Something Strange and Deadly

by Susan Dennard

  With one hand Clarence twined his fingers in mine. With the other he brushed an errant curl from my face. I didn’t flinch, though I wanted to.

  “You could be such a fine lady if you would only try.” He released me and backed away. “I shall see you tomorrow, then.”

  As Clarence wandered into the night, I saw a figure detach itself from the shadows beside the gate. It crept after him.

  One of the Pinkertons, I thought. So now at least two people know all my secrets. Can things get any worse?

  When Mama discovered my late night with Mr. Wilcox, she was aghast. But that reaction lasted less than an hour. Then she realized it was actually what she’d wanted all along: Alone Time with an Eligible Bachelor.

  Her mood flipped like a coin, and she bubbled with delight. She doted on me, all the while singing of betrothals, wedding gowns, and wealth. She even indulged my desire for a second helping of toast.

  And I hated all of it. The serpent of guilt that lived in my chest now wound into my stomach. It writhed with something else too, something much darker.

  Powerlessness. Dread. My whole life rested within Clarence’s hands, and with it laid Elijah’s. If Clarence decided to tell Mama about my time with the Spirit-Hunters, about Elijah’s disappearance—as far-fetched as it all sounded, I knew she would believe him. Her esteem of Clarence, of Junior, was too high. As was her suspicion of my “rebellion.”

  I knew I would have to tell Clarence everything. I would lie with all my heart about Daniel’s part in the puzzle, though. If I had to, I’d say Nicholas Peger was the one who’d shared Clarence’s secrets with me. But I couldn’t hide the truth of Elijah and his letters. And perhaps the part of Clarence’s character that I liked—the young man with the fetching smile who loved his family—would find it in himself to help me.

  With each passing minute of the day, my paranoid anxiety only worsened. I scrawled a note to Clarence after breakfast, but I received no reply, and by midafternoon he still hadn’t called.

  To make matters worse, the explosion of the dynamite factory was on the front page of the Sunday paper. I read the entire article four times, my chest growing blacker and heavier each time. There was no mention of Daniel or me—no description. Likely the guards feared we’d rat out their own wrongdoings. But that didn’t make me feel better. So much destruction because of me.

  Daniel probably felt tenfold worse. He’d been forced to relive the worst night of his life, and yet I was so very glad I hadn’t left him to die.

  And poor, poor Joseph. Had he recovered from his exhaustion? Could he recover from the loss of his lab?

  I paced the parlor, my leg muscles screaming from overuse and my blisters still burning. The knickknacks, the flowered wallpaper, the velvet curtains all shouted at me, sucked the air from my lungs until I had to flee the house and walk in the yard. But once there I couldn’t stop staring at the bench, couldn’t stop replaying Clarence’s words.

  And then Daniel would flash into my mind, his lips parted and pulling me to him. A strange ache would flare through my chest, and I would think of his lips, of his fingers. And then those thoughts would mix with the guilt and the darkness like some chemistry experiment gone wrong. My whole body would shake.

  What was I doing? Truly, things could get no worse.

  I gave a strangled cry and dashed back into the house, up to my bedroom. I desperately wanted to go to the Exhibition, but I couldn’t. I had to wait for Clarence. Wait to see if he meant what he’d said.

  I burrowed myself in my sheets, and I let my emotions overtake me. Clarence didn’t come that day.

  The next morning was Monday, and my composure was on the verge of shattering. I was so tired that my nerves throbbed. If I had to hear another pleased exclamation from Mama, I would crumple to the floor in a weeping heap.

  I needed to talk to Clarence, and then I had to see the Spirit-Hunters. I placed my green bonnet firmly on my head. Shadows ringed my eyes, and I pinched my cheeks to induce some—any—color into my lifeless face.

  I wore an old dress that barely reached my ankles and didn’t require a bustle, and after wrapping the blisters on my feet with linens, I donned my sturdiest walking boots. Fashion and appearance be damned. If I was lucky, my clothing might frighten Clarence into helping me.

  Best of all, I could breathe, having foregone my corset. I had fought furiously with Mary until she’d run away on the verge of melodramatic tears. But I had won the war, and no corset confined my waist today. If the suffragists could do it, why couldn’t I?

  As I descended the steps into the hall, a knock resounded at the front door. The black dread exploded in my stomach. I raced to it and flung it open, expecting Clarence. But it was Allison, flustered, crimson cheeked, and sweating.

  “Oh Eleanor!” She rushed inside and clasped at my hands. “Have you seen Clarence?”

  “No. Why?”

  A cry escaped her lips, and she threw her hands to her mouth.

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “H-he hasn’t come home.”

  My pulse thumped in my ears. “Since when?”

  Allison only shook her head and whimpered. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Allison! When did you see him last?”

  “S-Saturday.”

  My breath froze. Oh no, what had happened? “He never came home after the opera?”

  “N-n-no!” she wailed. “We were supposed to leave town, b-but …”

  “Calm yourself. You must explain.”

  She didn’t respond but rocked and wept into her hands.

  For a lack of anything better to do, I dragged her into the parlor and thrust her on the sofa.

  “Get a hold of yourself.” I knelt and gripped her chin. “Look at me. What is going on?”

  Allison took in a shaky breath. “He never came home, and Willis said he came here after the opera. B-but when Willis came to pick him up, Clarence wasn’t around, and his security men didn’t know where he’d gone.”

  I crumpled to the sofa. I had seen a figure following him and assumed it was a Pinkerton, but it must have been … “The Dead,” I breathed. “Oh no, oh no. I’ve got to find him.”

  “What? Y-you can’t do that.”

  “Of course I can.” I pushed to my feet.

  Allison pawed at my hand. “We’ve tried.” She gazed up with puffy, red eyes. “Mother went to the police and the firemen.”

  “And no one would help?”

  “It’s not that they won’t, but they can’t.”

  “Why?” My voice was harsh and loud. “Damn it, Allison. Say what needs to be said.”

  She howled again and flung her face into her hands. “H-hostages. Hostages at the Exhibition.”

  Ice spread through my body all the way to my fingers and toes.

  “What do you mean?”

  No answer came, just more crying. I yanked her by the shoulders and shook her. “This is no time for hysteria—tell me what is going on!”

  “The Dead!” Allison jerked out of my grip. “It’s the Dead! Th-they’ve taken hostages at the Exhibition.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The streets around the Exhibition were almost impenetrable. Shouts were on everyone’s lips, and violence was in the air. I could feel it like shimmering electricity that connected us all.

  This is how riots begin.

  I shoved my way through the crowd, ignoring angry protests, ignoring my sore muscles, ignoring the terror that churned in my belly. I had left Allison to Mary’s care—the maid would make sure Allison got home safely. I had to get to the Spirit-Hunters now.

  I reached Elm Avenue and the train tracks that ran alongside it. Wagons were lined up before the Exhibition entrances, and interspersed between these barricades were Exhibition patrolmen. Black plumes of smoke twirled up from inside the grounds, and the scent of burning was in the air. It was as if war had come.

  I marched up to the nearest patrolman. “I must go inside.”

  “The Dead
have taken over the whole Exhibition, lady—hostages and everythin’. No one in or out. Now back away.”

  People clambered behind me, jostling and screaming. “How many walking Dead?” someone yelled.

  “Dunno. Thousands, maybe.” The officer waved his pistol. “Get back!”

  “If there are so many, why are you here?” I pointed at the barricade. “Why aren’t you doing something?”

  “Our job is to keep people out. The hostages will be killed if we don’t.”

  “And what about the firemen?” I demanded. “Where are they?”

  The patrolman blinked his eyes rapidly. “They’re in there. The Dead started fires in the state buildings.”

  Many nations and states had their own structures on the Exhibition grounds. That meant at least forty buildings were up in flames. The firemen would have their hands full for hours—maybe even days.

  I hugged my arms over my chest. The necromancer had prepared for everything. He had stopped the Spirit-Hunters by destroying their lab. He had stopped the police and Exhibition guards by taking hostages. He had stopped the firemen by igniting the state buildings.

  The patrolman glanced uneasily at the crowds behind me. They heaved closer and closer. “Besides,” he called out, “what’re we gonna do? We can’t kill the Dead.”

  “No,” I snapped, “but we could set the Dead on fire! Explosives—anything!”

  “And that’ll destroy the Exhibition. Not to mention put the living at risk.”

  “Then break their knees—does no one pay any attention to the Spirit-Hunters?” I thrust my shoulders back. “Let me through.”

  “No.”

  He swung his gun at the nearest protesters. “All of ya! Back off or I’ll shoot!”

  Like an ocean wave, the crowd pulled back, including me.

  Well, I tried diplomacy and that failed. So distraction and speed it will have to be.

  I turned to face the crowd. “Listen. Listen to me!” I shouted. “I’ve got loved ones in there too. If we want to keep them safe, we have to do as the police ask.” I glanced back. The patrolman had lowered his gun. He gave me a nod of approval. Perfect.

  In a single movement I spun and leaped at the officer. His mouth dropped and he tried to lift his pistol, but I was already on him. I jabbed his arm aside and sped between the wagon barricades.

  I didn’t look back. I held my skirts high and pumped my legs as fast as I could. I raced through the turnstiles.

  A gunshot popped. I prayed it wasn’t at me. The cries of the crowd swelled to a roar, and I knew the police would have their hands full soon—if they didn’t already.

  I flew across the main square, past the Bartholdi Fountain, and toward Machinery Hall’s eastern entrance. Another shot rang out, but I couldn’t tell if it was intended for me. Either way, I was too close to stop.

  I slammed into Machinery Hall’s entrance. Two more shots fired. One cracked into the wooden door frame just above my head. I barreled inside.

  The Spirit-Hunters’ lab door was open, and I skittered through. Daniel was at his table. He whirled around, his fists bouncing up and his stance dropping low.

  He froze. “Empress. Why are you here?”

  “To help.” I gulped in air and wiped sweat from my brow. “I heard about the hostages.”

  Daniel had healed some since Saturday night, though not much. The skin around his left eye was purple and green, and the gash over his lip was a ragged scab.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “It’s bad. Two thousand people are trapped in Agricultural Hall.”

  I gasped. “Two thousand?”

  “Yeah. And the necromancer gave us a note—delivered by one of his corpses. We’ve still got the book hidden for now, but if we don’t hand it over soon, the necromancer is gonna let some of his Dead loose to feed on the hostages.”

  My breath shot out. I swayed back, but Daniel lunged forward and caught me before I could fall. For a moment he held me, his arm looped around my waist and his eyes gazing hard into mine.

  “Eleanor.” He swallowed and wet his lips, his eyes roving over my face. But then he pulled back and released me. “You shouldn’t be here. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “No. I have to help.” I reached out and clutched at his sleeve. “Where’s Joseph? Jie?”

  “Agricultural Hall. They’re trying to get through the lines of Dead.”

  “Lines?”

  “Yeah. The necromancer’s got hundreds of them in rows, like an army. They attack if you get too close, but otherwise they just stand there.”

  “Have you seen the necromancer?” I wanted to ask if he’d seen Clarence, but I held my tongue. Now wasn’t the time.

  He swung his head sharply. “No. His corpses do all the work for him.” With a yank, he freed his arm from my grasp and turned back to the table. “Whoever he is, he picked the perfect moment. He took us apart bit by bit, and now we can barely fight back.”

  “Are you going to give up?” I demanded at his back.

  “Hell no, Empress.”

  “Are you going to give him the book?”

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  I wedged myself between him and the table. “What’s the plan?”

  Through clenched teeth he said, “We’re going to try to save the hostages without givin’ him the book, but there are fires burning everywhere.” He threw a hand toward the window. “There are corpses crawling all over the place, Joseph is exhausted, and I’m havin’ to start all over with my pulse bombs.

  “Worst of all, the necromancer is losing control of his army. Joseph says the spiritual energy that animates them is unraveling. If we hand over the book now, maybe the necromancer and his army will leave before it’s too late.”

  “You mean before the whole army turns Hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But the book—won’t it give the necromancer more strength?”

  Daniel lifted one shoulder. “We’re going to hold off on handing it over as long as we can, but the Dead have all the power right now.”

  I screwed my eyes shut and turned away. “Let me help, Daniel.”

  “No.” He pressed his palms to his eyes. “Not after … not after the last time.”

  “This time I’ll listen,” I pleaded. “I’ll do exactly what you tell me. I learned my lesson.”

  He gripped the sides of my face and stared at me, his jaw set. “That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s your safety that bothers me.”

  “The Devil take my safety!” I jerked away from him. “Tell me what to do!”

  He eyed me for several breaths. Then he slowly nodded. “All right … I’ll send you to do my job—to retrieve the hidden book—but I can’t come with you. My first priority is to make pulse bombs—now. D’you know where George Washington’s camp trunk is?”

  “Th-that’s in the Government Building.”

  “Right, and the book is hidden in that trunk in the Government Building. So, you take that”—he pointed to a baseball bat leaning next to the lab door—“and go get the book. Then you take it to Joseph at Agricultural Hall.”

  I pushed back my shoulders. “Yes.”

  “And you run, Eleanor, d’you understand? Run as fast as you can until you reach the Government Building. And if you see a corpse, beat the hell out of its knees and then keep on running. If there are too many Dead for you to get through, then you come straight back to me. None of your stupid bravery, got it?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached across the table and plucked up the brass goggles. “Take these, and wear them any time you’re indoors.”

  “Why?” Icy fear clutched at me. “Is the spirit here?”

  “Could be. This is its kind of party, don’t you think? And if it can still jump between worlds, well … you need these to see it when it hides in the spirit realm.” He shoved the lenses into my hands. “We’ve been trying to learn all we can about that spirit, but we haven’t found a damn thing. For whatever reason,
it hasn’t made any more appearances since Thursday. I reckon it’s waiting for the perfect moment.”

  “The perfect moment for what?”

  “For getting that grimoire.” He pointed to the goggles. “Put ’em on. Get to the book. And go to Joseph.”

  I nodded and slipped on the goggles. Then, before my mind and my fears could stop me, I raced from the lab.

  I crept through Machinery Hall, clutching the baseball bat. The goggles were heavy on my nose and shrouded the exhibits in murky darkness. When I had entered, I had been too rushed, too desperate to notice that everything in the hall was different. No people spoke, no engines whirred.

  During a normal day one’s footsteps went unheard, but now the high-ceilinged hall echoed with each click of my heels. The exhibits, the machines, and the looming Corliss engine were no longer feats of man’s ingenuity but places for the Dead to hide.

  At last I reached the north exit with no sign of the spirit. Zooming into the hot sun, I shoved the goggles into my pocket and let my eyes adjust. A scan of the Exhibition grounds showed chaos.

  Black smoke billowed, and flames flew at the firemen. The burning state buildings. And far in the distance, Agricultural Hall reached to the sky like a cathedral. Its gothic spires and stained glass windows were just visible above the trees and buildings before it.

  I could see a long line of figures, and though these beings were too distant to clearly discern, I knew they were the Dead. With my skirts in one hand and the bat in the other, I kicked up my feet and ran toward the main road.

  I reached the ice-water fountain in the middle of Belmont Avenue and dashed around its white pavilion before skidding to a stop. There it was: an endless row of putrid corpses strung down an intersecting avenue. The smell of decay burst into my nostrils.

  Like Daniel had said, the bodies simply stood. They were unmoving sentinels covered in buzzing, hungry flies. I marched onward and searched for a gap between them. There was none, so I chose the closest, most decrepit body in the wall as my target. I hefted the bat high and darted forward.

  It was like a trigger went off once I got close. The corpses nearest me convulsed to life. Their decomposed limbs lifted, and they lurched at me.