So down I went too. Exactly the same way I’d come up but twice as fast. Half the spirits were frozen in place—just like the ghost in the pilothouse. Long-armed shadows trapped in time and sizzling with electricity. All my hairs stood on end as I hurtled past.
But half the ghosts weren’t frozen—and they still streaked for me, screaming for blood. I skittered and twisted and ducked. Fresh slices opened up along my scalp, my back, but I barely felt them. I just had to keep Murry from getting the horns back.
As I raced down the final stairs, I caught sight of Devil’s Isle—it wasn’t moving. We weren’t moving. The paddles still thumped at full speed, but Lang had pulled through and gotten that one paddle into reverse.
“No!” Murry’s voice ripped out below me. “Give it back!”
I jumped off the final step and skidded behind the stairs, into the hallway by the engine room . . . Into Joseph’s new domain.
The young Creole stood exactly where I’d left him, the exposed wires sparkling in his open hand. Jie waited beside him, her fists up and her stance low.
Murry, his back to me, strode toward them. With his arms outstretched and clawing like the ghosts, he shouted, “You’ll kill us all! Drop it—give it back.”
Joseph’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “I will kill us all?”
With a roar Murry surged at Joseph—and I surged at Murry. My hands flew wide as I launched myself onto his back. Then I gripped his neck, and I didn’t let go.
He bucked and jerked, screaming at me. Screaming at Joseph. I tried to kick at the back of his knees. Tried to ram his kidneys and his spine, but it took everything I had to hang on. Murry was fueled by an unnatural strength, a frantic need to survive.
But then light flared. It burned from Joseph’s eyes—lighting his skull up like a jack-o’-lantern.
“Move!” Jie shrieked. “Now!”
I released Murry—flung myself off and away as fast as I could. Then I flattened myself against the wall.
And just in time. Electricity exploded down the hall, slicing through the spot I’d just abandoned. Slicing over Murry like a thousand spiderwebs of light. It was as if he was locked in place—like the ghosts. Electricity thundered over him, as loud as it was bright, and he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
And as the electricity streamed past, the weight of it filled my head and crushed my skull. The thunderous volume. The crackling heat. It collapsed my lungs. Made me feel like a thousand stones were slowly grinding me apart.
So heavy. So loud. So hot.
I strained to see the Creole. He glowed brighter than Murry. Brighter than the sun . . . Brighter than everything except the horns. I could barely breathe, and somehow looking at Joseph . . . at the horns—that only made it worse. Made the burn and the weight almost unbearable.
But then the heat pulled back. It started pulsing in waves, less and less with each ragged heartbeat.
Until as quickly as it had erupted, the light stopped. The thunder vanished. All that remained was a vibration in the air. An echo in my brain. And, of course, my gasping lungs.
I was alive. Albeit, just barely.
I forced my eyes to crack open—and saw Joseph’s knees buckle. He swayed forward. “Mr. Boyer!” I shoved off the wall, grabbing for him.
Jie was faster. She jumped from her crouch nearby, her arms swooping beneath him, and caught him by the stomach. I reached her side, and together, we eased the man onto his back. He was breathing.
And smiling. “That,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering briefly open, “went better than I had expected.”
CHAPTER TEN
Murry was dead. His scorched eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. His hair was burned, his fingertips charred. As Joseph, Jie, and I stood around him, staring down, I felt like I ought to be sad . . . or at least regretful of how things had gone.
But the only thing I felt was relief that the night was over. Relief and a bone-deep exhaustion.
At last Joseph heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “His soul must have been bound to the curse. When I banished the lodestone’s power, I banished his as well. It is a shame . . . and yet those who dabble in black magic will always meet a tragic end. It is a lesson I learned too late.” His eyes met mine and then Jie’s. “Necromancy and black magic will always end in death. Remember that. Now, come. Let us tend the wounded and clean up as best we can.”
The three of us made it our duty to check on each and every deckhand and fireman. So many injured men sprawled across the decks. Most of them had suffered only minor injuries—they were strong, after all—but a few were severely hurt.
And two were dead.
The Abby Adams caught up to us before I had even finished wrapping the wounds of the fifth man. Cassidy blew the whistle and hailed the Adams to our side.
Then began the long process of explaining what had happened, of moving our injured to the Adams’s cabins (that actually had furniture). Of borrowing a lead line. And of eventually waving the Adams onward so she could cross the finish line first.