A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(26)

For not only was it a dark magic—it was a strange and lovely magic too.

I slept like a stone for the rest of that day. It was far more sleep than a single waking night warranted, yet I wrote off the exhaustion as part of the necromancy.

And I also blamed the necromancy for the abysmal pit of hunger in my stomach. Laure kindly ordered sea biscuits and oranges to the room, but no matter how many I stuffed into my face, the hunger never seemed to fade.

Nonetheless, I managed to ignore it long enough to conk back out and sleep straight through the night. I spent the next morning gluttonously eating—this time with something more substantial than seasickness fare—and writing letters to Mary, Mama, and even Allison.

I reveled in the fact that I felt safe. That, for the first time in months, not a single cloud of grief blackened my sky.

Eventually Laure convinced me to dress, and she looked on as the stewardess’s fingers flew deftly up the final buttons on my gown.

“Mademoiselle Fitt,” Laure drawled, lounging against our bunk, “you must be the easiest woman to dress on this boat.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, giving the stewardess a thankful nod as she left our room.

Laure arched an eyebrow. “You ’ave no stays to pull or laces to tie.”

“It’s much more comfortable.” I smiled and patted my corset-free belly. “Perhaps one day all women will forgo the wretched—” I broke off as an itch began in my missing hand.

Holding my breath, I glanced down—and found the air over my wrist shimmered. Distract yourself, Eleanor. Focus elsewhere. Distract!

“The wretched . . . ?” Laure prompted.

“Um.” I wet my lips, attempting to recall what we’d been discussing. “Uh, one day we’ll forgo the wretched things and start wearing trousers instead—”

Pain rammed into me—so hard and so fast, a moan broke through my lips.

“What is it?” Laure stepped toward me.

“It’s my hand.” I grasped my wrist to my chest, hoping she couldn’t see the glow.

Then a single, long howl burst through the room.

It was happening again. The guardians had found me.

Without thinking, I bolted for the door. I needed Oliver—now! He would know what to do.

Laure shouted after me, but I shoved into the hall without a backward glance.

Snatching my skirts in one hand, I barreled down the corridor and toward the stairs. My absent hand throbbed with each step, and I didn’t have to look to know that it glowed. The bluish light shone in my eyes like a lantern.

I reached the stairwell and headed toward the bar. Moments later, I burst into the second-class saloon. Shocked faces turned toward me, and I ran my eyes over each one. But none of them had the familiar rosy cheeks and rounded jaw I needed.

“Eleanor!” a voice yelled behind me. It was Laure, but I didn’t turn. At that instant a howl burst through the saloon, carrying with it the dark stench of grave dirt.

Every lamp flickered and winked out.

Screams erupted—high-pitched and terrified—and I realized that, for the first time, it wasn’t only

I who could hear them. But what did that mean? Did it mean the Hound was here—actually in the earthly realm?

No, not hound. Hounds. There were several now, growling and barking over one another.

I spun around until I spotted the exit onto the second-class deck. Then I surged back into a run, my good hand out to shove people aside and my right hand a beacon to see by. If people noticed my glowing hand, they didn’t react—they were too busy scrambling and screaming in the dark.

“Move!” I shrieked, shoving people harder.

But I only made it halfway across the room before an icy wind blasted into me. I toppled forward and hit the ground. Pain burst in my chin, and the recent scratches ripped open. All around, the passengers’ shouts grew louder.

I dragged myself to my feet and trudged onward to the door. The wind was so strong, it felt like slogging through mud. Then came the sound like a full-speed train. The Hell Hounds were here—right behind me, with roars so intense they consumed every piece of my mind and being.

My legs pumped harder, my knees kicking high, and the bright square of daylight grew closer and closer. Just as I reached the door, a new voice shouted my name. “Eleanor!” Oliver’s figure formed in the doorway, arms outstretched. “Faster!”

It was exactly like the dream. Faster, I had to run faster.

I reached the door, and Oliver grabbed my sleeves and yanked me aside just as the Hounds galloped past—screeching like tornados and fully visible now.

We ran as clouds crowded in overhead, blocking out the sun.

We reached the smokestacks at the center of the boat. Oliver shoved me between them. “You’ve got to hide!”

“How?” My breath came in short gasps. “They know I’m here!”

He shook his head. “You’ve only got seconds.” He grabbed my stump and lifted it. My hand was there in its entirety, pulsing from blue starlight to pink flesh and back. “You’ve got to hide this!”

“How? ” I strained to keep breathing. I wasn’t ready to die—to have my soul obliterated! But the howls were racing closer, back on my trail. The smokestacks wouldn’t protect me from the Hounds’ supernatural jaws.

Oliver glanced desperately toward the sea. As my heart battered my lungs, I grabbed Oliver’s sleeve and yanked him to me. “If I bind to you, can you save me?”