Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(14)

With his hands still planted on my arms and with his lips curved in a satisfied grin, he drawled, “I’m Daniel Sheridan, by the way.” He said it so casually, as if all introductions were preceded by manhandling. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss...”

I twisted free. The rascal. The scalawag. I gave him my haughtiest dragon stare. “I am Miss Eleanor Fitt of the Philadelphia Fitts.”

He flashed his eyebrows and doffed an imaginary hat. “Why then, you’re practically royalty.” He whirled around and strode back into the lab. The door slammed shut behind him.

I stood outside the lab. My shoulders and neck were locked with fiery rage, and I felt as if flames might spew from my fingertips and eyeballs.

Royalty? Humbug! I should have quipped, “And that makes you my subject” or “It’s Queen Eleanor to you” or any number of responses more glib than my furious silence.

“Oh dear,” said a rich, baritone voice behind me. “I told him to keep his temper in check.”

I spun around and found my face two feet from the buttons and collar of a black frock coat. I angled my head slowly up and met the speaker’s honey-brown eyes. He was the most elegant young gentleman I’d ever seen. His suit was impeccably tailored, a slick top hat sat upon his head, and his dark skin seemed to glow from within.

“Misyeu Joseph-Alexandre Boyer,” he said with a bow. “At your service.”

I opened and closed my mouth. My composure was thrown at how unlike Daniel this man was.

Joseph opened his hands in a graceful apology. “Please forgive Mr. Sheridan. I am afraid he works better with machines than with people.” He spoke with such poise and his movements were so refined that all I could do was gawk. He cleared his throat and looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Oh yes,” I mumbled. “I suppose I shall forgive him.”

“Mèrsi.”

“You’re French?” As soon as I asked, I knew my guess was wrong.

“Creole,” he corrected. “There is a difference in how we speak and spell our words.”

My eyebrows jumped. “Creole? Truly? I’ve never met a Creole before.” I extended my hand. “I’m Eleanor Fitt.”

Joseph stiffened, his eyes fixed on my gloved hand, and I realized—too late—that I’d put him in an uncomfortable position. A gentleman simply was not supposed to shake the hand of an unmarried woman without a proper, third-party introduction. I was so used to chaperoned meetings that I had acted on foolish reflex.

Then his features relaxed, and a smile passed over his lips. He shook my hand firmly before guiding me back into the cramped lab.

“Come in, come in, Mamzèi.” Joseph removed a stool from under the table and gestured for me to sit. “Please excuse the mess. As you know, we are busy people.”

I glanced uneasily at Daniel’s back. He was bent over the table and occupied with something I couldn’t see. I took the offered stool.

“How’d the meeting go?” Daniel asked without turning around.

“Mr. Peger was there.” Joseph’s voice was a soft growl.

Daniel spat, and the spittle landed beside my feet. Droplets splattered on the hem of my gown, and I recoiled. Had the man never heard of a spittoon?

Joseph chuckled, apparently in full agreement with Daniel’s reaction. “Yes, and I will give you three guesses as to what was decided.” Joseph placed his hat on top of the alarm’s telegraph.

Daniel grunted, hammering at some unseen metal. “My three guesses are no, no, and no.”

“Exactly.” Joseph squinted at the floor. “You do realize there is soil everywhere?”

Daniel barked a laugh and whirled around to look smugly at me. My whole body ignited with embarrassment. Daniel flicked his gaze to Joseph. “I’m well aware of the soil, but back to the meeting. What did they give as a reason this time?”

“The usual. They listened with much more attention to Mr. Peger, and so they do not believe we need more reinforcements. They also insist no men can be spared.”

“They’re gonna regret that,” Daniel muttered. “When they see what’s in the cemetery, they’re gonna wish they’d listened to you.”

“Yes, but I think that is enough talk about that.” Joseph glanced at me slantwise, and I got the impression that whatever topic they were discussing it was not for my ears. He turned toward me. “Tell me, Miss Fitt, what brings you here?”

“Oh.” I swallowed and sat up straight. “It’s two things, actually. One... well, one has to do with the walking Dead, and the other is about a spirit.”

Joseph raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to continue, so I described everything that had happened. I rambled, backtracked, and fought off tears, but soon information about the corpse, the letter, the séance, and the spirit had all rushed from me. Throughout the speech, Daniel and Joseph shot concerned glances back and forth.

When I had finished, Daniel’s lips compressed with distaste. “You held a séance?”

I nodded hesitantly. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Daniel ignored me and turned to Joseph. “I thought you told the reporters to print warnings against séances.”

“I did, but it would seem they chose not to listen.” Joseph rubbed his hand over his head and leaned against the worktable. “Miss Fitt, if what you say is true, then I understand your worry.”