Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(39)

The airship.

Daniel and I pushed into a jog. People were clustered around the covered sycamore . . . and the gondola behind it. As we approached, I could see that it lay in the grass like a ship run aground.

A whoop sounded—Jie’s voice. Then Joseph’s. In moments they were racing through the knee-high grass toward us.

Never had I seen them look so happy. But it was not to me that they ran. It was to Daniel. They flung their arms around him in a frenzied embrace, and I saw tears pouring from Joseph’s eyes. Jie’s as well.

“Foolish man,” Joseph cried over and over. “Foolish, foolish man! I could never forgive you—or myself—if you were to sacrifice yourself like that. Foolish man.”

Daniel pulled back, his eyes shining and head shaking. “My life’s nothin’ compared to yours.”

Jie punched him in the arm—hard. “Don’t ever say that again, yeah?” Then she yanked him back into a hug.

For a moment, hurt wrangled through me. Were they not happy to see me? Or at least grateful I had saved Daniel’s life?

But then Joseph’s tear-filled eyes—and Jie’s too—landed on me, and there was no denying the gratitude in their smiles.

So I grinned back before turning my gaze to the balloon to find Oliver. He lounged against the gondola, his eyes firmly on me. Even from here I could see his nonchalance was an act—and not only because of the flush in his cheeks, but also the absolute stillness in his face. Grass waved around his legs, and his curls kicked up in the breeze.

I lifted my fingers in a tentative wave . . . and a subtle, tender warmth bathed over me. Oliver’s happiness. His relief.

My smile grew. It was good to be alive.

Then Allison appeared around the gondola and spotted me. She bounced on her toes and clapped—looking beyond ecstatic that I was returned.

I gave the Spirit-Hunters a final look. They were still caught up in their tearful reunion, so I jogged the rest of the way through the shimmering grass. The locals noticed me soon enough, and after pointed fingers and chattered words, several children darted at me.

“Baksheesh!” they cried, pushing their open hands to me. “Baksheesh! Baksheesh!”

I smiled, my face bunching up in confusion, and scooted onward until I finally popped out before Oliver, Allison, and the gleaming gondola.

“What do they want?” I cried, shooing at a child who refused to let go of my pants.

“Baksheesh,” Oliver said with an amused smirk. “It means ‘charitable gift.’ The Egyptians expect it from everyone.” He sauntered toward me, and his eyes flickered to the children’s. And thank the merciful heavens my demon knew so many languages, for after a few barked words of Arabic, the children finally released me—and shot straight for Allison.

I looked up to Oliver with a smile. “You survived,” I said.

He stepped to me and brushed a light, almost casual kiss over my forehead. “As did you.”

My heart stumbled—just a tiny catch. He was very happy to see me. At least that was one person.

But then his gaze settled on my arm, and a frown creased his forehead. “Should I heal you?”

“No.” I glanced at Allison. She gestured wildly at the children, but they refused to stop yanking at her skirts.

I turned back to Oliver. “I’ll go with normal healing this time.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing arch of his eyebrow. Luckily, he dropped the subject and simply turned a snarl on the Egyptian kids—and in a flurry of shouts and laughter, they finally scampered back toward town.

Allison threw her arms around me. “I thought you were dead! You just jumped right off the balloon, and then I didn’t see you again.” She lurched back, gripping my shoulders. “What the blazes were you thinking? Mr. McIntosh kept insisting you were fine, but I do not see how he could possibly know. And yet here you are!” She hugged me again. “You are fine! And you are alive! And, oh goodness, Eleanor, I do not ever want to experience that again.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, her expression animated as she pulled away, “Mr. Boyer managed to land us, but not before those awful creatures hurtled into us. What were they called again, Mr. McIntosh?”

“Hell Hounds,” Oliver offered with an almost indulgent smile. I could only suppose that near-death had made him and Allison tentative allies—and that Oliver had realized he now wore a last name. He responded to Mr. McIntosh as if born to it.

Allison shivered. “Hell Hounds. They hit us, Eleanor, and we were spinning and spinning for at least a hundred feet—”

“More like fifty,” Oliver amended.

“—until we hit the ground so hard, I thought my teeth would break. And then the balloon just . . . poof.” She flicked her wrists up. “I do not know how we’ll ever get off the ground now.”

I glanced at Oliver. “Is it that bad?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “That will be for your inventor to decide, but . . . it certainly won’t be easy to fix.”

Oliver was right. Once Daniel had assessed the damage, we learned the engine had been so knocked about that it would take at least the rest of the day to repair. But more concerning was that we needed fuel—the only way to inflate the balloon was with heated air. A lot of it.