Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(22)

She scowls and climbs to her feet. “I’m going to go fetch Miss Anderson.”

I grab her skirts. “Not if you want to keep those pretty curls, you ain’t.”

Katherine’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me, Jane?”

“Naw. I don’t make threats.”

She looks from me to Jackson one last time before stomping out into the hallway.

I drop the scrub brush into my bucket and climb to my feet. “Now is not a good time, Jackson. Give me whatever it is you mentioned in Baltimore and get going.”

He shrugs. “Don’t much care. And I ain’t here about that. You owe me one, and I aim to collect.”

“Owe you? Since when am I owing you anything?”

“River Bend. Two months ago. I saved your life.”

“You nearly got me killed!” I shriek.

The echo of voices in the hallway filter toward us. At least two women, probably Katherine and Miss Anderson. Of course that high yellow Jezebel told on me. Girl would rat out Jesus to the Romans.

I sigh, grabbing Red Jack by his arm and dragging him back toward the window. “Listen here, Redbone, and listen well. This is not a good time. I don’t know what you think I owe you, or why, but we’ll settle it up later. You need to go. I get in trouble again and I’m either going to get the strap or expelled. I’m already on probation, and getting caught with you ain’t going to help my case.”

Red Jack pulls his arm from my grip and adjusts his hat. “Lily is missing,” he says, his voice low and choked.

That stoppers my rage. Lily is Jackson’s younger sister, sweet as sugar and as pretty as a summer day. There is no one Jackson cares about more than her.

“Well, she can’t have been gone long. I saw her the same day I saw you in Baltimore. She and Mrs. Spencer brought us lemonade.”

“Yep, they’re still letting her stay with them, God bless them. But they’ve all disappeared.”

“Maybe they went on a trip? Mrs. Spencer’s people are from Delaware. Mayhap they traveled up that way?”

“Can’t be. Laverne just had a babe two months past.”

Folks rarely just up and vanish like that. Unless . . . “Shamblers?” I ask, trying to be as delicate as I have the wherewithal to be.

He shakes his head. “No. There hasn’t been an attack reported in months. And I didn’t notice any blood when I went by there. I would’ve found some sign of them if it had been the dead. There’s just . . . nothing.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So you want me to look and see if I can find something you missed?”

“You’re smarter than anyone I know, Jane, and I’m not just saying that so you’ll help me. If I’ve missed something, some sign of what happened to them, I know you’re the person to find it.”

A year ago, I would have chalked this up to shamblers and been done with it. But if what Red Jack says is true, it does sound like a bit of a mystery. I reach under my shirt and run my thumb over my lucky penny. There’s no chill and no flash of brilliance, so my luck charm isn’t any kind of help this time.

Red Jack watches me but says nothing, his face a pleasant half smile that could easily mean he’s enjoying a fine tale or he’s planning on stealing someone’s watch. That’s his worried face, which makes me even more concerned.

“Fine, I’ll help you.”

He breaks out into a wide grin. “Thatta girl. You got a letter for me to send?”

I dig the envelope out from the hidden pocket I’ve sewn into the hem of my day dress. We’re not supposed to send letters home, because Miss Preston thinks that it’s a distraction from our studies. But I can always count on Jackson to smuggle something to the post for me.

“You got any letters for me?”

Jackson shakes his head. “Nope. But don’t worry. I’m sure your ma’s just been busy.”

“For a whole year? Not likely.” I hold the letter out and he tucks it into his breast pocket.

Jackson’s expression goes soft. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

I nod. “Just, enough of this ‘owing you’ nonsense. We’re either friends or we’re not, Jackson. And friends don’t keep score.”

“Ah, Jane. Obviously you haven’t had many friends.” Before I can snarl a reply Red Jack tips his bowler, flips something at me that I catch in midair, and slips out the window, quick as he came.

I look down at what he tossed me. It’s a new book: Tom Sawyer, by a fellow named Mark Twain. I tuck it into my hidden pocket and then button the thing shut for safekeeping.

“I’m going with you.”

I turn around. Katherine’s hands are on her hips and she looks to be spoiling for a fight. Surprisingly, Miss Anderson is nowhere to be found. Maybe she didn’t tell on me.

Doesn’t mean I’m about to take her with me on my late-night escapades.

“I ain’t going anywhere, Kate. You about done with this floor? I’m going to see if Miss Preston has anything else for us before I wash up.”

“Stop calling me Kate. I detest that nickname. And don’t lie to me. You’re going to sneak out tonight with that boy to visit the Spencers’ farm, and I’m going with you.”