A Dawn Most Wicked (something strange and deadly ) Page 9

  Joseph’s head lifted. He gave a heavy, clenching blink and nodded. “Non. If I could only get the lodestone, then I could destroy it. That would . . .” He drew in a ragged breath and straightened. “That would stop the ghosts. Blast them to oblivion all at once.”

  I twisted to Jie. “Have you seen the horns?”

  Her head shook once. “We didn’t get that far— Hey!” She dove past me. Her arms flew around Joseph. “I told you not to stand without my—” Her words broke off. Joseph’s arms had risen. A blue glow collected around his flexed fingers.

  Then his hands flung forward. Electricity erupted from his fingertips. It crackled over the deck, two bolts of lightning that rammed a mass of black oozing down the stairs.

  Lines of light sizzled over the spirits, showing one, two—I lost count. There were so many ghosts.

  The light snapped off. The air shook with the sound and the heat.

  And Joseph toppled forward. But Jie’s grip was true; she kept him from collapsing. I lunged to her side—awe pulsing through my skull at this man’s ability—and together we held Joseph upright.

  “Mr. Boyer,” Jie snapped. “You gotta stop. Save your energy for the horns.”

  “I cannot,” Joseph mumbled. “Not when lives . . . might . . . be . . .” His words died on his tongue as his eyes rolled back into his head.

  I cursed. Joseph was fading too quickly—the man needed more power.

  He needed raw electricity.

  And with that thought I knew exactly what to do. “Come on. We’re takin’ him downstairs.”

  Reaching the hallway to the engine room proved harder than I expected. Ghosts and firemen were everywhere. Joseph had at least regained his feet by the time we reached the main stairwell, but Jie had to slap the man—three times—to keep him from using his power.

  And when we passed the firemen, hurt and fighting a foe they couldn’t beat, I stopped and bellowed my rage at the ghosts. But as I lunged for them, Jie’s arms slung around me, her voice howling in my ear to stay on track.

  We reached the Main Deck’s darkened hallway at last, and I towed Joseph and Jie to the first exploded lamp. While Jie situated Joseph in a half-lean, half-crouch, I wrapped my fist in my sleeve.

  Then I grabbed the lamp and braced myself with a foot against the wall. Pain lanced up my arm, into my chest. Blood flecked on my shirt. I yanked again.

  “What’re you trying to do?” Jie yelled, suddenly beside me.

  “Get.” Yank. “The lamp.” Yank. “Off.”

  “Move,” she snarled. I skittered back, just in time to see her crouch low and spring directly up. Her arm crooked midair, and then her elbow crashed into the lamp.

  The sconce fell from the wall, sparks flew, and Jie’s feet hit the ground. She threw me a glare. “Next time just ask.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, already moving to the now-empty expanse. Two wires jutted from a hole, and their tips sparkled with electricity. My hand still wrapped, I grabbed the sparking wires and tugged them out.

  Joseph lifted, and understanding flashing in his eyes. “Raw electricity.”

  “Raw electricity,” I confirmed. “And you’re gonna use it. But you have to stay here. Jie and I will get the horns, bring them to you, and then you—”

  Joseph’s hand clamped on the wires, cutting me off. The Spirit-Hunter’s eyes blazed blue. His hand shot up. Lightning boomed from his fingertips, crashing into another tangle of spirits. Electricity hissed and burned so bright that I had to squint to see.

  Then it vanished—the electricity, the ghosts, the thunder.

  Jie swore under her breath, her eyes popping from her head. This man had a skill I had never even known was possible. . . .

  “Well, Mr. Sheridan,” Joseph said, a fresh vigor in his voice, “your theory regarding raw electricity holds true. Now, if you could please bring me the lodestone.” The edges of his lips twitched into an almost cruel smile. “I have a curse and shipload of spirits to hunt.”

  After exchanging a glance, Jie and I set off. Back through the carnage, back through the spirits.

  We reached the Main Deck in seconds. I craned my neck as we ran for the next set of stairs, trying to see inside the pilothouse. But I could make out nothing at this angle.

  “The next floor is bad!” Jie shouted, loping onto the first step. “We gotta run, yeah? Fast.”

  “I am runnin’ fast!” I yelled. My pulse banged in time to my feet—bam, bam, bam up the steps.

  “Not fast enough!” Jie shrieked. “Drop!”

  I toppled forward. My hands slammed onto the steps right before my teeth hit—and right before a tornado roared overhead, screeching for blood.

  Then we were back on our feet. We barreled up the final steps and hit the Passenger Deck.

  But my legs almost gave out. Everywhere I looked, I saw black nothingness. My fingers were numb, my nose overwhelmed by rotting soil, and my brain—the hunger for blood hammered in further with each scream. It lodged in my chest. Awakened a craving of my own—for blood and vengeance against everyone who’d ever crossed me.

  Jie’s braid whipped ahead of me, diving and flowing. Back and forth, over and under, she eluded spirits like a snake.

  I didn’t know how she did it. Every time I spun aside to avoid a ghost, I careened into another. My flesh ripped open, my ears exploded with pressure, and I wanted to hurt someone—I didn’t care who.

  But then Jie’s braid flicked ahead of me, higher than before. She had reached the stairs.

  I tumbled onto the first steps, horrified by the blood that splattered across the wood. My blood.

  “Come on!” Jie’s voice spiked through my brain—stronger than the ghost cries for blood. Stronger than my hunger for vengeance.

  I pushed myself up, fighting the claws that sliced into my legs and tried to hold me down. Then hands—warm, human hands—clamped on my wrists. My gaze ripped up and met Jie’s eyes. She yanked. I followed.

  Up we went, picking up speed until I didn’t need Jie anymore. Until the pain from my cuts had faded into an annoying hum at the back of my mind.

  We reached the Texas Deck. I staggered after Jie, my eyes instantly leaping to the pilothouse now that I was finally close enough to see inside.

  There were three shadows. The lithe one at the wheel was Cassidy—thank God she was still alive, still all right. The broad man beside her had to be Captain Cochran . . . and the other man—the one beside an open window—was Murry.

  “He has . . . a pistol.” Jie panted, squinting. “I can see the shape of it pointed at the others, so we can’t just run up there.”

  “You’re . . . right.” My breath sawed in and out. “But look at the open window.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I go up alone, I can get the horns. Toss them out to you.” I lifted my eyebrows. “Can you get them to Joseph?”

  “Of course I can,” she snapped. “Just don’t get shot, yeah?”

  “I’ve taken enough damage for one night,” I wheezed. “Now go wait below the window until you see the . . .” My voice faded off. A ghost had joined us on the Texas. A ghost that really wanted my blood.

  You left your mother to die! she screeched directly into the darkest corners of my brain. You left her, and you will pay!

  “No.” My fists clenched. “You didn’t know my mother—you have no idea what happened, and I sure as hell didn’t leave her—” Fury shattered through my skull, and a scream burst from my throat.

  But with that scream came a beautiful stroke of clarity. A deadly idea that might just work.

  Please, Lang, I prayed. Get that paddle in reverse. I burst into a sprint, away from Jie and away from the ghost. Toward the boat’s bow and the stairs to the pilothouse. Pain stabbed through my head—each step echoing with one word: blood. The ghost was giving chase.

  And that was what I wanted.

  I hit the end of the cabins. My hand lashed out, grasping the edge of the building, and my momentum carried me around the corne
r. A storm of ice hurtled past. Then I was at the stairwell and bounding up, up, up, my knees crunching from the impact. “Look out!” I roared. “Cassidy, duck!”

  I charged into the pilothouse and dove for Cass. My arms snapped around her waist, and I yanked her to the floor.

  The ghost erupted in the room.

  And as I’d hoped, Murry dropped the pistol. It clattered to the floor—almost within reach of my fingertips. I grabbed for it. The captain did too.

  Then the ghost flew at me.

  “Move!” I yelled at the captain.

  But the captain didn’t move—not fast enough anyway. The ghost slammed into him. Cochran flew up, off his feet, and his head crashed into the glass. The window splintered, cracking dangerously outward, but did not break.

  Then the captain slumped to the floor, blood spreading from his head like a halo.

  “Father!” Cassidy struggled to get up, but I shoved her back. The ghost wasn’t finished. It cycloned around, knowing it had missed me.

  But then Murry stepped in front of me and thrust out the horns—stabbed them at the ghost. “Stop.”

  The ghost froze in midair. For several breathless moments I didn’t move. I simply gaped at the spirit. My mind reeled, still stuck in the panic of flight. In the blood that ran from the captain’s head.

  Then Murry snatched the gun off the floor and rounded on me. “You’re a goddamned idiot, Striker. If you hadn’t come up here, I could’ve ended this without violence. We could’ve all reached Natchez happy.”

  “Without violence?” Cass cried. “We’re on a collision course with Devil’s Isle and ghosts are killing us!”

  Murry didn’t answer. He cocked the pistol with a soft click and aimed it at the captain’s head. “I know you’re awake. Open your eyes, Cap’n.”

  Cochran’s eyelids snapped up. “Coward,” he snarled. “You’re just an old, yellow-bellied coward.”

  “Coward?” The scars around Murry’s face stretched taut, his eyes twitching with rage and the horns shaking in his left hand. “You’re the coward—you’re the one who did this to me. You ruined my sight forever!”

  “So why did you stay?” Cochran’s lips spread in a nasty grin, his teeth covered in blood. “You could have run off with your tail between your legs, but you chose to st—”

  “And miss seein’ you suffer?” Murry barked a harsh laugh. “Not a chance in hell. You’re finally getting what you deserve.”

  “But why hurt the Queen?” Cassidy asked, her words clipped and furious. “Why destroy your own life along with—”

  “My life was destroyed five years ago.” Murry sneered at her. “All those ‘glory days’ everyone praised Cochran for—those were thanks to me.” He pounded his chest. “I’m the engineer. I work twice as hard as him. I’m the one who gets the Queen moving, but no one ever thinks of me, do they?” He wrenched his face toward Cochran. “I got you the fame you wanted by always keepin’ that engine strong, and how did you repay me? By burning off my face. Well, I’ll be damned if I let you get your glory days back—”

  “He won’t.” My words were hoarse, but I lifted my voice, saying, “The Queen is leavin’ the river as soon as this race ends.”

  “What?” Murry growled. His blind eyes darted to me.

  “Once we hit Natchez,” I said, thrusting out my jaw, “the Lang Company is shutting us down and they’re firin’ Cochran. It doesn’t matter what you do—or don’t do—to us.”

  “Liar,” Captain Cochran spat. Blood flecked from his mouth. “You’re a liar, Striker.”

  “You can go ask Mr. Lang yourself. He’s promotin’ me”—I tapped my chest—“and firing you.”

  “Is this true?” Cass whispered beside me. Her fingers latched on to my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because he’s a liar!” Cochran roared, drawing in his legs and pushing upright. “He’s a murderer too. A fugitive with a big reward on his head that I intend to—”

  Crack!

  The pistol fired. Blood blossomed on Cochran’s shoulder. His jaw fell open. He staggered back and hit the floor once more.

  Cassidy screamed. “Father!” She dived toward him, and I wrenched my gaze to Murry—to the barrel of the gun, still smoking.

  But then the boat jolted. Everyone toppled sideways, and the Queen tipped dangerously left.

  Lang had kicked the paddle in reverse. This was the moment I’d been praying for.

  I attacked. My fist smashed into Murry’s nose, and in the same movement my left hand knocked the pistol from his grasp. It clattered to the floor, and I wrenched the horns from his other hand. Then I spun, flung my arm out, and let the horns loose. “Jie!”

  The gilded antlers dropped from sight.

  “Stupid,” Murry shrieked beside me. “Stupid, stupid, Striker! You just killed us all.” Before I could round on him, he had reached the stairs and was barreling down. I flung a glance at Cassidy, but she was at her father’s side, applying pressure to his shoulder.

  Cochran would be fine. So would she.

  Which meant I could go after Murry.

  In a burst of power I jumped down the stairs—three at a time—until I hit the Texas Deck. Murry wasn’t in sight, but neither was Jie. I could only guess she’d gone down and Murry had followed. . . .

  So down I went too. Exactly the same way I’d come up but twice as fast. Half the spirits were frozen in place—just like the ghost in the pilothouse. Long-armed shadows trapped in time and sizzling with electricity. All my hairs stood on end as I hurtled past.

  But half the ghosts weren’t frozen—and they still streaked for me, screaming for blood. I skittered and twisted and ducked. Fresh slices opened up along my scalp, my back, but I barely felt them. I just had to keep Murry from getting the horns back.

  As I raced down the final stairs, I caught sight of Devil’s Isle—it wasn’t moving. We weren’t moving. The paddles still thumped at full speed, but Lang had pulled through and gotten that one paddle into reverse.

  “No!” Murry’s voice ripped out below me. “Give it back!”

  I jumped off the final step and skidded behind the stairs, into the hallway by the engine room . . . Into Joseph’s new domain.

  The young Creole stood exactly where I’d left him, the exposed wires sparkling in his open hand. Jie waited beside him, her fists up and her stance low.

  Murry, his back to me, strode toward them. With his arms outstretched and clawing like the ghosts, he shouted, “You’ll kill us all! Drop it—give it back.”

  Joseph’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “I will kill us all?”

  With a roar Murry surged at Joseph—and I surged at Murry. My hands flew wide as I launched myself onto his back. Then I gripped his neck, and I didn’t let go.

  He bucked and jerked, screaming at me. Screaming at Joseph. I tried to kick at the back of his knees. Tried to ram his kidneys and his spine, but it took everything I had to hang on. Murry was fueled by an unnatural strength, a frantic need to survive.

  But then light flared. It burned from Joseph’s eyes—lighting his skull up like a jack-o’-lantern.

  “Move!” Jie shrieked. “Now!”

  I released Murry—flung myself off and away as fast as I could. Then I flattened myself against the wall.

  And just in time. Electricity exploded down the hall, slicing through the spot I’d just abandoned. Slicing over Murry like a thousand spiderwebs of light. It was as if he was locked in place—like the ghosts. Electricity thundered over him, as loud as it was bright, and he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

  And as the electricity streamed past, the weight of it filled my head and crushed my skull. The thunderous volume. The crackling heat. It collapsed my lungs. Made me feel like a thousand stones were slowly grinding me apart.

  So heavy. So loud. So hot.

  I strained to see the Creole. He glowed brighter than Murry. Brighter than the sun . . . Brighter than everything except the horns. I could barely breathe, and somehow looking at
Joseph . . . at the horns—that only made it worse. Made the burn and the weight almost unbearable.

  But then the heat pulled back. It started pulsing in waves, less and less with each ragged heartbeat.

  Until as quickly as it had erupted, the light stopped. The thunder vanished. All that remained was a vibration in the air. An echo in my brain. And, of course, my gasping lungs.

  I was alive. Albeit, just barely.

  I forced my eyes to crack open—and saw Joseph’s knees buckle. He swayed forward. “Mr. Boyer!” I shoved off the wall, grabbing for him.

  Jie was faster. She jumped from her crouch nearby, her arms swooping beneath him, and caught him by the stomach. I reached her side, and together, we eased the man onto his back. He was breathing.

  And smiling. “That,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering briefly open, “went better than I had expected.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Murry was dead. His scorched eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. His hair was burned, his fingertips charred. As Joseph, Jie, and I stood around him, staring down, I felt like I ought to be sad . . . or at least regretful of how things had gone.

  But the only thing I felt was relief that the night was over. Relief and a bone-deep exhaustion.

  At last Joseph heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “His soul must have been bound to the curse. When I banished the lodestone’s power, I banished his as well. It is a shame . . . and yet those who dabble in black magic will always meet a tragic end. It is a lesson I learned too late.” His eyes met mine and then Jie’s. “Necromancy and black magic will always end in death. Remember that. Now, come. Let us tend the wounded and clean up as best we can.”

  The three of us made it our duty to check on each and every deckhand and fireman. So many injured men sprawled across the decks. Most of them had suffered only minor injuries—they were strong, after all—but a few were severely hurt.

  And two were dead.

  The Abby Adams caught up to us before I had even finished wrapping the wounds of the fifth man. Cassidy blew the whistle and hailed the Adams to our side.

  Then began the long process of explaining what had happened, of moving our injured to the Adams’s cabins (that actually had furniture). Of borrowing a lead line. And of eventually waving the Adams onward so she could cross the finish line first.