A Dawn Most Wicked (6 page)

I could be the one giving orders. Me, Daniel Sheridan, could be a Second Engineer in one week. I should be overjoyed at the prospect. Being a licensed engineer was a lot to offer a sixteen-year-old. It was certainly more than I had ever hoped for, and it was a million miles away from the prison cell I'd left behind. . . .

So why did it feel like the biscuit was burning a hole through my stomach?

“What about Schultz?” I asked at last, glancing up at Kent. “He's the Second Engineer now.”

“Ah, yes.” Lang's hands dropped to the armrests. “I can see why you might assume I meant you'd be Second Engineer on the
Sadie Queen
, but no. You will not be replacing anyone here. In fact, once the race is over, there will be no
Queen
upon which to engineer.”

“Pardon?” I sat up taller. “I thought if the
Queen
won, then she'd get to stay on the water.”

“No.” His lips pursed and he shook his head sharply. “That was never the plan.”

“But then why have the race at all?” I leaned toward him, speaking faster and faster. “Cass—I mean, Miss Cochran seems to think that if we can win the race, the
Queen
will stay on the Mississippi.”

“Hmmm.” His forehead knit, and he looked genuinely concerned by this information. “I am not sure why she thinks this since I never said—”

“Cochran thinks the same.”

Lang winced. “That is a problem.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The whole purpose of this race was to publicize the Lang Company—not bring business back to the
Sadie Queen
. When we reach Natchez, we intend to use the momentum and energy from the race to announce that I am the new company president. Additionally we intend to announce the removal of the
Sadie Queen
from the river.”

“You're dismantling her?” My voice came out high-pitched. Incredulous. “Why wouldn't you tell the captain that?”

“Because we aren't dismantling her,” Lang rushed to say. “We are merely moving her to a lake outside New Orleans. We hope to turn her into a tourist attraction, you see?” At my blank expression he traced his hand through the air like a newspaper headline. “‘Come see the
Sadie Queen
! Ghosts to chill and thrill even the strongest man!'”

At those words anger brewed in my chest, hot and explosive. “That's just as bad as dismantlin' her.”

“But we expect it to draw quite a crowd.” Lang spoke as if trying to convince himself more than me.

“What about the crew?” I growled. “What'll happen to us?”

“Most of you will have jobs on other Lang Company steamers. You”—he nodded at me—“will be welcome as Second Engineer on any of our luxury boats.”

“And Miss Cochran?” I pointed straight up, toward the pilothouse. “What about her?”

“I have . . . plans for her as well.”

“And Captain Cochran?”

“Yes, well . . .” Lang swallowed. “He is too difficult to work with, and his temper has made too many enemies for the Lang Company. After that incident with the Chief Engineer and the furnace, I fear Captain Cochran does not have a future with us.”

“No future with you?” I couldn't believe they were going to keep me—promote me, even—and then fire Cochran. For half a breath triumph warmed my chest . . . a sense of justice and revenge.

But then the full impact hit me. If Cochran lost his job, things for his family would only get worse. Ellis, Cass—they would be affected too, and no matter how much I hated the captain, I didn't want his family to suffer. I didn't want Cassidy to suffer.

“Do you even know if Cochran actually burned Murry?” I demanded.

“Yes.” Lang's eyes thinned. “Five years ago he shoved the Chief Engineer's face in the boiler furnace because he thought—as our official company report states—that Murry had ‘looked inappropriately at Mrs. Cochran.' That, Mr. Sheridan, was more than enough grounds upon which to release Cochran from the Lang Company's service. However, we foolishly agreed to keep him, pending no further incidents. Yet there have been incidents. Many, in fact.” Lang stared meaningfully at my face, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly how I'd come by my aging black eye.

But still, I couldn't let the whole Cochran family suffer because the head of the family was a monster. “What if,” I said slowly, “the ghosts disappear?”

Lang's eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“If the ghosts disappear,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “If the hauntings were gone, then what would you do with the
Sadie Queen
?”

“Ah, well.” He straightened in his seat, his gaze turning distant. “I suppose, in that case, we would keep her on the river. She was our most lucrative steamer until two months ago. Plus, the appeal of traveling on a formerly haunted steamer would bring in heaps of new business.” His lips twitched up, and I could practically see the dollar signs floating behind his eyeballs. But then he shrugged and his gaze swung back to me. “Of course, that is not likely to happen. It is not as if one can dispose of a haunting.”

“Right,” I mumbled, biting into my biscuit. “I guess one can't.” But even as I spoke, I was formulating a plan. Joseph Boyer had some spirit-hunting to do—and he needed to do it fast.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

I stayed with Lang a few minutes more, swallowing
back as much ham and coffee as I could before excusing myself for some shut-eye. “Consider my offer,” he called after me. “One week, and you could be a Second Engineer.”

I was two steps from my cabin when Cassidy materialized around the corner. She rushed toward me, pausing two paces away. “What happened?” she whispered. “Father was practically frothing when he came into the pilothouse.”

“Lang offered me a job.”

Her eyes bulged. “What?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but her hand shot up. “Wait. We need privacy.” She threw a glance behind her, then grabbing hold of my wrist, she towed me to her cabin. It was hard for my heart not to pound when she pushed me inside and then locked the door softly behind her.

This would get me killed if Cochran found out.

But I was far more interested in how close Cassidy was standing. In how she pushed me over to her bed and then ordered me to sit.

“Mr. Lang offered you a job?” She plopped down beside me, her voice low. “Doing what?”

As I relayed the story, her eyes grew wider and her lips pressed tighter. But when I reached the part about the
Sadie Queen
's new future, my voice trailed off. Did she need to know the race was all for nothing? If this Joseph fellow could banish the ghosts, then there was still a chance for the old steamer.

And after that I could take Lang's offer, get my license, and maybe find work on a different steamer. I'd be away from Cass, but that didn't mean we couldn't see each other. Hell, for all I knew Lang's plans for Cassidy were a license of her own on a steamship with me. We were the fastest team on the Mississippi, after all.

“What are you going to do?” She searched my face. “If you accept, then maybe you could stay here. Replace Schultz as—”

“That ain't happening, Cass.” I groaned, and set my elbows on my knees.

“Why won't it happen?” she asked softly.

I cleared my throat, not liking that I had to lie . . . but feeling pretty certain it was the right thing to do. “I, uh, sullied you, remember? If Cochran ever does agree to keep me, it won't be 'cos of a license. If anything, the fact that Lang took a shine to me has only made your father hate me more.”

She exhaled loudly. Then she draped my arm over her shoulders and curled up against my chest. It was . . . nice. And it was everything I'd ever wanted from Cassidy.

Clack-clack-clack, thwump!
I watched her long calloused fingers extend the spyglass . . . then shut . . . then extend it again. Those callouses hadn't been there a year ago, when she'd first started her apprenticeship. Now her hands told a story—a tale of dodging mudflats and braving hurricanes.

Clack-clack-clack, thwump! Clack-clack-clack—

The temperature plummeted. My breath suddenly laced out with steam.

“Blood.”

Cass and I jerked right—and then scrabbled off the bed.

An old man, his head snapped off and dangling by a single tendon, hovered on the bed. His form flickered and faded like fog. And when he spoke, it was in the voice of a little girl. “My neck—my throat—it hurts. It hurts!”

Cassidy clapped her hands over her ears.

“It hurts! Make it stop—make it stop!” The voice wailed through the room.

“It isn't my fault,” Cassidy growled, her eyes screwing shut. “It isn't. It isn't.”

“Hey.” I laid my hands over hers.

Her eyes cracked open. “It isn't my fault.”

“And that ain't your sister.” I tried to pry her hands down, but she resisted. Then suddenly she wrenched away from me and screeched at the ghost. “Go away! Go away! We wouldn't be in this fix if it weren't for you!” She swung her spyglass out. “Go away!”

But the ghost didn't move. Didn't stop crying in Ellis's voice.

“Shhh.” I reached for Cassidy. “Someone'll hear. And it ain't the ghosts' fault that Ellis is sick.”

“But it is their fault.” She slid away from me.
Clack-clack-clack.
“If not for the ghosts, my family wouldn't be out of money. If not for them”—
thwump!
—“then we could still afford Ellis's treatment. Then it wouldn't matter who I loved. Father wouldn't care, and . . . and . . .” She stopped speaking and clamped her lips together. Then she stalked back toward me, her voice low. “It is their fault, Danny.”

“Cass,” I said hesitantly, “what do you mean about Ellis's treatment? You can't afford it anymore?”

She gulped and shook her head once.

“Have you stopped treatment already? Has Ellis left the hospital?”

A slow, ragged nod.

“Shit,” I breathed. “When? And why didn't you tell me?”

“Because it wouldn't have made a difference.” Her voice was a bare rasp—more steam than actual words. “Ellis is going to die. I can't stop that . . . and I'm tired of people's pity. It isn't me they should want to help—it's her.”

I stepped away from Cass, gripping the sides of my face. This was so much worse than I'd ever thought. No wonder Cass was putting so much pressure on the race.

But of course, it didn't matter if we won the race or not—nothing was going to keep the
Sadie Queen
on the river. Nothing was going to put money in the Cochran family's pockets . . .

Except stopping the ghosts.

“Shit,” I hissed again. “I wish you had told me.”
Then maybe I would have found Joseph on my own—found him before Ellis had to leave the hospital. . . .

I stopped pacing and turned toward Cass. She stood frozen in the middle of the room, her eyes locked on the floor, the spyglass hanging limply in one hand . . . and the ghost still moaning, “You did this to me. You want me to die.”

“Cass,” I said.

Slowly she turned her head, but her gaze was vacant. In two long steps I reached her—and I wrapped my arms around her, tight. “We'll figure this out, all right? I promise. Me and you. You and me. A team. You got that?”

She nodded into my shoulder. “Me and you. A team.”

 

After giving Cass a final embrace, I left her to sleep before her next watch. Then I hurried to my own cabin—but I entered to the sound of a rattling, desperate cough.

Squinting in the moonlit dark, I saw Joseph sprawled out on my bunk. The man clutched at his throat.

“Mr. Boyer?” I hurled myself at him. “Wake up, Mr. Boyer. Wake up!” My voice rose in volume, and just as I reached down to shake his shoulder, the Creole's eyes popped open.

He gaped up at me, heaving in air. Then his eyes flickered with recognition. “Mr. . . . Sheridan.” He rose onto his elbows.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Joseph sat up all the way. “I am now.”

“Nightmares?” I asked.

He nodded. “They are . . . vivid.” Then he sheepishly scrubbed at his head. “I fear I fell asleep some time before midnight. How many hours did I miss?”

“It ain't past one yet.” I stared at him, my jaw working. “Listen, I need you to stop the ghosts. Tonight.”

He blinked quickly. Then he pushed onto his feet. “Earlier, you did not care if I hunted the spirits. You were more interested in a new job. What has changed?”

“Everything,” I muttered. “Everything's changed, Mr. Boyer.” I cocked my chin at him. “And we don't have a moment to waste. There's a lot of ghosts where I'm taking you, and I need them all gone by morning.”

His only response was to wave at the door and murmur, “Then by all means, lead the way.”