Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(12)
And honestly, even if I did meet Junior one day, what would I do? What could I do? Nothing more than what Allison was doing right now: fume silently with a veneer of cold politeness.
“We ought to all sit together,” Tom said. His gaze was unabashedly focused on Allison.
Peeps of disagreement broke from the Virtue Sisters’ lips. They’d lost the attention of their gentlemen. No doubt this was the precise reason they’d avoided Allison’s company in the first place.
“Our treat,” Luis added.
“Yes!” I blurted. “Join us!” The Virtue Sisters shot me fierce glares, but I stoutly ignored them and waved the waiter over. If these mustached McClures were so intent on impressing Allison with a show of generosity, I had no problem with that!
Soon enough, another table had been shoved next to ours, and the twins had dropped down beside Allison. I was left to chat with Patience and Mercy; and despite the sisters’ disgruntled disappointment and my pressing errand, I found myself enjoying them. Maybe it was simply because Mama wasn’t there and I could speak uncensored, or maybe it was because, when they smiled, the Virtue Sisters were actually rather fun.
Plus, Mercy ate so many croissants, I didn’t feel guilty indulging in a few extras myself.
When the church bells rang noon in a thunderous clamor, I knew it was time to go. I needed to find the Spirit-Hunters and face this situation with the Dead and Elijah’s absence.
I convinced Allison I could make it home alone, thanked the McClure twins profusely, grinned broadly at Patience and Mercy, and bid the entire group a good afternoon.
Once I reached the hotel’s lobby, I bought a streetcar ticket at the front desk before scampering into the hot sun and boarding the first horse-drawn streetcar that rattled down Chestnut Street.
Free brunch, no chaperone, and a few new friends. Life was the shiniest it had been in years. All that remained to make it perfect was bringing Elijah home.
CHAPTER FIVE
Despite the morbid motivation for going to the Centennial Exhibition, it felt wonderful to be alone—to finally do what I could for Elijah.
When the streetcar reached Lancaster Avenue and the towers of the Exhibition hit my eyes, I hopped off the car. My home was within walking distance, and since my remaining coins would be spent on the Exhibition entrance fee, I would have little choice but to use my feet.
The newspaper had said the Spirit-Hunters were to be found in Machinery Hall at the Exhibition. Like the first world’s fair in London, our International Centennial Exhibition was meant to unite the world in a display of technology, culture, and progress.
Iron spires and colorful flags rose up along the Schuylkill for ten blocks, making the Exhibition look just like a fairy-tale. Enormous buildings housed the world’s wonders, and not even a whole slack-jawed, wide-eyed week of exploring the gardens and halls would be enough time to see everything.
The sun scorched down and the wind whipped my parasol as I joined the throngs that poured through the turnstiles, paid my fifty cents, and strode into the enormous entrance plaza. It was like a field of daisies with all the parasols twirling and bobbing in the breeze. Bartholdi’s bronze Fountain of Light and Water rose from the plaza’s center and towered over the thousands of visitors. I paused before it to let the mist spray over me.
I had already seen the Exhibition. I had gasped and twittered with all the other visitors, but even the greatest feats of man lose their luster when one’s head is filled with storm clouds.
Feeling cooler, I lowered my parasol and turned. Before me was the most popular building at the Exhibition: Machinery Hall, a long, narrow structure made entirely of wood and glass, and I had to crane my neck to see the top.
I entered the building to find sun pouring in through windows that spanned the walls. Sharp beams of light flew from the metal machine surfaces that packed the hall.
Engines, furnaces, sewing machines, locomotives—every example of man’s newest creations hummed with life. The hall resounded with the whirs and clicks of a mechanical symphony. Singing with it was the chorus of people’s laughter and chatter, and above it all was the percussive boom of a massive steam engine.
It was the Corliss engine, sitting in the center of Machinery Hall and soaring more than forty feet up into the rafters. Two monstrous cylinders spun a thirty-foot wheel, and the energy it generated was enough to power almost every machine in the building.
Yet among all the vibrancy, the alarms hung solemnly on the walls at regular intervals. Fire alarms and the new, but necessary, Dead alarms. I shivered as the horrible clang I’d heard in the train depot played in my mind.
I pulled the newspaper article from my pocket, careful to keep the print off my gloves—dirty gloves would incite Mama’s ire—and verified the way to the Spirit-Hunters’ office. It should be near the east entrance through which I’d just passed.
I glanced to a narrow aisle between the wall and a locomotive exhibit. It was also the path to the men’s toilets. Scarcely the sort of place a lady should see. For that matter, scarcely the sort of place I wanted to see. Hesitantly, I continued on, keeping my gloved hand to my nose. The stink of urine was strong in the morning heat, and I fumbled for my handkerchief.
I slunk past the water closet door, cheeks aflame and eyes averted, until I saw a narrow door with a small handwritten note fixed to it.
PLEASE KNOCK. EXPERIMENTS RUNNING.
I took one last stifled gulp, returned my handkerchief to my pocket, and gritted my teeth with determination.