Read The Accidental Afterlife of Thomas Marsden for Free Online

was. Mebbe it is. I got my fingers on a fine old clock once, and I tell you, no matter how many times I took it to pieces and put it back together, I couldn’t see what made it tick. Point is, just ’cause a thing’s strange, that don’t mean it’s not real. Don’t see why speaking to ghosts should be any different.”
    That was . . . a very Charley way of seeing the whole business, but the dark thing in Thomas’s belly lightened like a sunrise. This would be fun, and he would get answers—not all of them perhaps, but some. He would find out why Thistle had been left for him. Someone there tonight would know; he could feel it clear as he could feel the paper in his pocket when he put his hand there. Speak to no one.
    Feh, as Silas’d say.
    They were almost there. A queue of people snakedalong the wall of the grand theater, and it began to slither forward as the doors were flung open. The queue was made up of people like Thomas and Lucy and Charley, dressed in their best that wasn’t good enough, not compared to the ladies and gents stepping out of carriages at the curb. They were clothed in silks and taffetas, and they swept past the rabble straight into the theater. Such people did not do something so common as wait.
    Soon, it was time to climb the marble steps. How different it felt to loose, grime-slicked cobbles.
    â€œStay behind me and keep close, both of you,” Lucy instructed, fishing the tickets from her purse. Around her shoulder, Thomas saw a bearded man in a top hat greeting some of the fancier guests, one eye on a wooden box with a slot cut into the top. Lucy slipped the tickets inside and stepped out of the way to make room for the group behind them.
    â€œUpstairs, quickly,” she said, eyes wide at the poshness of the place. “Thomas, take your cap off; now, there’s a good lad.”
    Their seats were in the darkest, most shadowy corner of the theater, high at the top at one end of the very last row. Far below was an ocean of jewels, and in the boxes that lined the walls too. Thomas caught Lucy staring into one of them for a long time.
    â€œMy word,” she whispered, but said nothing more.
    A chap in a scruffy suit stood as they neared the velvet chairs whose numbers had been printed on those fancy bits of paper. He had been seated in the one at the very end and jumped to his feet at the sight of them.
    â€œMadam, may I help you and your sons get settled?” he asked kindly. Thomas scoffed. What kind of fool needed help sitting down? Lucy, however, nodded.
    â€œThat’s very kind. Thank you, sir.”
    â€œWhitlock Jensen, spiritualist, at your service. These are yours?” He gestured to the three beside his own and, at Lucy’s second nod, took her arm and led her along the row. It had been a bit of a walk from south of the river; Lucy sank into the chair with a sigh.
    â€œSpiritualist, eh? So you know all about this, then?”
    The man frowned. “I wouldn’t say I know all about this , madam. Now, lads, you take these two.” Charley hopped onto the one next to Lucy, and Thomas shook the man’s hand away as he took his own. He didn’t need help sitting. Standing, perhaps, after a long night of digging, when his whole body ached, but sitting never posed any difficulty.
    â€œOi, feel this, Tom,” said Charley, running his finger across the back of the seat in front. “Ever known anything so soft?”
    Thomas hadn’t. Not felt anything so soft, nor seenanywhere so packed to the brim with diamonds and gold. The walls themselves were lined with silk, and an enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling, looking like winter, so heavy it was with glittering crystals, clear and sharp as ice.
    â€œAlways puts on a show, does Mordecai,” murmured the man next to Thomas. Every seat was full. The stage was hidden behind a wall of plush, mustard-colored velvet curtains. Candles flickered