A Dawn Most Wicked

“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.