A Dawn Most Wicked Read Online Free Page A

voices of the dead . . . and sometimes they were the voices of the living.
    This voice belonged to the dead.
    To the man I had killed.
    The ghost’s mouth sagged open. “Murderer,” it moaned. “You’ll hang for this.”
    Fear spiked my gut—brief and insistent. I had almost hanged for it, and if Cochran didn’t keep his word, if he told Clay Wilcox about me . . .
    â€œOh, stop being a Nancy-boy,” I growled at myself. “That ghost is harmless and Clay Wilcox is a thousand miles away.” I let my voice rise over the ghost’s hissing, and then—to prove to myself I wasn’t a coward—I made a quick decision.
    I was going out.
    No one was supposed to leave the steamer tonight, on account of the race . . . but if I stayed, I would lose my sanity on top of my sleep. Nightmares didn’t even compare to the rage that had been growing in my gut for the last week. Rage at Cochran for firing me. Rage at Murry for lying about me. Rage at Cassidy for not noticing I had avoided her.
    In just over a day I’d be out of work . . . and on the run again. Life was spiraling that way no matter what I did, and tomorrow I would wake to a dawn most wicked. So I might as well enjoy myself before.
    A splash of water and a clean uniform later, I crept to my door. The ghost still floated there, and I almost considered not leaving . . . just so I wouldn’t have to walk through it.
    But with a steeling breath, I walked directly into his wispy form.
    Cold, more biting and complete than any natural cold, snapped through my bones. A dank, earthy scent filled my nose. And then I was through, my teeth grating and my hands shoving the door wide . . .
    Â 
    I was almost halfway down the pier, the hum of Canal Street becoming a mighty roar with each racing step. I had managed to get off the Sadie Queen unnoticed by anyone, and the life of the city was calling to me. It was a steamy night with humidity so thick you could grab it. And there was an electricity shimmering through the air—the sort of charge you felt only on summer nights in the South.
    I jogged around a giant stack of crates and skittered to a stop, my arms windmilling. A girl marched toward me, the burnt orange silk of her evening gown like a flame in the dark. I didn’t have to see her face—I knew from her long strides that it was Cass.
    Shit. I huffed in air, trying to catch my breath. I’d done so good at avoiding her. A week of hiding behind boilers, skipping lunch, sleeping outside with the deckhands. Maybe I could scoot back behind the crates. . . .
    Her gaze landed on me, and even in the shadows I could see her eyes widen with recognition. She stopped dead in her tracks.
    â€œDanny?”
    â€œUh, hello, Miss Cassidy.” I bobbed my head and slung off my flat cap. “Going to a party?”
    She blinked, as if surprised by my question. “The . . . the Langs. They’re hosting a dinner.” She smoothed at her bodice nervously. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Danny. Have you . . .” Her fidgeting slowed. Then stopped. “Have you been avoiding me?”
    I stiffened. She had noticed my absence.
    That made me happier than it should’ve.
    But I made myself swipe the air carelessly. “Avoidin’ you? That’s ridiculous, Cass.”
    She wasn’t fooled. “Is it because you got in a fight?” With a tentative step toward me, her gloved hand reached for my face. “I noticed that black eye, so I know you must’ve fought with someone. I could have helped you, you know—”
    â€œStop.” I ducked back from her. She’d noticed I was gone and she’d noticed my wounds. It made my chest hurt to think about. “It ain’t what you think, Cass.”
    â€œOh.” Her hand fell. Then anger flashed over her face and she stood taller. “So