A Dawn Most Wicked by Susan Dennard Page B

just happened to be a magic lantern show going on when I snuck in.
    I remembered it vividly—like it was yesterday. It was one of the few memories I welcomed. One of the only moments in my life that stood out as good.
    The magic lantern show had featured images of Paris, and there was one picture—of an art museum that had once been a palace—that I could still imagine with absolute clarity. It had been the most beautiful building I’d ever seen . . . and I had vowed then, while I was tucked away on a ceiling beam, to see it one day.
    â€œI’ve seen a magic lantern show,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Why?”
    â€œSo you know how the machine works?” Joseph pressed. “A small image is projected onto a wall using lights and mirrors.”
    I bobbed my head.
    â€œWith this lodestone curse,” Joseph went on, “the spirits are being projected here from the spirit realm. A true apparition is nothing more than an image of the deceased—exactly like the magic lantern. Should the curse be cast, however, then the ghosts will no longer be apparitions. The ghosts will become real.”
    â€œWait.” I lifted my hands. “You’re saying all those ghosts down there would suddenly be . . . real? As in solid?”
    Joseph gave a long, acknowledging blink. “It would be as if the pictures of the magic lantern were to suddenly transform into reality. The image of a dead woman would become the dead woman.”
    â€œSo . . . we would have hundreds of—” My stomach clawed into my throat, choking off my next word. “Hundreds,” I tried again. “We’ll have hundreds of Dead. Walking corpses?”
    â€œNot the actual corpses, but a solid form— Wi . The ghosts will be able to touch us.”
    â€œAnd hurt us. Oh shit.” Lacing my hands behind my head, I resumed my pacing—faster this time. I had seen solid ghosts before. Black forms with claws of ice and pinprick eyes of endless gold. The forest outside Mr. Roper’s house had been haunted by one. So had McVicker’s Theater. I had seen it the very same night I had watched the magic lantern show.
    Images of ghosts were one thing. Ghosts that could kill me were quite another.
    â€œHow the devil do we stop it?” I dropped my hands. “If the curse hasn’t even been cast yet, how do we make sure it stays that way?”
    â€œWe must find the curse—find the object that contains the spell.” Joseph exhaled a heavy sigh and shrugged. “Do you perhaps know when the ghosts first appeared?”
    â€œTwo months ago. In April.”
    â€œThen the curse could be in any object that came aboard two months ago.”
    â€œBut that could be a million things.” I groaned. “Hell, I bought these boots”—I kicked up my foot—“in April. Maybe it’s them.”
    â€œExcept a necromancer had to have held the object long enough to put the spell inside. It would have taken days.” Joseph tilted toward me, urgency in his voice. “My guess is someone hired a necromancer to make the curse. Thus, it was brought on by someone who likely hated Captain Cochran—but it must also be someone who did not want to kill the crew or destroy the steamer completely. Not yet, at least, for otherwise the curse would have been cast already.” Joseph opened his hands in a helpless gesture. “I realize it is not much of a clue.”
    â€œOr maybe,” I said slowly, thinking back to a conversation from the night before. We beat the Adams ’s time back in April—why else d’you think that captain hates us so much? “Maybe it is a good clue. The Natchez horns—we won those from the Abby Adams back in April.” My words picked up speed as certainty coursed through me. “That’s two months ago, Mr. Boyer, and if there is one person who will benefit from the Queen