Something Strange and Deadly by Susan Dennard Page B

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    I inched around the engine once more, and this time Daniel was at the exit. He trudged through the building’s eastern door while people parted and streamed around him. It was now or never. I had to go while I still held a chance for pursuit.
    I steeled myself and then surged through the oncoming people. They weren’t as willing to move from my path as they’d been for Daniel, but soon enough I reached the entrance and scrambled into the bright sun. I saw no sign of the sandy-haired boy in the crowded plaza. I scanned for the bulky sack and his gray flat cap. Nothing.
    Then the satchel bounced at the edge of my vision. The Bartholdi Fountain had hidden him from view. He was already on the other side of the exit gates! How could he move so fast with such a... such a... I refused to think the word.
    I scooted after him, but by the time I entered the mass of people outside the Exhibition, he was boarding a black hackney. I shoved toward the lines of waiting carriages, all the while keeping my eyes locked on the one that now carried Daniel.
    I had a handful of coins in my pocket, so when I arrived at the first hackney for hire, I waved for the driver’s attention and darted into the concourse. Before the driver could climb down from his seat, I shouted, “Stay there! I can get in alone.”
    A frantic search showed Daniel’s carriage leaving the concourse. I clambered into the buggy and pointed. “That way. I’ll tell you where to go once we’re out.”
    He nodded, and with a flick of the reins, jolted the horse into a rattling chase. I plopped down and shaded my eyes. My heart throbbed in my throat, and the tip of the boot flashed in my mind.
    Then I spotted the black hackney. “Turn right at Girard,” I yelled up.
    â€œYes’m.”
    We clopped down the avenue and onto the Girard Avenue Bridge. It was packed with carriages, and I lost sight of Daniel’s hackney.
    I stood in my seat, my knees wobbling with the movement of the wheels. Though the breeze of the river whipped at the ribbons of my bonnet, it offered no relief to the scorching sweat that dripped down my back.
    â€œOi, miss!” snapped the driver. “Sit down!”
    I glanced behind. “Do you see a black hackney?” I pointed ahead of us.
    â€œYeah—about twenty. Sit down. It’s not safe if you want to go fast.” As if to prove his point, we suddenly veered right, and I tumbled sideways. I clutched at the edge of the cab and slid to the end of my seat. I tried to peek around the powerful horse before me, but my view was only obstructed by other horses.
    Oh, please don’t tell me I’ve lost him already. Oh, please, please.
    We crossed the river, and the end of the bridge came into sight—but no black hackney. Daniel could go anywhere in the city now, and I wouldn’t be able to see. I puffed out a breath of frustration. I was so sure I’d almost uncovered something about the Spirit-Hunters. Something significant.
    And then there it was, below the bridge! Daniel’s tanned face was focused straight ahead as his hackney trotted by—in the opposite direction. It traveled along a tree-lined leisure path parallel to Girard Avenue. How had it gotten there so fast ?
    â€œThere!” I bolted up and pointed wildly below. “There—we must go there!”
    â€œThen sit down. Now!”
    We jerked left, and I fell sideways into the seat. As we catapulted through the oncoming traffic, drivers shouted their fury and horses whinnied. Then, in a bone-jarring bounce, we clattered off the bridge and onto the dirt path.
    The reins pulled back and we slowed to a steady trot. I jumped up once more.
    â€œThis is too slow,” I declared. Bonnet ribbons slapped my face. “You must go faster.”
    â€œI can’t, miss.” He wiped his brow and glared down at me. “This is for slow traffic only.”
    â€œB-but...”
    â€œBut