A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(24)

I would have to ask Oliver how, though. He was the only one who might be able to tell me how to cross the curtain intentionally.

Of course, waiting until the morning turned out to be especially difficult. By the time the sun rose, a gray pink at our porthole, I was barely able to keep my eyelids up. I felt gritty and heavy with exhaustion, but I forced myself to wait for the sun to crest before dressing and marching down to

Oliver’s floor.

It didn’t take many knocks before a blustery man threw the cabin door wide. He wore a long nightshirt and only seemed capable of keeping one eye open. “Who’re you?”

“Um . . . I’m looking for—”

“Me.” Oliver bounced in front of the man. He wore the same gray suit as before, but it was wrinkled and untucked—as if he’d slept in it. “What is it, El?”

“I want to talk. Somewhere very public but where we can’t be overheard.”

He ran a tongue over his teeth. “How about the saloon?”

I nodded. “Lead the way.”

Two flights of stairs later, he led me into the second-class saloon, which was—as Laure had declared—much like the first-class saloon. There was rich upholstery and an elegant grand piano, yet the ornamentation was calmer. Less nauseating, and more importantly, no one gave me or my gown a second glance.

“There.” I pointed to a nook in the back corner with two green chairs, and we strode over. With a grateful sigh, I swept my petticoats aside and eased to a seat. Rolling back my head, I let my eyes flutter shut. Though I hardly liked sitting with Oliver, I was too tired to maintain any of the fury I’d carried the night before.

But Oliver seemed to misunderstand my relaxation. “Does the rocking bother you?”

“Why do you ask?” I opened my eyes.

“Elijah didn’t like it either.” He dropped onto the seat across from me and gazed out a porthole.

“He got his sea legs eventually.”

“When did you travel on a boat?”

“From England to France and then again when we went to Egypt.” He sighed through his teeth. “I offered him relief, but he was funny about using my magic. He never used it unless he had to. I was more a companion to him than a tool. We were . . . friends.” He turned to me, his brow knit. “Though for a friend, you’d think he’d have let me win at chess every now and then. I swear, the man was ruthless.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “He was, wasn’t he? We used to play every day, and not once did he go easy on me—even when I didn’t know the rules yet!”

“That sounds like him. He was the same with riddles. He’d always pose those tricky little mind games—”

“Like the eight-queens riddle?”

“Exactly!” Oliver slapped his knee. “How do I fit eight queens on a chess board? I haven’t the bloody faintest.”

I grinned. “I never figured it out either.”

“Well, perhaps if we both set our minds to it”—he tapped his forehead—“we could finally solve it.” He bent toward me, a smile spreading over his lips. “Now, I assume you’ve brought me up here to make some deal?”

“Yes, though not the one you’re imagining, so wipe that look off your face.” I tugged at my earlobe. “I saw Elijah last night. I crossed into the spirit world, and he was there. ”

“I know.”

“So, I want to know if I can go to the spirit dock on purpose. Can I cross over and talk to him and

—” I stopped speaking. Oliver was shaking his head emphatically.

“No. For one, the Hell Hounds would be on you in a second. For two, that’s very advanced necromancy. You’d need years and years of training.”

“Oh.” I gulped. “Even . . . even with your magic? Could you send me over?”

He blanched, and his pupils swallowed up the gold of his eyes. “No. No.”

“What is it?”

“Your brother . . . he wanted the same thing, but I can’t. I wish I could—maybe none of this would have happened if it were possible. But if I try to cross, the Hell Hounds will destroy me.”

I deflated back into the seat. “What about voodoo? Can other magics cross into the spirit realm?”

He wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t know, El. I’ve only learned what Elijah learned.”

“So only necromancy.”

“Yes—” He broke off as two little boys came barreling past in a rousing game of tag. Once they were out of earshot, Oliver continued, “I believe you could call Elijah if you had his body, since a soul and its body have a special connection, but . . .”

“There is no body.” Disappointment swooped through me. “Damn Marcus.” I looked away.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said softly. “If there was a way I could talk to your brother, I swear to you, I would.”

I sniffed. He sounded just like Elijah, and I didn’t like how it made me feel.

At that moment a yawn cracked through my jaw.

“You know,” Oliver drawled, “one of the easiest spells to learn in necromancy is a dream ward.

Because necromancers are so vulnerable in their sleep, blocking dreams is one of the first spells they ever learn.” He shot a pointed finger up and recited: “A spell can’t hit its target if the target’s concentration is elsewhere.” He curled his finger back down and dropped his hand. “Spirit world, earthly world—it doesn’t matter. If you’re distracted, the spell can’t hit.”