Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(20)

“Have you spoken with the Spirit-Hunters?” I offered. “Perhaps they can help.”

“No.” He tipped his face away. “I would rather not deal with them. They’re low-life—disreputable, I’ve heard.”

I frowned. Joseph Boyer seemed about as honest as men come—a true gentleman if I’d ever met one. “But,” I said hesitantly, “if they’re so disreputable, then why did the Exhibition board hire them?”

“Because they volunteered? Because they’re cheap? I can’t say.” He lifted a shoulder. “Everything about the situation is worrisome, Miss Fitt.” He glanced at me, assessing. “Worst of all, I hear all the corpses in Laurel Hill have come to life.”

I shivered and hugged my arms to my stomach. Laurel Hill, Daniel had mentioned, was a graveyard on the steep, rugged hills beside the Schuylkill River. Because it was several miles north of Philadelphia, it had always been undisturbed and peaceful. Though, if all the corpses had risen... Well, that meant hundreds—perhaps even thousands—of Dead.

And if the Dead came from Laurel Hill, then it seemed likely the necromancer was there as well. And if Elijah was trapped with the necromancer, then... then he could be in the cemetery.

And he might be a corpse too. My skin crawled, and I heaved the thought aside.

“Take me to Laurel Hill,” I said.

Clarence whipped his face toward me, his expression revolted. “Why? What a horrible request.”

“Please, Mr. Wilcox.” I scooted closer to him. “It is not so great a detour to go there—it’s on our way into the countryside. I just want to peer through the gates.”

“Give me one good reason to comply with such a morbid desire.”

What could I say? I didn’t want him to know about Elijah. “My... my father is in Laurel Hill Cemetery,” I muttered at last. “You said all the bodies have risen, and I wonder if he is among them.”

My words were not entirely false. My father was buried in Laurel Hill, and I was curious if his corpse had risen.

“Ah,” Clarence said. He clenched the reins in one hand and massaged his forehead with the other. “I have asked myself that same question. About my own father, who is also buried there.” He narrowed his eyes a fraction and studied me. “All right, Miss Fitt. You win. But consider this your bribe to keep my secrets.” He shot me a half grin. “We will only stay a moment.” Then he flicked the reins, and we picked up our speed.

Minutes later we rounded a shady bend in the road. The long, white-columned gatehouse that marked the entrance to Laurel Hill Cemetery moved into view. The gates were closed, and there was no one around. This was usually a place of wandering couples, visiting families, and rattling carriages, all there to view the forested cemetery grounds. Now it was silent and empty—no, not empty. Empty of the living.

“We stop here,” Clarence said. “I don’t want the horses getting skittish.”

We jerked to a halt, and I lurched forward in my seat. Clarence hopped to the ground and offered me his hand. “I do not wish to stay long, Miss Fitt. We shouldn’t be here, and...” He swiveled his head left and right, reminding me of a frightened squirrel. “Well, the Dead are reason enough.”

“Yes,” I murmured, clumsily climbing down. My lips were dry, and my heart thumped against my ribs. I had seen the Dead twice now, and they didn’t scare me anymore. No—what scared me was the possibility of seeing Elijah. Of seeing him dead.

Soon, Clarence and I stood inside the gatehouse’s archway. My fingers were gripped around the gate’s iron bars, and my face was pressed against them. Upon the hill that rose quickly before me were the statues of Old Mortality and Sir Walter Scott. But beyond those stone men, I detected no signs of the Dead.

“There’s nothing here,” I said, accusation in my voice.

“You’ve got to be patient. We haven’t been here long.” He glanced at me. “Trust me. The Dead are in there—I saw them from the river a few days ago.”

“Oh.”

“Be grateful. What I saw was horrifying. I instantly regretted my curiosity.”

I sniffed haughtily and wished etiquette didn’t force me to bite my tongue. One would think, after Friday evening, he would know I was not prone to hysterics.

Clarence swallowed. His eyes were locked on some distant point. “Look.”

I followed his gaze. At the top of the hill, a figure shambled by. I knew that gait. The stride of long-dead bones.

I clutched at the iron bars. “Where do you suppose it’s going?”

“I don’t know.”

“North,” I murmured. “Perhaps we can see it through the fence.”

“No. It’s overgrown.” Clarence waved toward the nearest stretch of bars. Though the outer edge of the fence was bare of brush, the inside was bordered by thick forest.

“But there might be a break somewhere. Come on. Let’s follow it.” Before Clarence could stop me, I gathered up my skirts and hurried out of the gatehouse. I sped along the road until I reached the iron fence traveling north.

Clarence’s footsteps were close behind, but he made no move to stop me. It would seem Mr. Clarence Wilcox wanted to see beyond the fence as much as I. Yet, just as he had declared, I could find no opening in the shrubs within the cemetery.