Something Strange and Deadly by Susan Dennard

cleared his throat and looked decidedly uncomfortable.
    â€œOh yes,” I mumbled. “I suppose I shall forgive him.”
    â€œ Mèrsi .”
    â€œYou’re French?” As soon as I asked, I knew my guess was wrong.
    â€œCreole,” he corrected. “There is a difference in how we speak and spell our words.”
    My eyebrows jumped. “Creole? Truly? I’ve never met a Creole before.” I extended my hand. “I’m Eleanor Fitt.”
    Joseph stiffened, his eyes fixed on my gloved hand, and I realized—too late—that I’d put him in an uncomfortable position. A gentleman simply was not supposed to shake the hand of an unmarried woman without a proper, third-party introduction. I was so used to chaperoned meetings that I had acted on foolish reflex.
    Then his features relaxed, and a smile passed over his lips. He shook my hand firmly before guiding me back into the cramped lab.
    â€œCome in, come in, Mamzèi .” Joseph removed a stool from under the table and gestured for me to sit. “Please excuse the mess. As you know, we are busy people.”
    I glanced uneasily at Daniel’s back. He was bent over the table and occupied with something I couldn’t see. I took the offered stool.
    â€œHow’d the meeting go?” Daniel asked without turning around.
    â€œMr. Peger was there.” Joseph’s voice was a soft growl.
    Daniel spat, and the spittle landed beside my feet. Droplets splattered on the hem of my gown, and I recoiled. Had the man never heard of a spittoon?
    Joseph chuckled, apparently in full agreement with Daniel’s reaction. “Yes, and I will give you three guesses as to what was decided.” Joseph placed his hat on top of the alarm’s telegraph.
    Daniel grunted, hammering at some unseen metal. “My three guesses are no, no, and no.”
    â€œExactly.” Joseph squinted at the floor. “You do realize there is soil everywhere?”
    Daniel barked a laugh and whirled around to look smugly at me. My whole body ignited with embarrassment. Daniel flicked his gaze to Joseph. “I’m well aware of the soil, but back to the meeting. What did they give as a reason this time?”
    â€œThe usual. They listened with much more attention to Mr. Peger, and so they do not believe we need more reinforcements. They also insist no men can be spared.”
    â€œThey’re gonna regret that,” Daniel muttered. “When they see what’s in the cemetery, they’re gonna wish they’d listened to you.”
    â€œYes, but I think that is enough talk about that.” Joseph glanced at me slantwise, and I got the impression that whatever topic they were discussing it was not for my ears. He turned toward me. “Tell me, Miss Fitt, what brings you here?”
    â€œOh.” I swallowed and sat up straight. “It’s two things, actually. One... well, one has to do with the walking Dead, and the other is about a spirit.”
    Joseph raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to continue, so I described everything that had happened. I rambled, backtracked, and fought off tears, but soon information about the corpse, the letter, the séance, and the spirit had all rushed from me. Throughout the speech, Daniel and Joseph shot concerned glances back and forth.
    When I had finished, Daniel’s lips compressed with distaste. “You held a séance?”
    I nodded hesitantly. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
    Daniel ignored me and turned to Joseph. “I thought you told the reporters to print warnings against séances.”
    â€œI did, but it would seem they chose not to listen.” Joseph rubbed his hand over his head and leaned against the worktable. “Miss Fitt, if what you say is true, then I understand your worry.”
    My mouth fell open. “If what I say is true? What do you mean?”
    â€œPeople take advantage of us,” Daniel said. “More than a few