“Oh, w-well, I... “ Heat rose through my neck and face. Jie was a girl? Blazes! “We, uh, we weren’t properly introduced,” I finally managed to stutter.
Jie slid off the windowsill and addressed Joseph. “I can introduce myself. You should go.”
“Wi.” He doffed his hat, his feet already carrying him away. “Orevwar, Miss Fitt.” He bolted into Machinery Hall and was gone.
I gulped and turned my attention to Jie. Now that I knew he was a she it seemed obvious—the soft curve of her face, the grace in her tiny hands, and the definite roundness near her bosom. But then why the dickens did she dress like a boy?
I stared at her linen trousers and matching blazer. She even wore a cherry-red necktie at the nape of a white shirt. And if that wasn’t masculine enough, her hair was braided down her back while the front half of her head was shaved completely bald.
“You done admiring me?” she asked. Her voice was a sweet soprano, and only the faintest accent clung to her words.
“I, uh—”
“You never seen a Chinese person before?” She shoved her hands in her pockets and scowled.
“W-well, I...” I shook my head. “Not like you.”
She narrowed her eyes, and I had to fight the instinct to cower back. She was like a wolf with hackles raised and, merciful heavens, she was scary.
“You dress like a boy,” I blurted. “But you’re not.”
“It’s easier this way.” She sauntered over to me. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Chinese girls aren’t popular in this country.”
It was true they were rare. I’d never seen a Chinese woman before—Jie was the first.
Jie coughed and waved a hand in my face. “You still here?”
I turned sharply away. “Yes,” I mumbled. Heat ignited on my cheeks once more.
“So you want my help or not?” she asked.
“Yes. Please.” I bowed my head and gazed at the ground.
“All right.” She jerked her thumb to a stool. “Sit.”
I swept my petticoats and skirt aside and then lowered myself onto the stool. My corset creaked like ancient floorboards.
Jie snickered and flung herself back on the windowsill. “That’s another good reason to wear trousers.” She gracefully swung one leg up and squeezed her knee to her chest. “Can you do this?”
My jaw tightened, and I fought the urge to glower. She could taunt me all she pleased. Mobility was probably overrated.
At Jie’s not-so-subtle cough, I reeled my mind back to the matters at hand. “Mr. Sheridan told me my letter was covered in spiritual energy.”
“Yep.” She nodded once. “And you said that a corpse delivered it?”
“Yes, that’s right.” I relayed my experience at the train depot to her. Then I slid Elijah’s messages from my pocket, excluding the one I’d left with the Spirit-Hunters. “I’ve read all his letters, and I think he was researching something important. He mentions books by Solomon and Honorius. I don’t know what books, but I thought...”
Jie’s eyes were wide, and her lips parted. “Solomon and Honorius,” she repeated to herself. “Grimoires?” She pressed her fingers to her face, and the knuckles popped loudly. Then her eyes focused on me, and she dropped her hands. “Your brother, was he studying grimoires?”
“I don’t know. What are... grimoires?” The word rolled off my tongue, strange and unknown.
“Books of power. Black magic—like necromancy.” She sighed. “I don’t know much—Joseph could tell you more. What I do know is that grimoires can be bad.” She rose and stepped to Daniel’s worktable.
“What do you mean ‘bad’?” Ice spread through my chest.
She lifted a hand to silence me. Then she opened a wooden box and removed the bizarre brass goggles Daniel had worn at our first meeting. She slid them on her head and inspected the packet of letters I’d brought.
“Yep,” she muttered. “Spiritual energy. Not much, but it’s there.” She pulled the goggles back off and flashed a warning look in my direction. “If you tell Daniel I used these, I’ll kill you, yeah? He doesn’t like it when people touch his inventions.”
At my rapid nod, she returned the goggles to their box and strode back to the window.
“Please.” I leaned urgently toward her. “You said bad. What did you mean?”
“Those names—Solomon, Honorius. I know those names. They wrote grimoires for dark magic.” She hugged her arms to her chest and squinted at me as if considering how much to say.
Finally, she licked her lips and began. “Joseph had a friend once. Marcus. They studied with the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.”
“Voodoo?”
“Yeah. Like magic to ward off spirits and methods to contact the spirit realm. But Marcus wanted more, yeah? He wanted to know magic that stops illness—that raises the dead.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He wanted the magic that kills people.”