Spirited Read Online Free Page B

take of your father’s nonsense. I need you to keep her down below until I come back for you.”
    “In the wine cellar?” Jefferson’s eyes brightened with interest. “But I’m not allowed to go there.”
    “You are now.”
    Needing no other invitation, Jefferson grabbed his sister’s arm and descended a step.
    Nora balked. “Amelia, do be careful.” She bit her lower lip. “Whatever he’s done, Father hasn’t been himself since mother died.”
    I gave my friend a reassuring smile. “I know. I’ll make this right, don’t you fret.”
    Nora hung on my every word. Her expression cleared only after I promised to keep her father safe, even from himself if necessary.
    As I closed the door behind them, screams pierced the air from the ballroom. My Hylo derringer sparked to life, burning my side, making the promises I’d made weigh heavy on my heart.
    The tongue might be a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts.
~*~*~
    I returned to the ballroom, moving with stealth thanks to the cloying fog. I weaved undetected through the line of automaton guards, and it was as if I’d entered the gates of hell.
    A heavy fog swirled drifting between the lavishly costumed guests with purposeful, demonic energy. The undulating mist held New York’s finest fixed with terror, knotting the air, making it difficult to breathe. Above diamond-studded, feathered coiffeurs, whitewashed specters dove and swooped at the crowd, revealing features best left in the grave. Gaping jaws, empty eye sockets, blackened teeth, bones, and rotting flesh.
    “Rumsay, you go too far.”
    “Knightly, turn that blasted machine off.”
    Cries of terror rang out from the crowd. Rumsay paid little heed, his lips moving as he recited a silent chant.
    A sudden heat, unrelated to the warmth of my derringer settled along my spine. I shot a glance over my shoulder to find Warren standing protectively at my back.
    “Nora and Jefferson safely ensconced?” His breath thrilled along my nape.
    “Just in time, I see,” I said, withdrawing my Hylo and holding it high. I traced the movements of the dancing spirits, but refused to fire.
    I had only one shot, and then the derringer would have to recharge, a necessity that took at least several minutes. Once I launched an attack, I hadn’t a single second to squander.
    “Knightly is dead,” Warren said, dodging a screeching, clawing shape. “His heart appears to have stopped, though there is foam at his lips. He might have been poisoned.”
    Biting down a curse, I spotted the phantasmagoria operator slumped over glowing dials. Knightly might have passed, but his machine continued to project its specters, blending false threats with the real.
    “I can tackle Rumsay, break his concentration.” Warren took a step toward the would-be sorcerer.
    I blocked his advance. “No. We have to wait until his bride appears. I have a lock of her hair. It must be incinerated to negate the spell.”
    Warren held out his hand. “Give it to me, I’ll set it burning. You keep Rumsay distracted.”
    I quirked a brow. “Leaving a woman to take on the enemy? Whatever would your father say?”
    “I don’t give a damn what my father says.” Warren’s eyes were steady on mine. “Besides, you’re the one who’s armed.” He wiggled his fingers. “However, you are wasting precious time.”
    I sighed and handed over the tight coil of blonde hair.
    Warren slipped through the crowd toward the overheated lights of the phantasmagoria machine. My eyes narrowed with appreciation as he pried off one of the protective metal screens, exposing the direct source of light—glowing coils. He held the lock of hair as he met my gaze. He’d wait until my signal.
    I cut through the mob.
    Rumsay’s attention remained fixed upon a symbol painted on the marble floor in the center of the ballroom. I sucked in a breath, frantic to see the thing in full, yet knowing what I was likely to find. The Seal of Bune. The evocation of Bune, a spirit