A Dawn Most Wicked (Something Strange and Deadly 0.5)(21)

But as we trekked, Joseph explained how his Spirit-Hunting methods worked—and it became clearer that he could do nothing to stop the ghosts. Not yet, at least.

“There is electricity around us, Mr. Sheridan. I think of it as the earth’s soul.”

I thought back to page 258 in my textbook. It showed the earth with lines pulsing outward—lines of electricity. “You mean electromagnetism.”

“Precisely.” Joseph paused midstride to flatten himself to the wall—and avoid a bloated man as he whispered past. “I gather all this electromagnetism into myself and use it to blast the Dead to bits. The broken soul then travels back to the spirit realm.”

“Land sakes,” I breathed. “It’s like a cue ball in billiards. But then . . . why not just bypass the whole electric field entirely? Why not use raw electricity? Surely it’s more powerful.”

“Such as lightning?”

“Yeah. Or even electricity from a steam engine . . .” I trailed off, freezing in place as a ghost with a torn-out neck swept in front of me.

“Blood,” it hissed. “Blood everywhere.”

Like flies to a shit pile the rest of the spirits swarmed. They twisted around and flew toward us, their dead throats wailing for our blood.

“Mr. Boyer,” I roared over the cacophony of shredded voices. “I think we’re gonna have to run for it.”

“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.”