A Dawn Most Wicked by Susan Dennard Page B

pain—there was a lot of pain in my wrist. Somehow she had yanked my hand behind my back . . . and then pulled the floor straight up to my eyes.
    I was trapped on my stomach, and dammit if I didn’t want to really destroy this girl now.
    He—no, she shoved her knee into my ribs. “You got a problem with me?” she asked.
    â€œYou bet I do.” I groaned. “What are you doing on the Sadie —” my wrist gave a sickening crack. A howl broke through my lips.
    â€œI’m working,” she answered calmly.
    â€œAs what?” I wheezed. “At being a son of bi—” The pain doubled, and sparks burst in my eyes. But I wasn’t about to back down because of a little pain. “Because if so,” I squeaked out, “you’re a real crack shot at it.”
    The girl shoved her knee farther into my ribs and tears sprang from my eyes.
    â€œI’m Mr. Lang’s footman,” she said in a bored tone. “You know, the owner of this boat? The man who pays you? Well, he’s on board for the race, and right now, he wants to speak to you.”
    Somehow, despite the agony, comprehension unfurled in my brain. I had recognized the girl’s livery at the bar because it was the same colors as the Lang Company flag on the jack staff.
    â€œIs this how you usually . . . summon his guests?”
    She chuckled, and leaning forward, she whispered in my ear, “I only do this to the people who know I’m a girl. And”—she breathed the word in a way that would terrorize my sleep for the rest of my life—“if those people tell, do you want to know what I do to them?”
    She nudged my wrist an inch farther. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from shrieking. At some point—I wasn’t sure when—sweat had started dripping off my face.
    â€œI . . . get it,” I squeezed out. “You’ll . . . kill me if I tell.”
    â€œExactly,” she whispered. Some of the torture eased, and in a normal voice she added, “You’re clever, yeah?”
    â€œMy ma . . . always told me so.” I gulped in air. “I’m glad . . . to hear you agree.”
    That earned me a laugh, and—thank the Lord Almighty—the pain subsided a bit more. “You’re funny too,” she went on. “I like funny people.” Ever so slowly she let my wrist return to its God-given position, and the weight on my rib cage vanished.
    I moaned and laid my cheek on the floor. “You’re evil.”
    She gave a throaty chuckle. “There are worse things to be called. . . .” Her voice faded off.
    And ice slid across my back. I opened my eyes. A ghost hovered a few feet away, and even though it had no eyes, there was no denying its empty sockets were locked on the Chinese girl crouched nearby.
    â€œYou left me,” it snarled in a raspy male voice. “You left me to die.”
    The girl gulped.
    â€œYou ran when you should have stayed.” Then the words changed to a different language—Chinese, I guessed—and the girl started to shake.
    I pushed to my feet. “It can’t hurt you,” I said softly. She didn’t seem to hear. She just watched the ghost and trembled. Then it advanced on her, still hissing in the same singsong language.
    â€œNo,” she whispered, backing up. “No.”
    I grabbed for her elbow. “Ignore it. Don’t listen.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œLook at me. Look at me.”
    Her eyes, wide and panicked, locked on mine.
    â€œGood. Now we’re going to walk away.” I tugged her toward the captain’s suite at the front of the ship, and she didn’t resist. Ten steps later the ghost’s cries were almost inaudible. Twenty steps, and we couldn’t even see it anymore.
    â€œHow do they do that?” she asked quietly. “How do they see into our