Susan Dennard - A Dawn Most Wicked

I perched on the edge of Eleanor’s hospital bed. My fingers twisted and twined in my flat cap as I ransacked my brain for something clever to say—anything to break this silence. Anything to make this good-bye easier.

But after everything we’d been through, I couldn’t find a damned thing to say.

Stray beams of moonlight flickered on Eleanor’s face. She looked beautiful, even with all those scratches and bruises. Even with the pain that lay just beneath the surface of her glassy-eyed gaze.

I knew about pain. I knew about loss too, and the black hunger that could live in a man’s gut forever. . . . She’d lost her brother, her hand, and her entire life in only a few days.

And now I sat here, about to take myself away as well. But the Spirit-Hunters and me? We couldn’t stay—though dammit if I wished otherwise. If the three of us hadn’t been wanted for murder—if the people of Philadelphia weren’t crying for our blood—I would’ve stayed.

I picked at a threadbare patch on my cap. The initials sewn on the inside—SQ—were barely visible anymore, the navy and red thread having long ago dulled to gray.

SQ. Sadie Queen . A steamer and a job from a lifetime ago.

And another girl made of grit and sunshine.

Another girl I’d loved.

Cassidy. The name whispered through my brain, and my jaw clenched. I hadn’t been good enough for Cass, and I sure as hell wasn’t good enough for Eleanor.

My fingers dug into my knees as Eleanor stared at me expectantly. Finally I stood. “I should go now.”

But Eleanor reached forward and grabbed my sleeve. “Wait.”

I stopped and forced my eyes to meet hers. I wouldn’t look away—not when her fingers squeezed my sleeve with such desperation. Not when I might never see her again.

Never was a long time.

“Daniel,” she said, her voice rough, “you don’t . . . or, that is to say, you’re not . . .” She licked her lips. “You’re not in love with me, are you?”

It was exactly what I’d hoped she wouldn’t say. I twisted my face away. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s a yes or no,” she replied with surprising strength. Like she believed what she was saying.

I clutched my cap in a death grip until the SQ vanished into the folds of wool. I used to believe the same: that love was simply a matter of feelings. But it wasn’t. It was circumstance and timing. Money and support. I knew that now—so I forced myself to say what needed saying.

“Then . . . then no. No, I’m not.” I slapped my flat cap on my head and, rising, gave Eleanor a final stare. Her face showed hurt, but also a resigned acceptance. For some reason that made this whole thing worse.

I guessed . . . I guessed, deep down, I’d hoped she would fight me. Hoped she wouldn’t let me go.

I swallowed. “Please, Empress. Take care of yourself. I won’t be here to rescue you.”

“Of course. I’ll be careful.” She smiled sadly. “Best of luck to you, Mr. Sheridan.”

Mr. Sheridan. It cut like a knife. No more Daniel. No more feelings. No more nothing.

My mouth bobbed open, and I inhaled to ask her . . . what? What could I possibly say? Me and the Spirit-Hunters were leaving. I would never see Eleanor Fitt again. It was just like Cassidy. I was the one who had to be smart. I was the one who had to say good-bye.

So I forced myself to shake my head. To press my lips together and doff my hat. “Take care, Empress.” Then I sucked in air until my chest was too full to feel anything else, and I strode from the room.

I didn’t look back.

But walking down the empty hospital hall, with trapped air burning in my chest, I couldn’t help but second-guess myself. I couldn’t help but grit my teeth in time to my clicking heels.

And I couldn’t help but think back to the first girl who’d taught me to love.

To Cassidy Cochran of the Sadie Queen .

This was not how best friends hugged.

Maybe best friends of the same gender could get away with this, but Cassidy and I were definitely not the same gender.

In fact, should anyone walk into the Sadie Queen ’s engine room right now and see us, they would not notice how brightly I’d gotten the brass machinery to gleam. Nor would they notice how doggone tired I was after four hours of engine scrubbing. They also wouldn’t notice that my greasy shirt was halfway unbuttoned.

No. They’d only see the captain’s daughter bouncing excitedly on her toes with her arms flung around my neck. And trust me when I say that my body was noticing it too—and it was letting me know exactly how different our genders were.

Best friends , I told myself as I gazed into her smiling face. Her freckles blended into her rosy flush and her dark eyes shone. You’re the striker, the apprentice engineer, and she’s the apprentice pilot. Best friends—nothin’ more. But no matter how many times I shouted at myself, it was damned near impossible not to pull her just a little closer. Not to dig my fingers ever so slightly into the supple shape of her waist.

But then movement flashed at the corner of my vision—at the entrance to the engine room. I lurched back, panic flashing over me . . . but when my eyes latched on the door, I found it empty.

You’re being paranoid , I chided. Ain’t no one there. Fortunately Cass didn’t seem to notice the speed with which I’d detached myself from her. So I tried to salvage the moment as best I could with a rakish grin.

“Why, Miss Cassidy,” I said, “we’ve only been docked a few hours, but you look like you ran clear across Natchez and back.”

“Because I did run.” She spoke in a breathless way that made my blood stir. “I was at the Natchez telegraph office waiting for the news, and it came, Danny!” She dug around in her gray uniform’s pocket—a match for mine but with skirts instead of trousers and looking fresh instead of grimy. Then she whipped out a newspaper and shoved it at me. “It’s today’s Picayune .”

I took the New Orleans newspaper warily from Cass’s hand. Sure enough, a glance at the top showed, “June 16, 1873.” I scanned the headlining article as fast as my meager reading skills could get me.

Haunted Steamer to Race

New Orleans is alight with news that Eric Dunlap, captain of the luxury steamer Abby Adams out of New Orleans, has accepted a race challenge from his longtime rival, Captain Robert Cochran of the Sadie Queen . Once the most popular steamboat for Mississippi cruises, the famous Sadie Queen recently lost all business due to a series of hauntings that began in April of this year.

“Apparitions or no, we are the fastest ship on the Mississippi,” claimed Captain Cochran to this Picayune reporter three weeks ago. “We will prove it once and for all, if Dunlap is man enough to accept my challenge: A race from New Orleans to Natchez.”

Racing steamboats, a long tradition on the Mississippi, can bring captains and their ships great fame or great failure. Early yesterday, Captain Dunlap accepted Cochran’s challenge, declaring that “the Sadie Queen is about to taste the bitter tang of loss.” Such a highly publicized rivalry and race have not been seen since the Great Steamboat Race of 1870, in which the Robert E. Lee raced the Natchez from New Orleans to St. Louis. Already bets are being placed on who will win this latest competition.