A Dawn Most Wicked (Something Strange and Deadly 0.5)(18)

“Do you even know if Cochran actually burned Murry?” I demanded.

“Yes.” Lang’s eyes thinned. “Five years ago he shoved the Chief Engineer’s face in the boiler furnace because he thought—as our official company report states—that Murry had ‘looked inappropriately at Mrs. Cochran.’ That, Mr. Sheridan, was more than enough grounds upon which to release Cochran from the Lang Company’s service. However, we foolishly agreed to keep him, pending no further incidents. Yet there have been incidents. Many, in fact.” Lang stared meaningfully at my face, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly how I’d come by my aging black eye.

But still, I couldn’t let the whole Cochran family suffer because the head of the family was a monster. “What if,” I said slowly, “the ghosts disappear?”

Lang’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“If the ghosts disappear,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “If the hauntings were gone, then what would you do with the Sadie Queen?”

“Ah, well.” He straightened in his seat, his gaze turning distant. “I suppose, in that case, we would keep her on the river. She was our most lucrative steamer until two months ago. Plus, the appeal of traveling on a formerly haunted steamer would bring in heaps of new business.” His lips twitched up, and I could practically see the dollar signs floating behind his eyeballs. But then he shrugged and his gaze swung back to me. “Of course, that is not likely to happen. It is not as if one can dispose of a haunting.”

“Right,” I mumbled, biting into my biscuit. “I guess one can’t.” But even as I spoke, I was formulating a plan. Joseph Boyer had some spirit-hunting to do—and he needed to do it fast.

CHAPTER SIX

I stayed with Lang a few minutes more, swallowing back as much ham and coffee as I could before excusing myself for some shut-eye. “Consider my offer,” he called after me. “One week, and you could be a Second Engineer.”

I was two steps from my cabin when Cassidy materialized around the corner. She rushed toward me, pausing two paces away. “What happened?” she whispered. “Father was practically frothing when he came into the pilothouse.”

“Lang offered me a job.”

Her eyes bulged. “What?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but her hand shot up. “Wait. We need privacy.” She threw a glance behind her, then grabbing hold of my wrist, she towed me to her cabin. It was hard for my heart not to pound when she pushed me inside and then locked the door softly behind her.

This would get me killed if Cochran found out.

But I was far more interested in how close Cassidy was standing. In how she pushed me over to her bed and then ordered me to sit.

“Mr. Lang offered you a job?” She plopped down beside me, her voice low. “Doing what?”

As I relayed the story, her eyes grew wider and her lips pressed tighter. But when I reached the part about the Sadie Queen’s new future, my voice trailed off. Did she need to know the race was all for nothing? If this Joseph fellow could banish the ghosts, then there was still a chance for the old steamer.

And after that I could take Lang’s offer, get my license, and maybe find work on a different steamer. I’d be away from Cass, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t see each other. Hell, for all I knew Lang’s plans for Cassidy were a license of her own on a steamship with me. We were the fastest team on the Mississippi, after all.

“What are you going to do?” She searched my face. “If you accept, then maybe you could stay here. Replace Schultz as—”

“That ain’t happening, Cass.” I groaned, and set my elbows on my knees.

“Why won’t it happen?” she asked softly.

I cleared my throat, not liking that I had to lie . . . but feeling pretty certain it was the right thing to do. “I, uh, sullied you, remember? If Cochran ever does agree to keep me, it won’t be ’cos of a license. If anything, the fact that Lang took a shine to me has only made your father hate me more.”

She exhaled loudly. Then she draped my arm over her shoulders and curled up against my chest. It was . . . nice. And it was everything I’d ever wanted from Cassidy.

Clack-clack-clack, thwump! I watched her long calloused fingers extend the spyglass . . . then shut . . . then extend it again. Those callouses hadn’t been there a year ago, when she’d first started her apprenticeship. Now her hands told a story—a tale of dodging mudflats and braving hurricanes.

Clack-clack-clack, thwump! Clack-clack-clack—

The temperature plummeted. My breath suddenly laced out with steam.

“Blood.”

Cass and I jerked right—and then scrabbled off the bed.

An old man, his head snapped off and dangling by a single tendon, hovered on the bed. His form flickered and faded like fog. And when he spoke, it was in the voice of a little girl. “My neck—my throat—it hurts. It hurts!”

Cassidy clapped her hands over her ears.

“It hurts! Make it stop—make it stop!” The voice wailed through the room.

“It isn’t my fault,” Cassidy growled, her eyes screwing shut. “It isn’t. It isn’t.”

“Hey.” I laid my hands over hers.

Her eyes cracked open. “It isn’t my fault.”