by Kelley York
Hugo does not cower, but he tenses and scoots around Crane, around us, to slink away like a reprimanded hound wary of being struck. He has a seat at the table, but I can still feel his fiery stare from here.
With a deep breath, Crane turns back to us. “What is your angle with all of this? What do you want? I have no interest in taking lives needlessly, so if the box is out of your hands, I really couldn’t care less what the pair of you do so long as you aren’t in my way.”
“You need the box to take back to your master,” Preston says.
Crane purses his lips at the word master, but lets it slide. “I don’t need you for that.”
“No, but you’ve got to be interested in what those notebooks have to say about you, right?” Preston smiles thinly and without humour. “I’m curious as hell and they aren’t even about me.”
“We know how to open the box,” I add. “And we’ll do it. You take the notebooks; we take the skull.”
He folds his arms. “What interest is some dead person’s head to you?”
“Like I said, that woman’s spirit needs to be put to rest. I think we can do that if we have that skull.”
“So, you’re willing to work with the people who chased you across the continent, kidnapped you, and shot your friend here, just to…what, to bury some bones?” He arches an eyebrow, looking from me to Preston, who laughs.
“You’re talking to the man who spent three days hunting for a family of stray cats around his home because he was worried that they’d freeze in the snow. He made himself sick doing it.”
My cheeks warm. I could not begin to explain to either of them how important this is to me. If they had felt what I felt, maybe they would understand. But perhaps our idea isn’t so mad because Crane seems to be considering it. His impossibly dark eyes dart past us, to Sid, I think. The room hangs heavy with tension and anticipation until finally—
“We go together to retrieve the chest. We take the notebooks, you take the skull, we go our separate ways.” He holds up a hand as Hugo opens his mouth to protest. “Good?”
I start to say yes and pause. “One more condition. No one dies. Not us, not anyone who may stand in our way to obtaining the chest.”
Crane’s eyebrows lift. “What if they have guards? With weapons?”
“Then we find another method to get around them. No one dies, or the deal is off. I’ll not have more restless spirits created in my attempt to save another.”
Crane folds his arms, studying me with a look somewhere between annoyance and amusement.
“Fine,” he says. “You have yourself a deal.”
CHAPTER 15 – PRESTON
“They’re going to betray us,” I whisper.
Benji nods. He knows this as well as I do. Though I suspect somewhere in that optimistic head of his he’s hoping he’s wrong and Crane will keep his word. I don’t trust the lot of them as far as I can throw them.
Especially seeing as, despite that we’re supposed to be working together, Crane immediately had us escorted to and locked inside one of the back rooms of the building. A lone window sits at just about eye level but it’s heavily boarded and I’m not sure I could pry it loose without making significant noise. Instead we sit with our backs to the wall, hip to hip, voices low so no one outside will hear us.
Benji says, “It’s a possibility, but all we need to do is get the skull and make a run for it. They’ll have the books and perhaps that’s all they really care about.”
Silence.
“Back in the hotel, when you first mentioned the skull, did you see the look on Hugo’s face?” I ask.
Benji glances at me, curious. “What look?”
“Like he’d…well, like he’d seen a ghost, honestly. Face white as milk.”
“You think he knows something?”
I shrug. “Might. Not that I think he’d share with us if he did. But you must admit, he was awful adamant about not opening the box. Maybe he already knew what was in there.”
Benji returns his gaze straight ahead, mulling that over. He’s still doing so when the door unlocks and Sid steps in with a paper sack in hand, which she strolls over and offers out to us.
“Lunch. Eat up.”
Unlike the last time I found myself in such a position, I take the bag without question. It’s still warm and smells of freshly baked goods. I flash her a thin smile. “You’re too kind.”
She rolls her eyes and turns to leave.
Benji gets to his feet. “Sid, wait—may I call you Sid? I wanted to ask you something.”
She pauses, looking over her shoulder. Waiting.
Benji wrings his hands together. “Can you see spirits? Can any of you?”
To this, her lips press into a tight line, guarded. “What’s it matter?”
“I’m just curious, is all. You have a wayward ghost that appears to be attached to your person.” His eyes flick elsewhere—behind her, to the side of her, I’m not sure. I can’t see the thing on my own, after all. “Are you or your companions aware of it?”
A perplexed scowl overtakes Sid’s face. She turns back around, hands on her hips. “I don’t see ghosts. Never used to believe in ‘em, even when I was little.”
“But now?”
“Now… Hell if I know. I’ve seen some strange things, so I won’t rule it out.” She inclines her chin. “Go on then, boy. Tell me ‘bout this ghost you see.”
“It’s more like an extension of your shadow. Sometimes I can make out a face. A man’s face. Deep-set eyes, shaved head. The details aren’t terribly clear.” A pause. “He frightened me at first, but now that I’ve seen him a few times, I don’t get any sort of malicious intent from him at all. More like he’s…looking over you.”
She’s trying valiantly to keep her expression schooled. Even I can see the cracks in the edges of that mask, some sort of emotion trying to break through. Sid steps forward, hands falling to her sides, voice clipped. “Can you talk to him?”
“Ghosts are notoriously shit at communicating,” I say. “This isn’t exactly our expertise, either.”
The smile Benji offers is apologetic. “He’s right, I’m afraid. I’ve never heard him utter a word.”
For whatever reason, that single phrase brings the rest of her façade crumbling down. Her mouth falls open and her eyes go glassy with the sheen of tears. She says nothing, only turns and briskly exits the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound makes Benji flinch. He sinks back down beside me.
“I don’t know what I expected her reaction to be,” he mumbles.
I open the paper bag to root through it. Something smells delightfully of cranberries. “It could be someone important to her who passed.”
“Could be.”
More silence.
Silence that I eventually break with, “You know, you really amazed me today with how you handled everything. I woke to that pistol in my face and couldn’t think to get a word in edgewise.”
Benji’s mouth curves up. “I was worried for a moment there that you were going to try to punch your way out of that situation.”
“Usually works.”
“Usually we aren’t faced with weapons.”
“Fair enough.” I offer him a scone. “Still, your quick thinking got us here.”
He laughs. “Is that a good thing? Locked in a room, captured again.”
I shrug. “Captured but alive. Look on the bright side.”
He flashes me a smile. The subject is dropped for now and we share the meal together. What I wouldn’t give for some ham or bacon or even a few eggs, something heartier than bread, but it silences my belly so I won’t complain. After we’re done, Benji slouches against me and closes his eyes. We doze off and on for lack of anything else to do for the next few hours.
Hugo brings us dinner, though it’s two meat pies and they’re on the cold side and I’m surprised he doesn’t throw them in our faces. Benji picks at his, turned off by the meat within. I wonder if Sid chose not to bring us our meals ton
ight, or if it simply happened that way.
We’re given blankets to sleep with, though no pillows. The room is dark and damp and smells of seawater, so I wrap us up in blankets and curl around Benji, pressing my face into his hair. It may be uncomfortable as sin, but the day has been unbearably draining, so it won’t take long before sleep claims me.
Yet it also feels like I’ve not slept much at all before something is jostling me awake.
Someone is in the room with us.
No, not just in the room with us—but close by.
I tip my head back, peering blearily through the darkness. The bulky figure I can only presume is Hugo is hunched over in the corner. And the damned bastard is going through our belongings. I lurch to my feet with a snarl.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
By the time I reach him and catch hold of his shoulder, Hugo is twisting around with Esher’s notebook in hand. I’ve caught him off-guard enough to knock it from his grasp, clumsily shoving the both of us to the floor. But for all my strength, he’s still bigger and stronger. He flings me off him with little effort, rolls to his side, and slams his hand back onto the book.
“Give it back!” I hiss, scrambling back upright.
Hugo holds it up, almost daring me to come and get it. “Is this it? Is this one of them books from the chest?”
“It’s not!”
“You had some of the notes. You showed ‘em to Sid.”
“And those aren’t it, you imbecile! Give it back or—”
He laughs bitterly. “Or what? You won’t help us? That hurts.”
A dull, metallic throng fills the room as something metal connects with the side of Hugo’s head. He grunts, stumbles sideways. Benji, armed with the tray from our dinner, stands ready to strike him again.
Hugo doesn’t drop the book, but he’s disoriented and gripping his head in pain. “You little shit…”
I’m about to rush him once more when the door flies open. Flickering lamplight chases some of the darkness from the room and yet again, we find ourselves at the business end of a revolver in Sid’s hands. Crane is beside her, brows twisted together, but he appears unarmed. Only just barely do I make out the other two standing behind them, as well.
“The hell is going on?” Sid asks, voice thick with sleep.
“Your thug was going through our things.” I point at Hugo. “Get your dog under control, Crane, or our deal is off.”
Hugo slaps my hand away. “Point at me again and I’ll break your fool arm.”
“Good God in Heaven, shut up,” Crane snaps. “If I wanted to look after children, I’d visit a fucking orphanage. Hugo, get out.”
Hugo pauses, holds up the notebook. “They got one of the books from the chest right here! I’m tellin’ you, they’re playing us. They already took everything we’re after.”
He stomps across the room and thrusts the ledger into Crane’s hands while Sid lowers her gun and lifts the lamp to cast light upon its pages. Crane’s head remains bowed for a moment. When he lifts it again, he looks even less amused.
“This appears to be a compilation of notes about spirit hunting.”
Hugo opens his mouth, hesitates. “Huh?”
“The books in that chest belong to The Order. This? This is the scribblings of a novice. This is useless.” Crane chucks the book to the floor with enough force that it slides halfway across the room. Benji scurries forward to retrieve it.
The Order, he said. Like James mentioned during my stay at Aunt Eleanor’s. I bite back the urge to question him because I don’t believe he’s in the answering sort of mood. If Crane and his lackeys are associated with The Order after all, then this pack of wolves has just become a lot more dangerous.
Damn it all. We should have got out of San Francisco while we had the chance.
Hugo’s face has gone an amusing shade of red. “All right, fine. I was wrong about that. But so help me, Crane, when the boss hears about you havin’ any interest in what’s in that box, he ain’t gonna be happy.”
“He did say he wanted the contents brought undisturbed,” Sid says, so quietly I nearly miss it.
Crane folds his arms, unperturbed that he’s got a giant of a man looming over him. “That’s assuming we tell him that the box has been opened. I’m certainly not going to say anything. Sid?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “No.”
“Phil, Lou?”
Still lingering in the doorway, Philip and Louisa exchange looks. They mumble their agreement, not as confidently as Sid, but I suspect their curiosity has been piqued.
“Fantastic.” He tips his head, peering up at Hugo. “Are you?”
Hugo pauses. A few seconds of silence drip through the room before he says, “I know where my loyalty lays, Crane. Solomon may have put you in charge of this job, but I ain’t scared of you.”
To that, Crane smiles, but there is nothing pleasant nor kind in it. Not an ounce of it reaches his eyes. “You should be.”
Hugo’s hands ball into fists. “Was that a threat?”
“May well have been.”
“Do it again and I’ll snap you over my knee like a goddamned twig.” Hugo steps forward, slamming his shoulder into Crane to push past him.
Crane has a hand round his throat before I have time to blink.
I would anticipate a lot of things in this moment. I would expect Hugo to grab that offending hand and break it. I would expect guns to be drawn, an all-out brawl to ensue. Instead, Hugo opens his mouth to scream.
Not a sound comes out.
Every hair on my arms stands on-end. Benji grabs my hand. His skin is cold as death—not unlike the rest of the room has become. I exhale. The air frosts in front of my face.
Time seems to have slowed to a crawl.
Every corner of the room roils with movement, teeming shadows scaling the walls, the ceiling. Empty eyes and open mouths. A thousand whispers from beyond the grave fill every inch of space in my ears and my head.
Hugo’s legs buckle and he drops to his knees, mouth still agape, Crane’s fingers digging into the flesh of his throat. Crane’s eyes have gone white, taking on the glassy sheen of a dead man’s. I think I should stop him. I should speak up. Yet my voice has left me, a paralysing fear rooting my feet to the spot.
Sid speaks. It’s muffled and far away. I can see the ghost attached to her now, its arms wrapped around her like its embrace might protect her somehow.
She clamps a hand onto Crane’s arm.
“NATE!”
The death clears from his eyes.
Nathaniel Crane drags in a shattered breath and his grip goes slack. Hugo collapses onto all fours, wheezing, shaking. Crane himself stumbles back, Sid keeping tight hold of his arm to steady him. There’s not an ounce of colour to his face, and even his voice comes out shaky when he speaks.
“Reflect on that when you begin to question who’s in charge here. Next time, I’ll spare us both and put a bullet in your fucking head.” He glances to Philip and Louisa. “Get him out of here.”
Looking just as shaken as I feel, the pair hurry into the room, giving Crane a wide berth. They heft Hugo to his feet. It takes them both to see him out. Only when they’ve left does Crane’s façade begin to slip. His shoulders slump, his eyelids drop. He braces a hand against Sid’s shoulder.
“You’re a damn fool,” she mutters, attempting to steer him for the door.
I cannot possibly let them walk out of here without answers for whatever the hell that was. “What did we just see, Crane?”
“He was prying Hugo’s soul from his body,” Benji murmurs.
Crane stops.
I look to Benji, only just now taking in the mixture of fascination and fear flickering across his face. He releases my hand and takes a slow step forward, staring at Crane as though trying to figure him out. “I don’t understand how…but that’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?”
Crane stares down at Benjamin coolly, calculating. Reappraising. “Keep talking and y
ou’ll find out.”
They leave and I think nothing we say will stop them this time. The sound of a lock sliding into place assures me they’re not taking any chances that we run for it now.
I know what I saw, so I can only imagine what it was like through Benji’s eyes. “What happened?”
“I…” He turns to me, at a loss. “I don’t know how to describe it. I couldn’t just see it. I could feel it, Preston. He touched Hugo and just like that, Hugo’s life was being dragged right out of him.”
He sounds so haunted that it makes me shudder. “How is that even possible?”
“How is any of this possible, really? Miss Bennett summons spirits inside of herself to let them communicate with their loved ones. Spencer and Esher dealt with a man who could implant the spirits of the dead into a living human body. Crane can remove spirits with a touch.”
“Not sure which one of those abilities is the most terrifying.”
Benji shivers, hugging himself and rubbing his arms. “I’ve never seen anything that frightened me like that.”
We sink back to the floor, wide awake. There’s little chance we’ll fall back asleep after all that. I haven’t the foggiest what time it is. We huddle together beneath the thin blankets, silent, taking in this new information and what it might mean for us. Namely, that we’ve promised to work alongside a man we ought to be getting far, far away from.
It feels a bit like we’ve sold our souls to the devil.
CHAPTER 16 – BENJAMIN
By noon the next day, we depart for San Mateo—where we had the telegram sent to Mr. Carlton—in the same carriage we arrived in with the same black mare hitched to the front. Sid and Philip sit across from us, but Crane has a seat directly beside me. The proximity makes my skin crawl. I push closer to Preston until our hips and shoulders are shoved together almost uncomfortably close. Thankfully, Hugo is forced to ride on the driver’s bench with Louisa. Small blessings. I’m not certain he’d fit in here with the rest of us, anyway.
During the ride, Crane doesn’t speak, only gazes out the small window. Philip and Sid busy themselves with a game of cards. Their backs are pressed to the sides of the carriage in order to use the middle of the bench as their table. They’re playing an odd game I haven’t heard of, but the rules resemble draw poker, so at least I can entertain myself by following along.
