Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(18)
We reached the giant Corliss engine, and though the air still stank of putrid flesh, the ground was clean. Joseph paused our slow trudge forward and straightened. “I can go alone now, thank you.”
Daniel wiped his brow. “Like I was sayin’, souls are made of electricity.”
His words clicked with something Elijah had taught me. “Water’s a conductor,” I said slowly. “Is that how it works?”
“Right.” Daniel flicked his eyes toward me, and I thought I saw a glint of respect. “So when Joseph stands in it, he can connect to the spiritual energy.”
“And so,” I pressed, “when he was in the water, he could control the bodies?”
“Not control,” Joseph said, “but affect. You might have noticed a difference in the corpses’ speed when I stepped from the water. My ability to affect the corpses weakened when I left the water, so their speed and coordination improved.”
Daniel nodded. “We’re lucky the Hydraulic Annex has such a big pool. We’re even luckier the corpses followed us there.”
“Wi. It makes me think we were the target of the attack.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” Daniel glanced toward the annex. “I should go back and get the machine.”
“What is that thing?” I asked. “It made sparks.”
“It’s called an influence machine. It makes static electricity from spinning the glass wheels. And when Joseph touches the spark, he uses it to blast all that corrupt soul back into the spirit realm. Kinda like a cue ball smashing apart all the other billiard balls.”
“Oh,” I said, not entirely sure I understood.
“But that machine wasn’t easy to make, and it can sell for a pretty penny. So I ought to retrieve it. Jie can help me carry it to the lab.”
Joseph bowed his head, granting permission, and then he turned to me. He tugged at his dripping vest—as if his messy appearance was somehow the fault of his own poor taste.
“Shall we?” He gestured toward the lab, and we resumed our march through Machinery Hall. “You see, Miss Fitt, I could feel the spirit while I stood in the water—it is quite strong.” He swallowed and fidgeted with his cuffs. “What was most worrisome was that it knew my range—how far I can reach to affect soul—and it hovered just outside.”
I sucked in a breath, and the hairs on my neck stood on end. Was that why it stopped following me? But how would it know something like that? And for that matter, why had it even come here?
“Mr. Boyer,” I said, “that’s the spirit my mother let out last night.”
His lips compressed. “You are certain?”
“Positive.” I shuddered, and hugged my arms to my chest. “It smells... it smells like dirt, and it’s so cold.”
“Ah.” Lines etched their way over Joseph’s brow. “Then it is a very powerful spirit indeed.”
“Mr. Boyer!” a Cockney voice shouted. I glanced down the nearest aisle of machinery and saw a cluster of men striding toward us.
“Reporters,” Joseph spat, his nose curling. “Even worse, Mr. Peger. He only writes half of what I say, and never the important half.”
My mouth went dry. I shrank behind Joseph. “I’m not sure I want to see reporters.”
Joseph gave me a concerned glance and opened his mouth to speak, but the men were upon us.
“Hello, ma’am,” said one of them, tipping his hat. “Were you trapped in the building during the attack? Did you see anything? Are you connected with the Spirit-Hunters? Did they rescue you?” He sang out question after question, leaving me no time to answer.
I faltered back several steps. I couldn’t be in the newspaper. Someone would certainly see mention of me, and then Mama would find out I’d been with the Spirit-Hunters; she’d know I’d been with people of “low society” and, worst of all, that I’d been there because I needed help dealing with the Dead.
I lifted my hands defensively and shook my head as more of the reporters approached me. Nearby, Joseph fared no better.
A squat, square man with shimmering golden curls had attached himself to Joseph; and despite the reporter’s much smaller size, the Spirit-Hunter somehow seemed the tinier of the two.
When one of my reporters requested my name, I made a decision. I’d had quite enough, and what were a bunch of reporters compared to an army of Dead? I lowered my head, lifted my skirts, and pummeled through.
It wasn’t until I was several blocks away, gasping for breath and coated in sweat, that I realized I stank like the Dead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thank the merciful heavens Mama was away when I reached home. She was calling on all our guests from last night—no doubt to explain away the evening’s unusual events.
I bribed Mary to help me wash the dress. Her price was steep: a pair of kid gloves. But a lost pair of gloves was easier to explain than a foul-walking dress. Fortunately, Mary had been so pleased by her payment she hadn’t bothered to ask about my need for secrecy, or my smelly dress.
Several hours later, just as the sun was beginning its descent, Mama returned and cornered me in my bedroom, clucking with joy over Clarence’s invitation for a drive. Apparently Mrs. Wilcox had shared the news—and invited us to the opera the following Saturday.