Something Strange and Deadly (20 page)

I sprinted to the shore and scanned for Daniel. He was still bound and gagged, struggling to stand on the slippery grass.

I dropped to his side and yanked the cloth from his mouth.

“What've you done?” he asked, his voice rough. Blood oozed from a gash in his lip, and his left eye was now completely swollen shut.

“I tried to scare the guards.” I reached for his bound hands. “I-I just wanted to pretend. To act like I changed the temperature, but the knob broke.”

He jolted away from me. “What temperature?”

“The nitroglycerin.”

“Did you turn off the cooling?”

“The knob broke.”

“What do you mean it
broke
?” He blinked rapidly and tossed his head to get the rainwater from his eyes. “Did you turn it off first?”

“Yes.”

For a half second he stared. Then the whites of his eyes bulged, and he redoubled his efforts to stand. “Get me up!”

“I need to untie—”

“There's no
time
! Get me up!”

At the raw panic in his voice, my heart dropped into my belly. What had I done?

“Now!” he shrieked, and this time I did as I was told. I heaved him to his feet, and we broke into a run.

We sped over the grounds of the factory, past the nitroglycerin hut and up the long slope toward the gate. The factory's fence formed before us, growing higher with each pounding step but still seeming so far away.

“Faster!” Daniel screamed, and I tried to accelerate. My feet slammed into the damp earth. I ran faster than I'd ever run before, but even with bound hands, Daniel sprinted ahead.

We reached the wagons. A voice in my mind nudged me to get the stolen dynamite. After all this terror and loss, I couldn't leave the prize behind. I veered right and surged toward the nearest wagon. I slid underneath. The sack was just where I'd left it, dry and safe from the rain.

“Eleanor!”

I darted back out. Daniel was searching for me, his eyes wide and wild.

“I'm here!” I bounded toward him, the sack slung onto my back.

We flew through the still-open gate and bore left down the long, empty road toward Philadelphia.

I experienced it all in a half-numb frenzy. The slats of the factory fence blurred as I streaked past, the rain hit my skin and soaked my clothes, the awkward weight of the sack banged against me with each step, and my lungs burned in desperation for more air.

But nothing happened. No explosion, nothing. We reached the drawbridge a quarter mile away and still no fires or booms blazed in the distance.

We stumbled to a stop inside the covered drawbridge, and I collapsed to my knees, certain I would vomit. The nausea rose heavy in my throat, and my bladder felt excruciatingly tight. My feet were raw from all the blisters that had to be bleeding by now.

Beneath the bridge, the Schuylkill River flowed lazily by. No carriages, no people in sight, only the gentle rain tapping the wooden roof. The calm of it all clashed with the chaos that still blazed inside me.

Daniel's breathing rasped nearby, and a glance showed him slumped to his knees. I crawled to him and began to pick at his ropes.

“You must not've,” he said between gasps for air, “turned the right knob.”

The words echoed without meaning in my brain. My wet clothes clung to my skin, and I shivered with cold and exertion. My single line of coherent thought was focused on the task of loosening his ropes, on mustering more dexterity into my numb fingers.

Minutes ticked by, and at last the knots came free. I slid my hands beneath the ropes. Daniel flinched—I had stroked raw skin.

“You're hurt.” My voice cracked.

“I'm lucky that's all that happened.” He pushed unsteadily to his feet. “You could have killed us.”

“But I saved you.”

“No.” He bent and hoisted me roughly to my feet. “You almost killed me.”

“I didn't!” I tried to break free, but he pulled me closer.

“I told you to leave,” he snarled. With his face only inches from mine and glowing white in the darkness, I could make out lines of fury scored into his face. His swollen left eye and bleeding lip only made him look more anguished.

“They almost killed you,” I said hoarsely.

“And they almost killed you too!”

He dropped me, and I stumbled back until I hit the bridge's wall. He thrust a finger in the direction of the factory. “Do you know what should have happened back there, Eleanor? Do you?”

“I just meant to scare the guards. I didn't mean to break the pump.” The hot ache of tears burned in my throat.

“Joseph sent you as backup—in case things went wrong.” He strode to me, his hands bunching into fists. “Well, things went wrong, and your job was to leave. To stay safe.”

“And you'd be dead in the river if I had.”

“And what if
you
had died too? Did you think of that?” He gave a strangled groan and stomped away, clenching and flexing his fingers as if trying to keep the violence to himself. “You didn't think at all, did you?” He whirled back around. “Tell me—did you?”

“Yes!” I shouted. “I
did
. And I made a choice! If you're worried about Joseph, then we should go. We have the dynamite, and we can still—”

“This isn't about Joseph or the dynamite.” He spoke in a low growl. “Leaving was your only job, Eleanor, so why didn't you go when I told you to?”

“Because, Daniel.” My voice was raw with bitterness and hurt. “You...” My voice broke. I swallowed to try again. “Because, Daniel, no matter what you say, I know you would have done the same for me.”

His breath burst out. He tumbled backward as if I'd slapped him. I used the moment to escape, shoving past him and slinging the sack onto my shoulder. Without a glance back, I sprinted through the bridge toward Philadelphia. My footsteps were loud and hollow.

Tears fell now and mixed with the raindrops. But despite the sobs that hovered in my chest and threatened release at any moment, I refused to succumb.

Joseph needed the dynamite, and Daniel was right: I had a job to do.

“Wait!”

I looked back. Daniel was rushing toward me through the rain. In half a heartbeat he was beside me and tugging me into his arms. His lips parted, but if to speak or to kiss, I never found out.

The sky lit up as if a flash of sunlight pierced the night. A sound like thunder, black and heavy, cracked through the rain. It was from the factory, and a shock wave shuddered over the earth. My knees, already weak, buckled from the impact. I fell onto Daniel, and we toppled to the ground.

The factory had exploded.

It was the impetus we needed, the reminder that life and death still hung in the balance in Philadelphia. In seconds we were back on our feet and bolting toward the city. Toward Joseph at the Centennial Exhibition—and toward the walking Dead.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

T
he lab was destroyed.

When we finally straggled back over an hour later, we found nothing intact. Joseph's papers were shredded, Daniel's inventions were torn apart, and everything was covered in grave dirt and bits of jellied corpse. I stood frozen at the door.

In the middle of the room, Jie held a slumped and barely conscious Joseph. Daniel lunged forward and eased Joseph to a stool.

“It was a trick,” Jie said. Her voice was raspy and thin. “The necromancer tricked us from the lab. We went to the U.S. Government Building, and we fought the Dead. But this”—she waved at the room—“is what they came to do.”

My breath shot out, and I eased the sack of dynamite to the floor. “You mean the necromancer lured you away to destroy your equipment?”

“What other reason can there be?” she asked, her eyes hollow. “Without our things, we cannot fight back.”

“The... the influence machines?” Daniel asked, examining his destroyed equipment. The only unbroken item in the room was the table.

“We still have one.” Jie flicked her eyes to a blanket-wrapped mound. “The other was gone when we got back.”

Daniel rubbed his eyes and nodded wearily. “How many Dead?”

“Over a hundred.”

I choked. “A hundred? And Joseph stopped them?”

“Yes.” Jie's shoulders drooped. “But he's exhausted... he's not even in his head right now.”

I stared at Joseph. He leaned against the wall, his eyes half open and unseeing.

Everything had gone wrong, Daniel's capture, my attempt at rescue, the explosion, and now this. Guilt ate at my neck and shoulders—a stiff, heavy question: had I made the right choice? Maybe if I had left Daniel and brought Joseph the dynamite, then the lab would still be intact. By saving Daniel, had I endangered the entire city?

“Will he wake up?” I asked.

Daniel planted his hands on the worktable. “Yeah, he'll wake up.” He hung his head. “He'll need sleep, though—a lot of it.”

I pointed to the sack beside my feet. “The—”

“Not now.” Daniel turned toward me with a single shake of his head. “Leave it there. Go home.”

Jie turned to me, her gaze intense. “It's three in the morning. Your mother will wonder where you are.”

My mouth went dry. Mama, Clarence, the opera... I screwed my eyes shut. I had to face them. I'd known that all along.

“I-I need to get dressed,” I said.

“I'll help.” Jie picked her way over the floor and joined me at the door. She glanced back at Daniel. “You hire a hackney for her, yeah? She can't waste any more time here.”

My silk gown on once more, but with my hair a tangled mess down my back, I rode home in a hired hackney. My mind was filled with lies and half-truths to tell Mama. The black guilt that plagued my shoulders and neck now descended over my whole body. I had single-handedly annihilated a factory, I had lied to Mama and Clarence, the Spirit-Hunters' equipment was ruined, and I was still no closer to finding Elijah. I wanted to cry, to give in to the hysteria of the night, but I found myself too numb with exhaustion to even think properly.

I paid the hackney driver and hurried through the gate into my front yard. No lights shone in the windows, and I prayed the servants had gone to sleep. I held my skirts high, but it was no use—such an excess of skirts and flounce could not be protected from the dirt and puddles. And though the rain had stopped, my slippers still sank into the muddy path, making a sucking sound as the heels pulled loose with each step.

“Miss Fitt,” said a man's voice.

My heart heaved. I froze. A figure emerged from the shadows of the cherry tree. It was Clarence Wilcox striding toward me.

I tugged my cloak tightly to me.

“What is it?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Is it opium? Were you at an opium den?”

My fear melted. “Opium?
Opium?
”

“Yes. Opium. It's a substance that induces a euphoric—”

“I know what opium is.” I threw my hands wide, not caring that my cloak slipped to the earth. “How dare you accuse me of that.”

“One of the Pinkertons saw you leave with a Chinaman.”

I advanced on him. “Well, it was not opium, Junior.” I spat the name with all the disgust I could muster. “I know all about the Gas Ring. About what your father did to
mine
. Don't look so surprised. I know your secrets now. So stop flinging your pathetic accusations at me.”

Clarence staggered away to the cherry tree's bench. I slung my cloak off the mud and followed. My rage grew with each step.

“Your father killed my father—did you know that? He blew up the Nobel factory and ruined Father's business.”

“I know,” Clarence mumbled. He dropped to the wet bench and buried his face in his hands.

“Clay ruined my father's council campaign. He killed my father!” My body was so tight, I could barely move. I wanted to slap him, to shoot my energy and fury out in violence. Why didn't he respond? Why was he so calm? “Answer me!”

“I know what happened. I wish I didn't.”

“Wishing won't help!” My shout was muffled by the moisture in the night air, but it was loud enough to wake my house. I lowered my voice, though it shook with my passion. “You and those other boys from the Germantown Academy—your wicked Gas Ring—you were all my father's enemies!

“And,” I said, bending down and pushing my face in his, “you were my brother's bully.”

Clarence dropped his hands. His eyes were thin.

“What?” I snarled. “Did you think I wouldn't find out? That I'd be so blinded by your stature and image that I wouldn't care? You're a bastard.” I shoved him, and he toppled back in his seat.

“The almighty Junior. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner.” I lunged at Clarence, but he grabbed me by my bruised wrists. He twisted my arms and bolted out of his seat.

“That's enough, Eleanor—enough!” He towered over me. “Yes, I knew your brother. He was always cowering and crying. And yes, I thought him a sickly, ridiculous thing.” His nostrils flared as his breath came out in great gusts. “Then after your father refused a spot in the Gas Ring, Fred, James, Clint, and I did exactly as
our
fathers told us to do. We made your brother's life a living hell.”

“Bastard.”

“Hush. You've no right to say such things, and it doesn't suit you. Behave like the lady you are.” He bore down on me and forced me to sit. “I am not proud of how I treated Elijah. It was easy and even fun as a child, but now, as an adult, I wish it hadn't happened.”

“Don't lie.”

“I'm not—I have every intention of making amends when he comes home. I hope to offer him a position among the Gas Trustees.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“I don't agree with everything my father did. I... I regret the enmity between our families.” He released my wrists and thrust his chin high. “However, I am a dutiful son. I follow my father's footsteps and carefully laid plans because, well...” He spread his hands. “What choice do I have?”

“You always have a choice,” I growled.

“No. That's not true. This was the life given to me, and I honor my father's memory by faithfully living it. I run for city council because he wanted me to. He made no mention of your family, though, so I have taken it upon myself to help.”

“How generous of you.”

“Everyone can see you fake your wealth.” He grimaced with a mixture of pity and distaste. “Of course, with a mother like yours, it's not hard to see where it all gets wasted.”

“Don't talk about my mother like that. You know nothing about us.”

His eyebrows jumped up. “I know she raised a wild, unruly daughter, whom, despite it all, I
like
. A daughter who must be married off quickly and taught some manners. I know she raised a weak son who has abandoned his family when they need him most—”

“He hasn't abandoned us.” I launched myself at him and pounded on his chest. “He hasn't! You don't know anything.”

Clarence wrestled me off. I didn't resist—I couldn't resist. Somewhere in my pummeling, I had started to cry.

“Calm down,” he said. “You must calm down. You will wake your house.” He pushed me onto the bench and sat beside me. “Eleanor. Miss Fitt. Calm down.”

“How can I?” I whimpered. “How can I be calm when
you're
Junior a-and my brother has been taken and I-I ruined the Spirit-Hunters lab and my brother is going to die—the whole city...” I laid my face in my hands and sobbed. I knew my behavior had turned hysterical, but I couldn't rein in my emotions. It felt as if my brain were separated from my body by a wall. I could think logically, but I couldn't act it.

“Eleanor.” Clarence yanked my hands from my face and made me meet his gaze. “What do you mean your brother has been taken? And what about the Spirit-Hunters—have they found Elijah's body?”

“No. He's not dead. The necromancer has him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I just do! Now let me go!” I wrenched free of his grasp. He reached for me, but I scrambled off the bench. “Stay away from me.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched. “No. Stop. It makes no sense. Explain.” He sprang up and chased me, his eyes huge and white.

I retreated clumsily, wiping at my eyelashes and damp cheeks. “Wh-where are your bodyguards?”

“Around,” Clarence said. “Don't worry. I'm safe. Even if you don't see them, they're lurking nearby.”

I laughed, a breathy sound. “I'm not worried for you. I'm worried for me.”

“I don't intend to hurt you.”

“Then why don't you leave?” I pointed toward the gate. “I don't want your company.”

“Absolutely not,” he snapped. “There are quite a few questions that need answering. How do you know of your brother? Where did you go tonight? And, most importantly, who told you about the Gas Ring and your father's company?” He advanced on me.

“Stay away!” I hefted up my skirts and tried to flee, but all I could manage in the mud and petticoats was a quick hobble. He clasped my arm and whipped me around. I toppled into him and clutched at his coat.

“You had better cooperate, Eleanor. There are many lives at stake, including my own.”

“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”

“And the foolish can cite Shakespeare,” he snarled. “Enough with your childish behavior. Answer my questions or I will tell your mother of all this.”

I gasped. “No.” He couldn't tell Mama. Everything I'd worked for would be ruined—she would lock me away and likely lock herself away too.

Clarence snorted. “Finally, a sensible response. Now satisfy me with answers or I'll tell.”

“Not tonight.” I licked my lips and searched for an excuse. “I-I'm so tired. In the morning. If you call in the morning, I'll explain everything.”

“Why should I trust you?” He cocked his head and gestured to my gown. “You're deceitful.”

“And you're a corrupt, murdering bastard.”

“Ah.” His eyebrows rose high. “Back to your charming self, I see.”

I wrenched away from him and spat at his feet. It splattered on his patent leather shoes. If I could handle a dynamite factory, then Clarence Wilcox should be nothing.

Clarence's lip curled.

“Spare me, Eleanor. Truly, you only embarrass yourself. I'll be here in the morning. Early. Until then, your little secrets are safe with me.”

I stared, suddenly tongue-tied. He held all the power. I had to do as he asked or he'd tell Mama. If she learned her only son was gone—possibly dead—and that our chances of redeeming our wealth were gone too... I couldn't imagine the consequences. I had already lost one parent to devastated mourning and insanity.

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 her mind 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.