Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(47)

“No.” He thrust my handkerchief back at me. “I have my own.”

“Of course,” I murmured, stuffing it in my pocket. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He dabbed at his eyes with his fingers. “And I expect you to not talk about it either. Not even the newspapers know. This man, Clinton Bradley, he was...” His words faded, and his eyes went distant.

“Was what?”

“Was my closest friend from childhood. His father, my father—we grew up together. We had...” He ground his teeth. “We had plans for the coming elections.”

“Oh.” I knew that name—Clinton Bradley. His mother had thrown the famous séance my mother had wanted to outshine. It was truly tragic he’d met with a gruesome death. I shivered and hugged my arms to my stomach.

“Have you heard from your brother?” Clarence asked.

I choked and faltered back several steps. What was this change in subject?

“Answer me.” Clarence took a single, long stride, closing all distance between us. He gripped my wrists and hauled me close. “Look at me. Look at me, Miss Fitt. Have you had any news from Elijah?”

I stared with wide eyes. “No.”

“Write him.” He leaned toward me, and the tree’s shadows covered his face in menacing swirls. “Write him and tell him things aren’t safe here. He must stay in New York.”

Clarence dug his fingers into the soft flesh beneath my wrists. “Tell Elijah we’re all in danger. I-I don’t know who’s next. Tell him to stay away from Philadelphia. Tell him that!”

“Yes.”

“Promise.” He yanked me closer until he was inches from my face. “Promise!”

“Yes, yes, I promise!” My wrists burned where his fingers dug into the skin, but I was too stunned to do anything but stare.

His eyes roved sideways and then back to my face. They were red rimmed, like angry wounds.

He wrenched me even closer. “Something follows me! I sense it around me at night... hovering, waiting, hiding in the shadows. It means to kill me, like it did the others. But I won’t let it. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive—to keep my family safe! Whatever it takes!”

My hands throbbed in time to my banging heart, and numbness crept into my fingers. All the blood was being squeezed out. What was happening to Clarence? Who was this man, and what was he capable of?

“Hello?” Allison trilled. “Clarence? Eleanor? Are you going to play?” She would circle the wide tree at any moment.

“We’re coming,” Clarence barked over his shoulder.

“All right,” she called, “but hurry.” Her skirts rustled, and I knew she’d trotted back to the game.

Clarence released me. I staggered several steps backward, and my pulse echoed loudly in my ears. I rubbed at my wrists, but I couldn’t massage away the growing red welts. My hands pricked as blood soaked back into them.

“Miss Fitt,” Clarence said, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.” He stepped toward me, but I scrambled away.

“Stay away. Don’t touch me.”

“Please, Miss Fitt—I’m so sorry.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes. All of the fire had burned out. He seemed even wearier than before.

He lifted his hands like one might do to a frightened puppy. “Please, I won’t hurt you again. I’m sorry. You’re a good sister, a good woman. I didn’t mean to lose my mind like that—I’m tired and scared. All my plans for the future are falling apart as my friends are killed. I fear for my family.” His words were tight, as if tears lurked in his chest, and his eyes were filled with pleading hope. “Please,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded hesitantly but kept my distance. Now he seemed harmless. As if he was nothing more than a man who’d suffered more than anyone should ever have to. Someone who wanted his family kept safe just as I did.

“All right.” I swallowed. “But Willis isn’t enough protection if the Dead want you. You should speak to someone.”

“Like who? The Spirit-Hunters?” He shook his head. “I don’t think... well, I have it on good authority that they’re not the sort of people I want protecting me.”

“Then the police,” I said.

“Yes... I’ve considered it.” He licked his lips. “I don’t want Mother or Allison to find out though. They don’t need to worry. And with the coming elections, I can’t attract much attention.”

“Why do you still care about the elections? Your friends are dying!”

“You don’t understand.” He tipped his chin up and stared down his nose at me. “I must carry on my father’s dream. It is the duty—and the burden—of sons.” He looked away. In a low voice he added, “I refuse to be killed.”

The intensity behind his vow was sincere. I had no doubt that his means for survival would be as desperate as his words.

“Clarence, come on!” Allison shouted. “You’re ruining the game!”

He gazed into the distance for a moment, and then he turned and shambled away. I waited, unwilling to follow.

I had never imagined Clarence as dangerous—he’d almost always worn his mask of well-bred charm. Had this insanity always been there? Hidden deep within? Or was it sparked by his exhaustion and fear?