Something Strange and Deadly

by Susan Dennard

  “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 meetin’. 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 work-table. “Miss Fitt, if what you say is true, then I understand your worry.”

  My mouth fell open. “If what I say is true? What do you mean?”

  “People take advantage of us,” Daniel said. “More than a few have come here with false or overblown tales. But we’re not here to take on their family’s two hundred-year-old haunting—we’re here to stop a necromancer.”

  “But I don’t have a haunting! I have a missing brother and—”

  “And we don’t have time.” Daniel’s lips curled up, challenging me to argue.

  Joseph intervened. “Miss Fitt, what Daniel says is true. We are extremely busy. This necromancer first raised the Dead in New York, and the police called us in several weeks ago. Several opium addicts were found, well … let us just say they were in a rather gruesome state.”

  “There’s no need to censor yourself.” I sat up straighter. “I can handle the details. I grew up with stories of the Dead like everyone else.”

  Daniel choked out a laugh. “Go on then, Joseph. You heard the lady. Might as well tell her the men were decapitated sacrifices.”

  Joseph sighed. “Daniel, you have the manners and tact of a gorilla.”

  “Ha.” Daniel shot me a wide grin. I spun my gaze to my shoes. The ruffian.

  “Continue, please,” I mumbled.

  “Well, the manner of their deaths”—Joseph flourished a gloved hand toward his head—“suggested the men were killed as a sacrifice for power. The fact that the men were also found as reanimated corpses proved it was the work of a necromancer. But then as suddenly as the bodies had begun appearing, they stopped.

  “Or so we thought. We soon heard about a Philadelphia man found dead but walking, and judging by the similarity in … well, the similarity in sacrificial methods, we knew our necromancer had moved. Here.”

  Daniel picked up the story, “People can handle one or two walking Dead—just burn ’em or blast ’em to smithereens—but a whole cemetery’s worth? And a necromancer decapitating the living? Not too many chaps are comfortable dealing with that.

  “So we offered our services to the Exhibition board. Most folks with Joseph’s skills”—he cocked his head toward the Creole—“don’t leave New Orleans.”

  “No,” Joseph said, “they do not.” For a moment his face sagged, but then the expression passed and he gave me a curt nod. “Thus far the Dead have only harassed the Exhibition, and fortunately, these corpses have only been moderately dangerous. The rest of Philadelphia is untouched.”

  “But it won’t stay that way.” Daniel slumped against the table, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “No.” Joseph’s lips thinned. “And though the board has hired us, it is a constant battle to prove the investment is worthwhile. The members cannot see the danger of the situation, and there are politics involved. We have only been hired for show—to soothe visitors’ nerves.

  “Nonetheless, we have a job to do. We must first protect the Exhibition, and in our available time, we must train the Exhibition patrolmen to fight the Dead. Fire will not do in a place that ignites easily.” He waved his hands toward the Main Building, which could be seen through the window. “But most important of all, we must stop this necromancer.

  “And so, Miss Fitt, if the corpses and the spirit are not directly threatening you, then I see no reason we should strain ourselves further.”

  “No threat!” I jumped to my feet. “What of my brother? They have him!”

  Daniel scoffed. “There’s no proof of that.”

  “What about the spirit? It was evil.” My voice came out loud and filled all the space in the tiny lab. “I know it—it touched me!”

  “Miss Fitt.” Joseph stood stiff and straight, his jaw clenched. “There are many spirits free in Philadelphia. Hauntings happen all the time, and most are harmless. My job is here, where the most danger exists for the most people.”

  “Besides,” Daniel inserted, his lips pressed into a grim line, “if the Dead do have your brother, he’s probably dead himself.”

  My stomach flipped
. It punched the breath from my lungs. I toppled forward, grasping for the table. Both men jolted. Joseph, who was nearer, caught me and slid a supportive arm under my elbow. He eased me back onto my stool.

  “Just because a corpse delivered your brother’s letter,” he murmured gently, “does not mean the Dead have him.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. Daniel’s words repeated over and over in my head. Probably dead himself. Elijah. Dead. No—I couldn’t believe it. It was too soon to give up.

  Joseph must have understood my thoughts. “Ignore Daniel. Please, Mamzèi. Perhaps if you bring us your brother’s letter tomorrow, I will see what I—”

  A rapid clanging erupted outside the lab and cut him off. The telegraph leaped into action.

  It was the Dead alarm.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Daniel reacted instantly to the peal of the alarm. He dropped to the floor and towed a machine from beneath the table. It looked like a spinning wheel attached to a wooden platform, and it was as tall as my knees. Rather than wooden wheels for making thread, though, this machine had two glass wheels for making … I hadn’t the faintest idea. The glass wheels were connected by gears and a handle, and at both ends of the platform, metal spindles shot up over the glass.

  Joseph flung off his coat and gloves and then turned a hardened face to me. “Stay here.” He knelt at one end, and Daniel crouched at the other. They lifted the apparatus and rushed awkwardly from the room. The door slammed shut behind them.

  I scrambled up and clutched my parasol to me like a weapon. The clanging of the alarm masked all other sounds. I peered through the lab window to find people fleeing the building.

  I stepped to the door and pressed my ear to the wood, straining to detect something—anything— through the alarm. I felt the hum of machinery more than I heard it. No other sounds came through.

  How long would the Spirit-Hunters need? Should I help? And what was that machine they’d taken for?

  The air in the room shifted suddenly.

  The hairs on my neck shot straight up. In the next instant, the damp scent of soil hit my nose, and my heart hurled into my throat.

  It was last night all over again, and I forced myself to turn around. To face it. And then there it was: the clot of black oozing in front of the window and consuming all light.

  Before fear could paralyze me, I tore open the lab’s door and scrambled into Machinery Hall. For once my legs and skirts worked in concert, and I didn’t trip over hems or lace. I just ran. I knew that the spirit was following because of the icy sheen that formed over the machines as I raced past.

  I reached the east entrance and pummeled into the door, expecting release, but I was thrown back. The door shook but remained solidly shut. I was locked in!

  I twirled around and frantically scanned for an escape. The spirit had blocked my path.

  “Go away,” I shrieked, my throat snapping with the words and strength tingling through me. I swung my parasol at it—“Leave!”—and somehow that worked. I didn’t understand how or why, but now was not the time to question my luck.

  The spirit slithered away. I forced my feet to run back through the hall, and I had almost reached the center when the reek of decay alerted me to the corpses. I could sense the cold behind me, though, so I didn’t slow. It wasn’t until I reached the giant Corliss engine towering in the hall’s center that I actually saw the first body.

  It shambled south, leaving a rain of dirt behind it. Most of its skin was gone, and the tattered remains of bone and muscle barely clung together.

  I observed all this in a flash, but I did not pause. The piercing chill that followed gave me no choice but to move forward. Logic told me that following the Dead would lead to the Spirit-Hunters. I veered around the engine in pursuit of the skeleton but then skidded to a halt.

  Corpses were everywhere, stumbling like drunks in a thick mass toward … I blinked in surprise. They were heading for the Hydraulic Annex, an extension of Machinery Hall that housed a giant, fountained pool. Even from here I could see the hazy mist that meant the fountain’s pumps and waterfalls still ran. But why would the Spirit-Hunters go there?

  The closest corpse, a skeleton of gleaming bone and shredded flesh, tottered to a stop. Its exposed skull rotated toward me, and though its sockets were empty, I knew it sensed me. Four more Dead, each in varying stages of decomposition, slowed and turned to face me. My chest convulsed at movement crawling on a fresher one’s skin. It even wore a dress like my own.

  I lifted my parasol defensively before me. The corpse of the woman staggered closer. It was recently dead and more coordinated. When it was only three feet away, it lunged, both hands outstretched.

  I swung with all the power I could muster, and the parasol connected with the corpse’s arms. It sent a shock up my limbs but hardly affected the Dead. I stumbled back, the urge to scream rising in my chest, and I swung again.

  This time its elbow cracked inward and drove into the other outstretched arm. The corpse was momentarily slowed, but did not stop its attack. And now the other corpses were near and approaching from different angles. With the Corliss engine at my back, I knew I was trapped.

  A small figure snaked through my vision. Bones crunched and flesh slapped as the Dead crumpled around me. The corpses continued to grab and claw, but they couldn’t reach me. Their legs were shattered, and they could gain no ground.

  An Asian boy stood before me, his fists at the ready and stance low. He was Chinese, judging by his long, black braid and half-shaved head. Yet he wore clothes like an American boy: brown knickerbockers and a waistcoat.

  He jerked a thumb toward the Hydraulic Annex, and though his lips moved, his words were lost in the clanging of the alarm.

  When I did not stir, he wrenched me along with him. In five long strides, we reached the end of the Dead parade.

  The boy ran to the closest body, kicked the side of its knee, and pushed it over in a fluid, flat-palmed movement. He was a blur of feet and hands, repeating the same maneuver with each corpse. The key, I saw, was in destroying their legs, so I rushed forward and hurled my parasol at a corpse’s knee. The joint splintered and rolled inward; and before the Dead could grasp at me, I shoved it with my parasol. Down it went.

  Then the alarm stopped. Only the vibrations hanging in the air gave any indication that it had sounded. My ears adjusted in moments, only to be filled with the scrape of bone on bone and the rip of straining flesh. Beyond that was the crash of waterfalls.

  It was at that moment that I noticed the oppressive weight of summer heat. No more icy air or steaming breath. The spirit had left.

  “Jie!” a male voice bellowed. “Hurry!”

  It was Daniel, but there were still many Dead blocking our path to him. So we worked faster, a frenzy of attacks. We targeted the corpses directly in our way. My muscles protested and my elbows popped under each impact. Our progress through the rancid Dead was a surreal blur of flesh and bone.

  Then the first misty droplets brushed at my face. We had reached the pool of the Hydraulic Annex.

  I stared, momentarily surprised by the view before me. The pool was as wide as my house and twice as long, with a wooden guardrail surrounding it. At its back, a giant waterfall crashed. Along the sides, smaller pumps and cascades rocketed water in an amazing display of hydraulic art.

  But what stunned me was that in the middle of it all stood Joseph. His arms were outstretched, his eyes were squeezed shut, and the water reached his waist.

  A hand grasped at my skirts. I spun around, and in the same movement, my parasol connected with something. It made a jellylike thud. I had toppled the body of a child dressed in a blue gown, and it was now clawing at me from the floor.

  The burn of bile rose in my throat, and I staggered back until I hit the fence surrounding the pool.

  The Dead shuffled forward. They were impeded by rows of benches that surrounded the pool, but there was something else—something more. These corpses moved as if they slogged through
waist-deep mud. The corpses I’d first encountered hadn’t been nearly so slow.

  “Joseph needs the machine,” Daniel rushed to tell the Chinese boy. “You have to hold ’em off while I get it running.” He spared a quick glance for me before dashing to a bench on which sat the glass machine.

  “Time to fight,” the Chinese boy said to me. Then he moved to intercept the nearest Dead.

  I stood, momentarily lost. What was about to happen? We couldn’t smash kneecaps indefinitely—there were just too many.

  A sharp pop sounded beside me as blue flashed in the corner of my eye. It was the machine, its wheels spinning and electricity sparkling.

  “Joseph!” Daniel roared. “The machine is ready.”

  So there was a solution, and that machine was somehow it. The realization spurred me to move.

  I swiveled back toward the pool. Joseph moved to the edge, swaying dangerously with each step. His hand reached out as if grabbing for help. I rushed to the guardrail, my hand extended; and with much heaving, I dragged his sopping figure from the pool. The instant his feet left the water, the stampeding sounds of the Dead grew louder.

  The corpses were no longer slow. In fact, they shambled forward at a brisk walk—too quickly for the Chinese boy to stop. I raced to help as Joseph ran to the popping machine.

  But there were too many. Fingers and teeth and waxy flesh were everywhere. I swung and shoved and swung and shoved.

  Daniel’s voice howled over the fray, “Now!”

  The Chinese boy whirled around, seized me, and lugged me behind a bench. Just before I dropped, I saw Joseph shove his hand directly into the machine’s electricity.

  A bright, blue light exploded overhead, and a thunderous boom cracked through the annex. Then came the thud and slap of corpses as they hit the ground.

  I craned my neck and peered over the bench. The walking Dead had collapsed where they stood.

  It took several moments for me to comprehend that it was over and I was safe. I eased painfully onto the bench. My muscles screamed their exhaustion and had already begun to stiffen from overuse.