Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(26)

Suddenly, her fingers bent into claws, and she heaved at her undershirt. She was halfway out of it before I managed to skitter toward Allison. “Clothes,” I ordered. “Find her clothes.”

Allison nodded and hurried into the hall.

Jie cried out. I spun around . . . only to find her falling forward. She wore nothing but her pantaloons, and her body was covered in gooseflesh. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she cried out again.

I dived for her but was too slow. Her knees hit the ground, and the two orchids in her hair toppled to the floor. Her eyes landed on the wilted flowers. In a burst of sudden speed, she snatched the scissors from my hands and scuttled back. Gripping a fistful of her long, black hair, she lifted the scissors high.

“Oh God.” I crawled to her. “Stop, Jie. Stop—you don’t have to cut your hair.”

“He touched it. He touched my hair, and I don’t want it on me anymore.” She squeezed the scissors, and a grating sound filled the galley.

She sawed. She hacked. And her hair fell in clumps and strands.

I grabbed her wrist. “Let me do it.” She flinched away, her eyes bulging.

I held up my hands, palms out. “I won’t hurt you, Jie, but let me cut your hair. Let me do it.”

Her eyes grew wider . . . but then sank shut. Her posture dropped, and she offered me the scissors. I took them and kneeled behind her.

“All of it,” she whispered, staring ahead at the wall. “Cut all of it.”

“I will.” I gathered up her hair, staring at the fluffy wisps growing on her forehead. It had always been shaved bald.

For some reason, that made the moment all the more real. Something as fundamental to Jie as her shaved head was gone. My best friend was here, but she was still gone.

And then, to my horror, a sob shuddered through Jie’s shoulders. “You can’t stop him,” she said breathily. “It doesn’t matter what you do—he’s always one step ahead. He’ll raise the Black Pullet, and then he’ll take any- and . . . and . . . everything he wants.”

The scissor blades gritted through the last bit of hair, and Jie’s head toppled forward. Movement flickered at the door. I glanced up just as Allison reappeared, clothes in her arms. Her lips were drawn up to one side, her eyebrows tight with horror. But she moved to Jie, and in a quick, efficient move, she draped a loose shirt over Jie’s shoulders. Together, we got her arms into the sleeves.

But as I worked to do up the buttons, I stared hard into Jie’s eyes. “Marcus cannot get the Black Pullet now, Jie. I promise you. We destroyed the only clue left in Marseille.”

“No.” She pulled back, the buttons only half clasped. “You can’t stop him. He knows where the Old Man is already. He went to the crypt before you—before he went to Paris.”

Cold wrapped around my heart.

“He even has his own ship,” Jie went on. “To cross the Mediterranean. He can raise the Black Pullet, and he will.” With a slight lift of her head, she met my eyes. “One step ahead, Eleanor. He’s always one step ahead. And you can’t stop him.”

“We can stop him.” Joseph’s voice cracked into the room, firm and loud. He strode in, and Allison scurried aside. “We will stop him, Jie—even if it means going to Egypt.”

With a cry, Jie shoved off the floor and pushed past me. Joseph opened his arms, and she burrowed her face in his chest. He pulled her close, his chin resting on the top of her jaggedly shorn hair.

Joseph did not look young or lost now. There was a darkness in his gaze that I had never seen before . . . but that I knew.

The true hunger for retribution.

“We will stop him,” he said. “We will stop Marcus, and he will pay for this, Jie.”

Fingers clasped my elbow. I started, but it was only Allison. “Miss Chen’s wounds will fester.”

I shook my head vaguely. “All the same, we must keep her bleeding. To keep the spell from regaining control.”

“You want her to bleed . . . all the time?” At my nod, she dropped her hand. “Then Miss Chen needs a scarificator. And a cup.” At my vacant look she added, “They’re devices for bloodletting.” She waved to the inside of her forearm. “My father used to bleed daily—small cuts on his arm to balance his humors. The blood would free his negative emotions. I know how to make the cuts, and I even know how to keep them from scabbing over. I . . . I could cut Miss Chen. Every few hours, so that she never stops bleeding.”

Joseph eyed Allison, his knuckles pale around Jie’s shoulders—and my stomach turned to lead. He was going to invite Allison to stay.

Yet before I could open my mouth to protest, Allison plowed on. “And if we could get ginger, or turmeric, or garlic, we can help her bleed longer. Certain foods keep blood from clotting.”

“Then I will see to it that we get these foods,” Joseph said, peering down at Jie. Then he squeezed her even closer. “Can you tell me if her wounds will heal soon, Miss Wilcox?”

Allison’s eyes flicked to me, excited and . . . triumphant. Then she bustled to Jie’s side and inspected the cuts.

I gaped at Joseph. He could not truly consider allowing Allison to stay. Yet as I watched, Joseph removed Jie’s arms from his waist and held her face. “Miss Wilcox will tend to your wounds, Jie.” Then he leveled a firm stare at Allison. “You will make fresh incisions, Miss Wilcox, and then you will tend these wounds. I will ensure we get a . . . scarificator?”