A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(21)

“Because my entire existence depends on it.” A gust of wind thrashed over us, sending his chestnut curls into his eyes. He had to shout to be heard. “My life hangs on making sure the Hell Hounds never find me!”

And in a flash it all made sense. “The Hell Hounds”—my vocal cords strained over the ocean wind

—“they’re the guardians of the spirit world?”

“Obviously!” He swiped his hair from his eyes. “But why are they after you?”

“After me? What do you mean? It was just a dream.” I struggled to my feet, my head spinning and the wind fighting me. Oliver reached out to help, but I bared my teeth. “Stay back.”

He retreated, his hands up. “I’m back! I’m back! But, El, that was not just a dream.” He pointed to my face. “Just look at yourself.”

I reached up and touched my cheek. “Ow!” I whipped back my hand. It was covered in blood.

For half a breath I stared blankly. Then I darted away from him, fear churning in my gut, and tottered to the nearest wall. My bare feet slapped on the smooth wood, and the wind whipped my gown in all directions.

I found a porthole, and in the yellow lamplight, I could clearly make out my reflection.

Lacerations lined my chin and nose. I leaned into the glass, and a new terror jolted through me, for there, embedded in my flesh at jagged angles, were giant splinters of dark, gray wood.

I glanced down at the deck and stomped my foot to be sure.

But no—there was no way this damage had been done by the deck.

And that could only mean one thing: my dream had not been a dream at all. It had been real.

Chapter Seven

As if my narrow escape from death was not enough agony for one night, things soon became even more complicated. After ogling myself in the porthole for a solid minute, the relative calm of the windy promenade deck was shattered by a childlike squeal.

My heart stumbled, and I spun around to find a terrified-looking Lizzie chasing toward me—her grandmother and a groggy Laure in tow.

“What happened?” Lizzie shrieked. “You’re hurt!”

Mrs. Brown gasped. “Oh, Miss Fitt, we must call a doctor!”

“Qui êtes-vous?” Laure’s eyes were locked on Oliver. “Who are you?”

“The poor man who found me,” I blurted before he could say anything stupid.

“But what happened?” Lizzie demanded. “I saw you get up and walk outta the room, but when I called, you didn’t answer.”

“Sleepwalking,” I said, my eyes darting from face to face. “I . . . I have a sleepwalking problem.”

“And now you’re injured!” Mrs. Brown cried. She hurried to my side and inspected my face.

“Dear, your face is destroyed.”

“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled, dabbing at my face. But I instantly grimaced. The bleeding might have lessened, yet the cuts still stung.

“Oh, it is that bad,” Laure insisted. With a groggy yawn, she stepped to my other side. “But Mrs.

Brown is right—you must see the ship’s doctor.”

“I can take you,” Lizzie offered. She held up her finger, around which was a small bandage. “I already visited him today. He’s on the bottom level.”

“Thank you,” I said, attempting a smile, “but this gentleman here can guide me.” I waved to

Oliver, who looked anything but willing to escort me to a doctor. “You’re in your nightgown, Lizzie, and should go back to the cabin.”

“C’est vrai,” Laure chimed. “I vote we let the jeune homme take her.”

“But how inappropriate,” Mrs. Brown proclaimed. “Her nightgown is in tatters, for heaven’s sake.”

“But he’s already seen me this way.” I tried—with little success—to keep impatience off my words. “Please, I appreciate you coming to my rescue, but I can get to the doctor just fine now.”

Laure gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “That is good enough for me, though perhaps you should lock the cabin door when you return.”

“Yes, I certainly will.” I waved good-bye to her—and Lizzie and Mrs. Brown—before turning to

Oliver. “I’m going to find the doctor.” He stepped toward me, but I flicked up my hand. “You are not coming with me.”

“But they said I must escort you.”

“And I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”

“The Hell Hounds are after you, El! You almost died. Don’t you realize what just happened? You crossed into the spirit realm. You can’t keep walking around by yourself—it might happen again!”

I didn’t answer, but simply pivoted and strode for the saloon door. As I knew he would, Oliver followed. And for some unfathomable reason, I let him . . . and I was even a bit glad to have him.

Was I so lonely that even the company of a demon was welcome? No, you merely want answers, and he’s the only creature alive who can give them to you. Yet even as these thoughts slid through my mind, part of me knew they weren’t true. Oliver was just so much like Elijah. . . .

I glanced back at him. “Why,” I shouted over the gusting wind and my smacking feet, “would these Hell Hounds be after me?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he yelled back. He lengthened his stride yet was smart enough to hang behind a few feet. “I thought the Hell Hounds were after me, actually. When they showed up at the wharf in Philadelphia, I thought it meant my binding spell was failing. That Elijah was dead, and the