Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(52)

“At first they believed in us,” Daniel said. “Then Peger came on the scene and stirred up a storm.”

Jie threw her hands up. “It doesn’t matter if they trusted us before or if they’ll ever trust us again. What matters is now. We have to finish your invention, yeah? And that means we have to take the dy***ite.”

“It’s the only solution.” I pushed to my feet and looked at Joseph. “Don’t you see? All of us have to do as much as we can to stop this necromancer, and if it means breaking the law then—”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Daniel snapped. “You won’t get your rich fingers dirty.”

I launched my chin up. “I’d go if you’d let me.”

He towered up to his full height and glared down at me. “If you’re so willing, then why don’t you mosey on down there and do it for us?”

I winced. His words hurt, and I didn’t understand why he was so keyed up. “That’s not fair—”

Joseph’s hand shot up between us, his palm flat. “Hush. I have heard quite enough.” He planted his hand on Daniel’s chest and pushed the sandy-haired boy away from me.

“Tell me,” Joseph said, “do you remember the factory’s layout?”

Daniel’s face fell. “No. Please, don’t do this.”

“I did not ask for your desire. I asked if you remember it or not.”

Daniel’s face contorted, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His chest heaved, and I couldn’t look away. What about the factory could bring such pain to the surface? For that matter, why did Daniel even know the layout of the factory?

But then Daniel swallowed and pushed his shoulders back. He opened his eyes. “Yes. I can get into the factory.”

Joseph bowed his head. “Then you and Jie will go tonight. In the meantime, I will go retrieve this grimoire. It must be destroyed. Now you should leave, Daniel, before anyone sees you here.” He pointed to the lab’s door.

Daniel nodded once and tugged his flat cap low. “Right. I’ll be back later.” He stalked past me toward the exit.

I reached out and clasped his sleeve. “Daniel—I mean, Mr. Sheridan.” A blush ignited on my cheeks.

“Empress?” He gazed at my hand on his arm.

“I forgot to thank you. For my new parasol.”

The edge of his lip twitched. “Anything for Her Majesty.” He drew his eyes up, and he held my gaze. Green eyes, clear and alert. Then he wrapped his hand around mine and removed my fingers from his sleeve.

He gently lowered my hand before stalking through the door and out of sight.

After leaving the Spirit-Hunters’ lab, I navigated the maze of Machinery Hall. My mind whirred with housekeeping duties—market shopping, bank accounting, and the like—but the cogs kept sticking and wandering to Daniel

I tugged at my earrings. Focus, Eleanor. Hadn’t I vowed to stop thinking of anything but Elijah?

I was almost to the central transept and the booming Corliss engine when a man’s voice called out, “Miss Fitt.”

I twirled around, searching for the source among the throngs of visitors. Nicholas Peger materialized before me, his hat at a jaunty tilt and his mustache shining.

“Eleanor Fitt. That’s you, isn’t it?” he asked. “Of the Philadelphia Fitts?”

I stared. No words came to my lips. How had he found out my name?

He sauntered closer and slid a small notebook from his waistcoat pocket. He flipped it open. “Parents are Henry and Abigail Fitt. You’re sixteen years old. Formally presented to society... hmmm. Not yet.” His eyes flitted to my face, though his head stayed still. “I take your silence as confirmation.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” I snapped, my mind kicking back into gear. “I haven’t the faintest idea who that girl is, and I do not appreciate you trying to discover who I am.”

“Don’t excite yourself,” he drawled. “I’m not being paid to investigate you—although I’m rather certain someone would pay to find out about your little excursions.” His eyebrows bounced up, and he jerked a thumb in the direction of the Spirit-Hunters’ lab.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to hide the trembling in my veins. If Mama found out, or Clarence, or anyone, they would be horrified. What if they went to the police or it reached the press? If the necromancer felt more threatened, what would happen to Elijah?

I brandished my parasol at him like a rapier. “You, sir, are an abominable scalawag of a man, and I’ll be damned if I let you threaten me.”

He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Such language doesn’t suit a lady of your breeding. Course, neither does spending time with those low-life Spirit-Hunters. You know that Boyer fellow was a necromancer back in New Orleans? He even killed his best friend. That’s why he skipped town.”

I sneered. I already knew about Joseph and how he’d stopped the necromancer Marcus. “I don’t know why you dislike the Spirit-Hunters as much as you do,” I said haughtily, “but I won’t listen to your filthy lies.”

“Fine, fine. Maybe you can help me, though.” He tucked his notebook back in his pocket and slid out a newspaper clipping. He waved it in my face. “Recognize this boy?”

I glanced at the faded image before me, and fought to keep a straight face. The picture held a dirty, long-haired boy—perhaps twelve or thirteen-years-old—who had clearly been neglected. Yet the lines of his jaw and the sharpness in his eyes were unmistakable. It was Daniel Sheridan.