that means we have to take the dynamite.”

  “It’s the only solution.” I pushed to my feet and looked at Joseph. “Don’t you see? All of us have to do as much as we can to stop this necromancer, and if it means breaking the law then—”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Daniel snapped. “You won’t get your rich fingers dirty.”

  I launched my chin up. “I’d go if you’d let me.”

  He towered up to his full height and glared down at me. “If you’re so willing, then why don’t you mosey on down there and do it for us?”

  I winced. His words hurt, and I didn’t understand why he was so keyed up. “That’s not fair—”

  Joseph’s hand shot up between us, his palm flat. “Hush. I have heard quite enough.” He planted his hand on Daniel’s chest and pushed the sandy-haired boy away from me.

  “Tell me,” Joseph said, “do you remember the factory’s layout?”

  Daniel’s face fell. “No. Please, don’t do this.”

  “I did not ask for your desire. I asked if you remember it or not.”

  Daniel’s face contorted, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His chest heaved, and I couldn’t look away. What about the factory could bring such pain to the surface? For that matter, why did Daniel even know the layout of the factory?

  But then Daniel swallowed and pushed his shoulders back. He opened his eyes. “Yes. I can get into the factory.”

  Joseph bowed his head. “Then you and Jie will go tonight. In the meantime, I will go retrieve this grimoire. It must be destroyed. Now you should leave, Daniel, before anyone sees you here.” He pointed to the lab’s door.

  Daniel nodded once and tugged his flat cap low. “Right. I’ll be back later.” He stalked past me toward the exit.

  I reached out and clasped his sleeve. “Daniel—I mean, Mr. Sheridan.” A blush ignited on my cheeks.

  “Empress?” He gazed at my hand on his arm.

  “I forgot to thank you. For my new parasol.”

  The edge of his lip twitched. “Anything for Her Majesty.” He drew his eyes up, and he held my gaze. Green eyes, clear and alert. Then he wrapped his hand around mine and removed my fingers from his sleeve.

  He gently lowered my hand before stalking through the door and out of sight.

  After leaving the Spirit-Hunters’ lab, I navigated the maze of Machinery Hall. My mind whirred with housekeeping duties—market shopping, bank accounting, and the like—but the cogs kept sticking and wandering to Daniel

  I tugged at my earrings. Focus, Eleanor. Hadn’t I vowed to think only of Elijah?

  I was almost to the central transept and the booming Corliss engine when a man’s voice called out, “Miss Fitt.”

  I twirled around, searching for the source among the throngs of visitors. Nicholas Peger materialized before me, his hat at a jaunty tilt and his mustache shining.

  “Eleanor Fitt. That’s you, isn’t it?” he asked. “Of the Philadelphia Fitts?”

  I stared. No words came to my lips. How had he found out my name?

  He sauntered closer and slid a small notebook from his waistcoat pocket. He flipped it open. “Parents are Henry and Abigail Fitt. You’re sixteen years old. Formally presented to society … hmmm. Not yet.” His eyes flitted to my face, though his head stayed still. “I take your silence as confirmation.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t,” I snapped, my mind kicking back into gear. “I haven’t the faintest idea who that girl is, and I do not appreciate you trying to discover who I am.”

  “Don’t excite yourself,” he drawled. “I’m not being paid to investigate you—although I’m rather certain someone would pay to find out about your little excursions.” His eyebrows bounced up, and he jerked a thumb in the direction of the Spirit-Hunters’ lab.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to hide the trembling in my veins. If Mama found out, or Clarence, or anyone, they would be horrified. What if they went to the police or it reached the press? If the necromancer felt more threatened, what would happen to Elijah?

  I brandished my parasol at him like a rapier. “You, sir, are an abominable scalawag of a man, and I’ll be damned if I let you threaten me.”

  He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Such language doesn’t suit a lady of your breeding. Course, neither does spending time with those low-life Spirit-Hunters. You know that Boyer fellow was a necromancer back in New Orleans? He even killed his best friend. That’s why he skipped town.”

  I sneered. I already knew about Joseph and how he’d stopped the necromancer Marcus. “I don’t know why you dislike the Spirit-Hunters as much as you do,” I said haughtily, “but I won’t listen to your filthy lies.”

  “Fine, fine. Maybe you can help me, though.” He tucked his notebook back in his pocket and slid out a newspaper clipping. He waved it in my face. “Recognize this boy?”

  I glanced at the faded image before me, and fought to keep a straight face. The picture held a dirty, long-haired boy—perhaps twelve or thirteen years old—who had clearly been neglected. Yet the lines of his jaw and the sharpness in his eyes were unmistakable. It was Daniel Sheridan.

  “No, of course not,” I lied.

  Mr. Peger pursed his lips. “This boy would be a young man now. His name is Sure Hands Danny. He’s an escaped convict, and I imagine you’d want to help me find him.”

  “Convict?”

  “Aye, from Philadelphia’s own Eastern State Penitentiary.”

  “Wh-what was he arrested for?”

  “Murder.”

  My heart punched against my ribs. “Murder?”

  “Aye. Murder.” He shoved the paper back in his pocket. “He was also responsible for an explosion at a factory. Maybe you heard of it, hmmm? Happened six years ago, and I gather it caused Fitt Railway Supply a lot of trouble.”

  I bit the inside of my mouth until I tasted blood. That was the explosion that caused Father to lose his contract. It was the explosion that killed his company.

  Mr. Peger twirled a finger in his mustache and watched me.

  Despite my wavering confidence, I forced myself to speak steadily. “I don’t recall such an explosion.”

  “Really? Well, no matter. I’ve a pretty good idea where Sure Hands Danny is hiding. The word is he’s here—mighty foolish of him, considerin’ his past and all. He may have gotten away before, but Sure Hands Danny can
’t hide from me. Not at the high price my client is willing to pay. I’m going to find him. So”—he leaned toward me—“if you happen to see this man, tell him he can’t hide from me much longer.” He doffed his hat. “G’day, Miss.”

  I hugged my parasol to my chest and watched him amble off into the crowd. I staggered to the Corliss engine, desperately needing a moment to catch my breath and gather my emotions.

  When I reached a narrow set of iron stairs that soared dangerously upward, I plopped onto them. They led to a series of catwalks meant for aerial viewing of America’s greatest mechanical triumph, and though I wasn’t allowed to ascend—boys and men only—surely there was no harm if I simply sat.

  Had Mr. Peger spoken the truth? Was Daniel a murderer? Had he destroyed the factory? Destroyed my father?

  I couldn’t believe it. Not Daniel! His temper was short and his manner crude, but he had never hurt me. If anything, he’d been protective. I trusted him. I believed him to be good.

  But … but maybe it’s all an act. Just like Mama pretends we’re still wealthy. Like Clarence pretends his life is fine. Like I pretend to fit in with the high-society girls.

  I rocked forward and back. Who was good? Who was bad? And if there was no one I could trust, did that mean I was all alone?

  I pressed my hands to my face. No, I wasn’t alone; I still had Elijah. Elijah was good. Elijah I could trust.

  Soon, I will find him. Soon.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “But Mama!” I cried. “That’s not appropriate!” I stood in my bedroom, dressed only in my underclothes. After I’d arrived home from the Exhibition, my mind spinning with questions about Daniel and my mouth sputtering lies of a failed trip to the market, Mama had swept me off to the dressmaker (for the final fitting of a dress she had failed to mention she was having made) and then shoved me into Mary’s hands to go back home for preparation.

  Going to the opera was drab Eleanor’s chance to shine—or at least it was in Mama’s eyes.

  It didn’t take long before my head began to ache from the multitude of hairpins scraping at my scalp and straining at the tightness of my coiffure. After two hours of me being primped and curled under Mary’s none-too-gentle hands, my patience was entirely spent, and Mary was sent away.

  Mama left the doorway and crossed to me. She still wore her robe, and her hair was untended. She waved a letter in my face. “Neither of the Wilcox ladies will be attending—do you know what sort of opportunity this is? It is great luck they are ill.”

  “What a horrible thing to say.” I clenched my fists. “How can you even consider not joining? I am only sixteen, Mama. This isn’t some casual drive—it’s the opera. Everyone will see me alone with him!”

  She snorted. “I thought you would be delighted to spend time alone with your sweetheart.”

  “It’s actually the last thing I want, and he’s not my sweetheart.” The absurdity of the statement, of the situation, of my mother! I had to convince her to call the whole evening off. I had no desire to see Clarence Wilcox and his brewing insanity. My wrists were still tender from yesterday’s outburst.

  Plus, if she canceled our opera attendance, then maybe I could sneak away. Maybe I could go to Machinery Hall and help the Spirit-Hunters get their dynamite. More importantly, maybe I could confront Daniel. I refused to believe Peger’s word until I heard Daniel’s own explanation.

  Mama gripped my shoulders and wrenched me around to face her. “Mr. Wilcox had better be your sweetheart, Eleanor.”

  “And what will you do, pray tell, if Clarence isn’t interested in me at all?”

  “Clarence?” A squeal erupted from her lips. “Do you call him by his Christian name? Oh, Eleanor!” She flung her arms about me and squeezed.

  “No, Mama.” I battled the embrace and backed away. “I do not address him as Clarence. We’re not nearly as close as you imagine.”

  “That is not what Mrs. Wilcox said.” She lifted a single, accusatory eyebrow. “Mrs. Wilcox said Clarence speaks of nothing else. Of how different you are.”

  “Different? That’s hardly flattering.”

  “It is a compliment.”

  “It is ridiculous. That’s what it is.” I pulled my shoulders back. “I will not go without you.”

  “You will. What more could you possibly want?”

  “Anything!” I threw my hands up. “I’m only sixteen. How can I know what I want yet? Maybe I’ll want a tall man with … with blond hair. A-and green eyes.”

  Mama hissed and her eyes bulged. The reaction fueled my rant further.

  “And maybe a man who isn’t afraid if I say what I want, who doesn’t care about … about etiquette and fashion and stupid, stupid Grecian bends—”

  “Enough.” She took quick, shallow breaths, her nostrils fluttering. “I do not know what this little revolt is, but be certain of one thing: I am your mother, and you will obey me.” She straightened to her full height. “Mr. Wilcox honors you with his attentions. He comes from a wealthy family. His father and your father were friends once upon a time, and if my Henry considered the Wilcox name a worthy connection, then so will you.

  “And, Eleanor, keep in mind that when I am dead, you will have no one left to care for you.”

  “Elijah—”

  “Elijah?” She shook her head slowly. “Where is my son now? He does not even care enough to return home. Your only hope lies in a husband. Only he can love and provide for you. Only a marriage and children of your own will ever offer you a chance at happiness.” Mama’s eyes lost focus, as if she stared into some other realm only she could see. “Trust me.”

  I swallowed my sharp retort and turned away. She had no pity from me. Once I might have clung to her, I might have believed her words and fretted over her desires; but I no longer did—I no longer could. I was capable of thinking for myself, and at that moment, my mind was reciting her earlier words: His father and your father were friends.

  “When?” I blurted. “When were they friends?”

  She blinked. “Who?”

  “Father and Clarence’s father. They stopped being friends, didn’t they? When? Why?”

  “I scarcely remember—it was so many years ago. Something to do with business. Mr. Wilcox and some other men wished to leave behind the railway industry, and Henry did not like it.” Her eyes squinted with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

  “So … so I don’t say anything inappropriate in front of Clarence—in case he still harbors his father’s attitudes.”

  “If he still harbored his father’s attitudes then he would not be spending time with us. Luckily, his mother recently wanted to reconnect with me. If our luck continues, then the other families will also be as generous.”

  “What families?”

  “The Weathers, the Suttons, and the Bradleys, of course. Do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”

  Frederick Weathers, James Sutton, and Clinton Bradley. Three quite headless and quite dead young men.

  I lurched at Mama and grabbed her robe. “The Gas Trustees? Did they offer Father a position in their business?”

  “Yes, but Henry refused.” Mama pushed me away. “Why do you ask?”

  I ignored her question. “Why did Father refuse?”

  “Eleanor, calm yourself!”

  “Just tell me,” I pleaded.

  “I do not know why he refused. All he ever said was that he did not want to play their game.”

  My excitement deflated, and I stumbled to my bed. Once again the strange game of intrigue—but what was it?

  “What game?” I groaned. “I don’t understand.”

  “And I do not understand why you are so curious.”

  I picked at a fingernail and avoided her gaze. “I just want to know about our connection to the Wilcoxes … so I can understand Clarence better.”

  Mama examined me for several seconds, considering my words. At last she said, “I always assumed it had to do with politics. Perhaps … perhaps dirty politics—the sor
t of thing of which Henry would never approve.”

  “So …” I winced as the nail ripped off too far. “You want me to spend time with the people who ostracized Father because he wouldn’t play dirty politics? Who ostracized you because Father wouldn’t work with them?”

  “The past is of no consequence. Your father’s business collapsed, Eleanor, and with it went his sanity and his family’s fortune. All that money wasted on a city council campaign.” She massaged her temples. “Soon our funds will be completely spent. The Trustee families are the highest in Philadelphia’s society. Powerful, rich, and—”

  “Dead,” I mumbled.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing.” I pinched the freshly exposed finger. I needed silence in order to work out this new information. I knew what game of intrigue my father had refused to play—dirty politics—though I still didn’t understand the game itself.

  Daniel had said he would deal with the Gas Ring part of the puzzle, but I didn’t know if I could trust Daniel anymore.

  “You are behaving very oddly this evening,” Mama said. “You had better collect yourself. I will not have you acting like a lunatic with Mr. Wilcox.”

  I almost laughed. She had no idea how close to lunacy Clarence and I both were these days.

  “I-I’m nervous,” I stammered with what I hoped was a shy expression. “About tonight.”

  “Ah, I understand.” Mama tapped the side of her nose. “Well, I will call Mary back in to finish your hair.”

  “Yes, fine.” I waved her away, too lost in my thoughts to care about her satisfied smirk.

  “Miss Fitt,” Clarence murmured, bowing when I greeted him in my family’s parlor. The dim, yellow glow of the gas lamps layered him in flickering shadows, hiding the haggard expression I knew he wore.

  “You look simply stunning,” he added.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.” The dress was a lavender silk lined with white lace and miniature roses, and it trailed at least three feet behind me. It did enhance my plain looks to a passable pretty. But no matter how much it flattered my figure, it could never be worth the three hundred dollars Mama had paid for it—or rather had bought on credit.