A Dawn Most Wicked (Something Strange and Deadly 0.5)(31)

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.

Oh, and of moving Cochran to the Adams as well. Fortunately he was unconscious and couldn’t put up a fight. He would make it to Natchez—but not if he had to stay behind on the slow-moving Queen.

Cassidy was white-faced, her mouth set in a grim line, as she helped carry him onto the Adams. I tried to speak to her . . . but she only snapped at me to get to the engine and “get the steamer moving again.”

I did as she ordered, and with a low heart and weary body, I made my way to the engine room. Where I found Kent Lang still at his post. The young man was soaked through with sweat, and several new slashes bled across his chest. Most impressive of all, though, was that he’d fallen asleep.

I shambled over and nudged him with my toe. Lang’s eyes snapped wide. He tensed, clearly expecting death. But then awareness sagged through him. “Thank God,” he breathed. “It’s you—and you’re still alive.”

“I’m still alive.” I sank to the floor beside him, sighing at the sheer pleasure of getting off my feet. Then I explained what had happened—and what we had to do now: get the Queen moving. Get her all the way to Natchez.

Lang huffed out a breath, but he didn’t argue. He simply attempted—somewhat pathetically—to drag himself to his feet. “I swear, Mr. Sheridan”—he gave a deep wince—“I never knew these muscles existed in my body. Now I not only know they’re there, I know that I hate them.”

“Consider it a life lesson, Mr. Lang.” I hauled myself up and extended my hand. “A chance to get to really know what goes on in your fleet.”

And at that Lang laughed. A full, rolling belly laugh that helped carry him upright. “You are absolutely correct, Mr. Sheridan.”

Before he could release my hand, though, I strengthened my grip and forced him to meet my gaze. “The Sadie Queen gets to stay on the Mississippi now. Right?”

His eyes flickered away from mine, and I could see the gears spinning in his head as he planned logistics and counted money. . . . But then he gave a slow nod. “If the ghosts are truly gone—”

“They are.”

“—then I see no reason to end the Queen’s career just yet.” He cast me a tired smile and pulled his hand free. “I’ll have to find a new captain, of course, but there are several in our fleet that will do.”

I stiffened. “New captain?”

“When I said Cochran would be fired as soon as we hit Natchez, I meant it.” Lang’s lips twisted down. “As the new president, I will not stand for behavior like his, and I have to make that clear from the start.”

“But he was just shot. A bullet got him right here.” I poked Lang in the shoulder with more force than I intended. The man winced, but that just fueled my words further. “That doesn’t matter to you, does it? You’re goin’ to fire him, and you don’t even care what the consequences are.”