“What other reason can there be?” she asked, her eyes hollow. “Without our things, we cannot fight back.”
“The... the influence machines?” Daniel asked, examining his destroyed equipment. The only unbroken item in the room was the table.
“We still have one.” Jie flicked her eyes to a blanket-wrapped mound. “The other was gone when we got back.”
Daniel rubbed his eyes and nodded wearily. “How many Dead?”
“Over a hundred.”
I choked. “A hundred? And Joseph stopped them?”
“Yes.” Jie’s shoulders drooped. “But he’s exhausted... he’s not even in his head right now.”
I stared at Joseph. He leaned against the wall, his eyes half open and unseeing.
Everything had gone wrong, Daniel’s capture, my attempt at rescue, the explosion, and now this. Guilt ate at my neck and shoulders—a stiff, heavy question: had I made the right choice? Maybe if I had left Daniel and brought Joseph the dy***ite, then the lab would still be intact. By saving Daniel, had I endangered the entire city?
“Will he wake up?” I asked.
Daniel planted his hands on the worktable. “Yeah, he’ll wake up.” He hung his head. “He’ll need sleep, though—a lot of it.”
I pointed to the sack beside my feet. “The—”
“Not now.” Daniel turned toward me with a single shake of his head. “Leave it there. Go home.”
Jie turned to me, her gaze intense. “It’s three in the morning. Your mother will wonder where you are.”
My mouth went dry. Mama, Clarence, the opera... I screwed my eyes shut. I had to face them. I’d known that all along.
“I-I need to get dressed,” I said.
“I’ll help.” Jie picked her way over the floor and joined me at the door. She glanced back at Daniel. “You hire a hackney for her, yeah? She can’t waste any more time here.”
My silk gown on once more, but with my hair a tangled mess down my back, I rode home in a hired hackney. My mind was filled with lies and half-truths to tell Mama. The black guilt that plagued my shoulders and neck now descended over my whole body. I had single-handedly annihilated a factory, I had lied to Mama and Clarence, the Spirit-Hunters’ equipment was ruined, and I was still no closer to finding Elijah. I wanted to cry, to give in to the hysteria of the night, but I found myself too numb with exhaustion to even think properly.
I paid the hackney driver and hurried through the gate into my front yard. No lights shone in the windows, and I prayed the servants had gone to sleep. I held my skirts high, but it was no use—such an excess of skirts and flounce could not be protected from the dirt and puddles. And though the rain had stopped, my slippers still sank into the muddy path, making a sucking sound as the heels pulled loose with each step.
“Miss Fitt,” said a man’s voice.
My heart heaved. I froze. A figure emerged from the shadows of the cherry tree. It was Clarence Wilcox striding toward me.
I tugged my cloak tightly to me.
“What is it?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Is it opium? Were you at an opium den?”
My fear melted. “Opium? Opium?”
“Yes. Opium. It’s a substance that induces a euphoric—”
“I know what opium is.” I threw my hands wide, not caring that my cloak slipped to the earth. “How dare you accuse me of that.”
“One of the Pinkertons saw you leave with a Chinaman.”
I advanced on him. “Well, it was not opium, Junior.” I spat the name with all the disgust I could muster. “I know all about the Gas Ring. About what your father did to mine. Don’t look so surprised. I know your secrets now. So stop flinging your pathetic accusations at me.”
Clarence staggered away to the cherry tree’s bench. I slung my cloak off the mud and followed. My rage grew with each step.
“Your father killed my father—did you know that? He blew up the Nobel factory and ruined Father’s business.”
“I know,” Clarence mumbled. He dropped to the wet bench and buried his face in his hands.
“Clay ruined my father’s council campaign. He killed my father!” My body was so tight, I could barely move. I wanted to slap him, to shoot my energy and fury out in violence. Why didn’t he respond? Why was he so calm? “Answer me!”
“I know what happened. I wish I didn’t.”
“Wishing won’t help!” My shout was muffled by the moisture in the night air, but it was loud enough to wake my house. I lowered my voice, though it shook with my passion. “You and those other boys from the Germantown Academy—your wicked Gas Ring—you were all my father’s enemies!
“And,” I said, bending down and pushing my face in his, “you were my brother’s bully.”
Clarence dropped his hands. His eyes were thin.
“What?” I snarled. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I’d be so blinded by your stature and image that I wouldn’t care? You’re a bastard.” I shoved him, and he toppled back in his seat.