Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(27)

“And a wet cup to produce suction,” Allison added. She took Jie’s hands in her own and gently guided her to a stool. The cuts on Jie’s neck had almost completely scabbed over already.

Joseph gave a final once-over to the scene before moving to the door. I followed, gripping at his sleeve, yet he pulled away to stride into his cabin across the hall.

I hurried after him. “You cannot let Allison stay,” I hissed. “She will slow us—”

Joseph paused in the middle of his room. Then, in a careful, controlled movement, he pivoted toward me. “Eleanor, I will say this to you only once, so listen closely. I protect people—it is what I do. I fight the Dead so that others may live, and there is nothing I value more than a human life. Except”—his voice dropped to a whisper, and he bowed his head toward me—“for Jie and Daniel. I will always, always put their lives above others. And above mine. I would kill for them.” He leaned in closer. “So if Miss Wilcox can keep Jie safe, then she will remain a part of this team. And that is the end of this discussion. Do you understand?”

For a moment I was speechless—unsure I actually did understand. Would I put Jie’s and Daniel’s lives above finding Marcus?

Of course you would, my heart nudged. And it was right. So I nodded at Joseph. “I understand.”

“Good.” He straightened. Then he ran a hand along his bandages—along the space where his ear had been.

I flinched. “You’re bleeding.”

“Wi.” His hand fell. “I will have Miss Wilcox change the bandages once she has dealt with Jie.” He turned, as if to dismiss me—but I had one more question.

“Do we go to Egypt?”

Without looking back at me, he nodded. “If Marcus seeks the Old Man in the Pyramids, then so do we. Somehow, we will find the Old Man first.”

With cautious steps, I moved to Joseph’s side. “I . . . or rather, Oliver knows how to find him.”

Joseph watched me slantwise. “How?”

I hesitated. He would be angry; he would not like that Oliver had interrogated Jacques Girard.

My right hand moved to my pocket, seeking the ivory fist’s calming power. For two heartbeats I simply savored the way it eased my nerves. Then, in a rush of soft words, I told Joseph what Oliver and I had done in Marseille. “Girard gave Oliver instructions,” I finished. “Oliver knows what to do to find the Old Man.”

For several breaths, Joseph was silent—and I feared furious. But then his lips pursed. “Learn what your demon knows so we may set a course.”

My breath kicked out, relief overwhelming me. “Yes. I will.”

Joseph angled his body toward me, and in a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “Mark my words, Eleanor. Every fresh cut we must make on Jie’s skin, I will give to Marcus. He will feel the deepest pain imaginable—over and over until he has paid for what he has done. Until his soul and his body are nothing but dust.”

My mouth went dry. “We go to Egypt to end this,” I rasped out.

And Joseph stared at me with unfocused eyes. “Yes, Eleanor. We go to end this. And this time we end it once and for all.”

After leaving Joseph, I staggered to the washroom. Even the simple acts of relieving myself and scrubbing blood off my hands almost destroyed me. I barely had enough energy to reach Oliver’s cabin and peer in.

He sat on his bunk, his elbows on his knees and his flask in his hands. He glanced up and briefly met my eyes. . . . Then he blinked once and returned his attention to the flask.

He wanted to be alone, and I was more than happy to comply. By the time I finally shambled into my own cabin and fell onto the bunk, I was too exhausted to dwell on him or Allison or Egypt. I could not even bother to change from my damp clothes. It took every last ounce of my energy to crawl beneath a blanket and summon the magical words of a dream ward. . . .

Then I slept.

Hours later I awoke, cold and hungry. All was dark outside. I hauled myself to my feet and stumbled for the door. A light shone dimly around the edges, and when I opened it, I found jars of glowworms roped along the ceiling outside.

A snort broke through my lips. How typically clever of Daniel—no open flames in an airship. At the end of the hall, a brighter light gleamed. The galley. I crept toward it, and the sound of a slicing knife hit my ears.

Someone was cooking. Perfect.

Of course, when I sneaked my head through the doorway, I found an electric lamp glowing over a sandy-haired boy hunched at the table. With a surprising lack of coordination, Daniel chopped at a piece of garlic.

“What are you making?”

He jerked around, the knife flying up. His eyes met mine; his breath whooshed out. “It’s just you, Empress. Sorry.” He lowered the knife.

“Who else would it be? I do not think even Marcus could reach us this high.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m antsy is all. I don’t like having a Wilcox on board. I don’t trust her.”

As his words sank in, horror solidified in my gut. I had not once thought about the Wilcox family’s connection to Daniel. That Allison’s father and brother had tried to kill him.

I dug my hands into my eyes. I had been so preoccupied with myself, I had forgotten the one piece of Daniel’s past that he wished to escape more than anything: the accidental death at his hands, the dynamite factory explosion, and the prison time he’d served when the Wilcoxes had framed him for murder.