Something Strange and Deadly (22 page)

I tiptoed to the case until I was only feet away, and I paused. My vision through the goggles was now fully clear except around the jars of preserved fish behind the case's glass. There was definitely spiritual energy here.

A tap came from inside. My heart shot into my throat.

Another tap. Then more and more, getting faster and faster. I stared, paralyzed.

A loud crack splintered down the center of glass. The case shattered outward. Fluid sprayed and fish flew. I was doused in ancient preserving alcohol. Its sweet, noxious scent covered me. Bodies flapped against me, and fins sliced into my dress. At least the goggles protected my eyes.

I staggered back and then I bolted. Fish flopped on the floor around me. How was this possible? These things had been dead for years. The necromancer must be somewhere nearby.

I sped into the main transept, but I immediately stopped.

It wasn't only the fish waking up—it was
all
the animals. Everything was awakening and lurching out of the displays. Directly before me, two oxen creaked into action. They were just as tall as I was, and with horns the length of my arm.

I sidled right and then threw myself onward. I heard stiff, heaving footsteps behind me, but I dared not look back. I needed a weapon—some protection. Why had I left the bat in the door handles?

The vision in my goggles had returned to its dirty blur. I ripped them off as I sprinted to the end of the building. I reached the aisle I needed, steered left, and scrambled to the exhibit. It was George Washington's camp from the Revolution.

I shoved aside pots, lanterns, and clothes until I reached Washington's leather camp trunk. I swung it open. It was filled with multiple compartments and packed with his belongings.

The commotion from the animals thundered through the hall. I was running out of time.

I grabbed the tin plates, forks, lamps, and medicine bottles and threw them aside, coming at last to a small black velvet bag. A peek inside revealed folded yellow pages, and without another thought, I pushed the bag into my pocket.

The floor shuddered now. The beasts were approaching fast. I searched for some sort of defense, and my eyes lit on a long, thin blade. Washington's sword. It was meant for thrusting, not hacking, but it was my only hope. I dove for it, and just in time. When I whirled around I was faced with a terrible wall of white. The polar bear.

Behind it came the oxen, the elk, and the slithering heap of a walrus, but it was the bear that consumed my attention.

I retreated, lifting the sword, but my feet tangled in an overturned chair. I toppled to the floor and scuttled backward, unable to stand but desperate to move away from the approaching bear. Its head was so close now that I could make out individual teeth gleaming in the sunlight. It swung a paw and hit the chair I'd fallen over, smashing it in two and sending wood splinters flying.

I crawled as fast as I could, my sword no weapon against such a beast. Faster, I had to crawl faster.

My back hit something. It was an American flag draped against a wall. I was trapped.

Panic filled my mind. No more thought, only action. I hoisted the sword, prepared to stab and claw with all the strength inside me, but then a new fear impaled my chest.

Frost climbed down the length of the sword, and frigid air blasted into me. All I could smell was grave dirt.

“No,” I whimpered. “No.” I swung the sword at the polar bear. The blade was dull. It stuck in the bear's jaws.

The white beast rose, jerking to its hind legs. I flew up with it, clinging to the sword's hilt. I used the momentum to jump to my feet. Before the bear could crush me, I darted around it—straight into the oxen's wicked horns.

“No!” I shrieked. I searched for an escape. Then I realized the oxen weren't moving. None of the animals were moving. I glanced back to the polar bear. It was stiff and upright. Yet something shimmered above it.

The spirit winked into existence. It hovered over the bear, a warped human shape, and pulled out the sword. Then winked back out.

“No, no, no,” I whispered.

The air had turned to ice. It was so cold it cut into my skin and instantly numbed my fingers.

I tugged the goggles out and pressed them to my eyes. They were frosted over, but I could see. The particles in the lenses writhed and clumped into a sinuous, long-limbed shadow that floated overhead.

It held one arm high, and I craned my neck to see what it clasped in its dark fist.

Washington's sword.

At any moment it would flash from the spirit realm into mine and strike me down. The dull blade would smash through my skull. I stopped breathing. My heart stopped pounding. My mind went blank. The whole world waited.

“
Siste
!” A male voice echoed through the building. “
Siste
!
Siste
!”

The sword dropped.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

T
he sword fell toward me.

I leaped forward between the oxen as the sword clattered to the floor. I glanced back. The spirit was gone. The particles in the lenses swirled apart like silt in a pond.

I fell to my knees, shaking and overcome with relief.
I'm alive. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I tugged off the goggles and patted my pocket. The grimoire was still there. But who... who had called off the spirit? I'd heard an oddly familiar voice.

The beat of running footsteps hit my ears. I slid beneath the nearest ox. It sent dust flying from its fur. Between the legs I peered and waited. The footsteps galloped louder. The speaker wasn't Joseph or Daniel. What if it was the necromancer? Who else could control a spirit? Was I safer now or were things even more deadly?

The steps slowed, and I stretched my neck to see who came. An imposing figure stepped into the aisle. The sun illuminated him from behind, so I could make out no features. All I saw were broad shoulders and hulking height. He faced me silently for several moments. He could see me. He was
inspecting
me.

And then he let out an exuberant whoop. “Eleanor! Eleanor!”

My heart fell like a brick into my stomach. I knew that voice. I
knew
that voice! I scrambled out from beneath the ox. The man barreled toward me, his auburn hair glowing. A sob of relief flew from my mouth. I stumbled toward this giant of a man I barely recognized but instantly knew.

“Elijah! Oh, Elijah!” I flung myself into his arms. “It's you! You're alive—oh God, Elijah!”

I forgot everything around me. He was here after all this time, and he was alive! I buried my face in his chest, and hot tears poured down my face.

“You're so big,” I laughed through my sobs. “And so dirty! Mama would die if she saw you.”

“She would, wouldn't she?” He laughed and clutched me tighter.

“I missed you so much,” I said, still weeping. “So much, Elijah. I was so worried.”

He pressed his lips to my hair. “I missed you too.” He squeezed me once more. “Come. We must go.”

“Why?” I tugged away from him. I patted my pocket—the pages were still there. “It's dangerous out there.”

“It's not safe here either.”

I gazed up at his face. Something was off. Elijah had become a man since he'd left, square-jawed and whiskered. His voice was so much deeper than three years before, his frame so much larger, and...

“Your spectacles,” I said. “Where are they?”

“I don't need them anymore.”

“Why not? How is that possible?”

“Now's not the time for talk.” He grabbed at my arm, but I skipped out of reach. “Listen, El, I can't hold that spirit off for long. Any moment now it will return, and its army of animals too.”

A warning whispered in my head. “H-how did you fight the spirit? You stopped it. Why are you here?”

“I'm here because I was following that spirit.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Lucky for you, isn't it? Now come on.”

“Why were you following it?” I slid my hand into my pocket and stroked the velvet bag.

“I thought it would lead me to something I want.” He narrowed his eyes and watched me for several long seconds. “Something I
need
, actually
.
”

My stomach hitched. “Wh-what is it you need?”

“I think,” he said, emphasizing each word, “that you know the answer. And judging by your movements, I think what I seek is in your pocket.”

“I don't understand.” I shook my head violently. “Y-you mean the necromancer needs it, not you.”

“No.” His brow furrowed. “It's for me.
I
want the book.”

“But you're with me now—y-you don't have to go back to him.” I rushed to Elijah and clasped his hands. “You're with me now, and I'll get you out of here.”

He wrenched free. “I'm not sure what you mean. I'm quite fine as is.” He waved a hand up and down his body. “You don't need to care for me anymore, El. I'm not that weak, pathetic thing from before.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I just want—”

“Enough.” He gripped my arm and yanked me toward the exit. “This spirit is powerful, and I'm losing control.”

My mind rioted and my body resisted, but he was stronger. He was unnaturally strong, and he hauled me easily to the exit. Past the American flags and the prism-filled lighthouse. We left all the displaced animals behind. At the door, Elijah paused and gave me a warning look.

“There are a lot of Dead out there.” He tipped his head toward the door. “No hysterics.”

“I'm not afraid of the Dead.” I clenched my teeth. “I don't need taking care of either.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. Now come—please.” He pushed through the doors.

The sunlight blasted me, and the stench rolled over me. I gagged and whipped my sleeve to my mouth. I tried to see through the spots in my eyes.

The Dead, organized in regimented rows, were spread before me. Tall, short, decayed, fresh. The only movement was the buzzing blanket of flies.

I reeled back and smothered my cries in my sleeve. I could see no escape. “Elijah—what do we do?”

He merely chuckled and lifted a shoulder. “Well, El, we're going to stand here a moment, and you're going to tell me where the grimoire is.”

“I-I don't know what you mean. What's a grimoire?”

“You've already lost the game.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You blabbed about it before.”

“But I don't have it.”

His eyebrows bounced up. “Then why did the spirit want to kill you, I wonder.” He hauled me to him. “Enough excuses now. You know what I want, and I know you have it.”

“Why do you want it?” I shrank within myself, but he heaved me even closer.

A smile twisted at his lips. “Isn't it obvious?”

I waved vaguely toward the corpses. “The necromancer?”

He chuckled. “Yes, the necromancer.” His nails, dirty and crusted, bit through my sleeve and into the bruises Clarence had left. “Now give it to me.”

I knew with sick certainty what the answer would be, but I had to ask anyway.

“Who is—” My voice broke. I tried again. “Who is the necromancer?”

“The only man clever enough and strong enough to perform such a task.” He grinned triumphantly. “Me.”

“No. You didn't do this.” My voice was rough.

“What do you mean?” He flung down my arm. “Of course I did.”

“My brother would never do something so sick.”

“Sick? Sick?” He recoiled. “But this is revolutionary, Eleanor! I will make history with this army.” He slammed his fist to his chest. It made a hollow thump as if nothing were inside. “I have made myself strong by commanding this army of the dead. I will show the world my power with this army. I will have my revenge. And”—his voice dropped to a confiding whisper—“I will bring Father back with this.”

My eyes bulged and my mouth went slack. Bring Father back? Was he serious? Father had been dead for six years.

Elijah smiled, a single eyebrow arched high on his forehead. “Mama will be pleased, no doubt. I will bring him back and show him the man I have become.” He opened his arms. “And together we will topple the Gas Ring and take the council seat that is rightfully ours.”

“H-how will you bring Father back?”

“With the pages in your pocket—the grimoire.” He extended his hand. “Now give them to me.”

“No.”

“This is not a request, El. This is a command. Give them to me
now
.”

I swung my head side to side.
Stall for time, Eleanor. Stall for time.
The Spirit-Hunters would appear at any moment. Their pulse bombs would explode the corpses, and Elijah would realize the futility—the evil—of his course.

“How have you become so big?” I sputtered. “And where are your spectacles?”

He growled a laugh. “Oh, you will like the answer to that, El. It solved a problem for me, and it solved a problem for you.” He fluttered his fingers as if playing some invisible piano. “And, best of all, that evil man finally got what he deserved.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned to his army and shouted, “
Venī
! Come!” At first nothing happened. Then a tornado of flies began to move over the rows of Dead. Something was coming.

“Elijah, what have you done?”

“You'll see.”

“Tell me!” I tore at his dirt-covered sleeve.

“I dealt with that pest,” he spat. “Exactly as I did with the other boys from school.” He shoved me from him. “The ones who tortured me. The ones whose fathers killed our father.” He ticked the names off on his fingers. “Fred, Clint, James, and Junior. Though Junior was the hardest one to nab.” He turned an accusing eye on me.

My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. Elijah hadn't only targeted Gas Ring members, he had targeted his bullies. His campaign wasn't only for Father—it was for his own revenge.

“Junior?” I asked. “What do you mean ‘hard to nab'?”

“He was always with you, and I couldn't take him then.” He snorted at the thought. “No, no. But then he foolishly left behind his little bodyguards.”

“You,” I croaked. “It was you who followed him from the garden.”

“Yes,” he said simply “And now I am stronger than ever before.”

“How?”

“A sacrificed life can work many wonders with the right spells.” He gestured to his body. “Cure illness, ward off death, and of course, increase magical power.”

A sacrificed life. Decapitation. “What have you
done
? Tell me!”

“I can show you.” He pointed to the corpse army.

I spun my head where he directed. The Dead were parting amid furious flies. A body shambled through them. Where the head should have been there was a raw, crusted stump with part of the spine jutting out. And in the corpse's hand, gripped tightly by the dark hair I had once admired, was Clarence's head. It swung back and forth with each jolting step forward. The once fresh, white skin was now waxy and gray.

My stomach heaved upward into my throat. I toppled to the ground and vomited. I could take the corpses, the nameless faces, but this one... this one I had cared for.

This one had been my
friend
.

Sweat and tears mixed on my face. I couldn't stop my stomach's revolt.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Elijah was a necromancer, and Clarence was dead. A walking corpse.

Seeing Clarence like this, knowing he was—despite everything—not a bad man, I realized just how much I had cared for him.

Now... now it was too late.

“Eleanor,” Elijah said, his tone gentle. He had crouched beside me, and even in my sickness I could feel his genuine concern. Some of my brother still lived inside this man.

“What is it?” he asked. “So many Dead and yet this one disturbs you?”

“He was
not
a bad man,” I rasped, my throat scorched raw from the bile. “He meant to make amends to you! He didn't deserve that, Elijah! No one deserves that.” I wiped at my mouth and hid my face in my hands.
Please let this end. Please, God, tell me it's not real.

But it was real, and my brother, my Elijah was the cause of it all. He was the necromancer, and he had killed Clarence. I risked a glance over; the headless body of Clarence was still there.

I pushed Elijah away from me and tried to stand. “You're a monster.”

He blinked and shook his head. “But I saved you.”

“How? From what?” I wobbled, almost falling again. Elijah lurched up to help, but I fought him off. “Don't touch me!”

His mouth bobbed open and closed, and his eyes darted side to side. “But Junior... he and those boys—
they
were the monsters.”

“How?”

“They weren't good people.” He tugged at his hair. “Their fathers destroyed our—”

“So?” I shrieked. “So? Does that make it all right?” I lunged at him. My fists connected with his chest. “You're insane! How could you?
How
could you?
”

He wrestled me, and I was no match for his immense power. His false, evil power. He threw me aside easily.

Then an explosion boomed through the air.

Elijah whipped his head toward the sound, toward Agricultural Hall. “Not today,” he snarled, whirling back to me. “I've not come this far to be stopped by them. By you.”

“I'm your sister,” I quavered. “Your best friend.”

“And so I won't hurt you.” He pointed toward Agricultural Hall. “But don't think I'll be so generous with those people. I don't care about them, and I can always use more strength. There's no limit to the power I can take from the blood of the living.”

I believed him. “If I give the pages to you, then you have to promise you'll leave.”

“Yes.” His tone was dismissive, his attention focused on the approaching blasts.

I grasped at his sleeve. “All the Dead. Take them with you. Promise.”

“Yes, yes.” He shoved his open hand out impatiently. “Give it here.”

I reached into my pocket and slipped out the velvet bag. Was this right? Was this what I was supposed to do? I scrunched my eyes shut and tossed it to him. I heard a slap as he caught it midair. Then came a jubilant cheer.

I opened my eyes.

“
Vāde
! Go!” he roared, and in one sickening movement, the Dead turned and shambled away. “Checkmate,” he said to me with a gloating grin. “Strategy never was your strength, not even when we used to play chess. You're too impulsive and too quick to—”