Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(47)

“Oh,” I mumbled, watching the passersby with new interest. I could rattle off Shakespeare as if the words were engraved in my skull, but when it came to the world’s religions, I was woefully ignorant. Just as we clattered onto a bridge flanked by two huge lions that ran over the Nile, the adhan did begin . . . and my heart lifted.

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar,” shouted muezzins all over the city—hundreds of them, and everyone around us picked up their paces.

I caught Allison’s eyes. She grinned. Then Jie smiled that smug, cat-like of smile of hers, and I let my own lips curve up. I could briefly release some of the darkness that always clotted my lungs. I could let it float away on the Nile breeze and pretend I was simply me again.

It took our driver a solid half hour to navigate what was actually a short distance to the Bulaq district—and if we thought the crowds were bad, it was nothing compared to the droves of bugs coming out for twilight feasting.

“Can’t you make them go away?” Allison cried, smacking a mosquito off her wrist. “With your magic or something.” She threw me a pleading glance.

I gulped. At the word magic, the old hunger had awakened in my stomach. Instinctively, I reached for my pocket . . . but of course I wore a dress now. I had slipped the ivory fist into my bodice, so I could hardly grope for it.

Allison slapped a fly on her neck. “We will be eaten alive before we even reach the party!”

She was right, of course. Small, itchy bumps speckled our flesh by the time we pulled to a stop before the Bulaq Museum, and Jie’s fingers seemed permanently fastened to her scalp with all the scratching.

“Well,” Oliver grumbled, eying Allison and me with disapproval as we disembarked from the carriage toward a building of yellow and umber sandstone, “you certainly will not be the cleanest girls at the party, but hopefully the quality of the gowns and the prettiness of your faces”—he pinched my cheeks with an almost vicious force—“will more than compensate.”

“Ouch.” I slapped his hand away, my cheeks stinging . . . but the pain almost instantly vanished from thought. For I now had a full view of the museum.

It was guarded by two enormous statues, both wearing the typical ancient Egyptian headdress and garb. Spotlights shone brightly on them, illuminating their weathered edges and severe expressions. A breeze whispered through palm trees and then over us, drying sweat and soothing bug bites.

Several guests milled about outside—suited men speaking in low voices or Egyptians tending carriages and horses—but the bulk of sounds came from within the museum.

I turned to Jie. “Will you be all right waiting here with him?” I glanced at Oliver.

“Yeah,” she said simply, following my gaze. Then an almost wicked smile spread over her lips. “In fact, I have a few questions to ask Mr. McIntosh. Now seems a good time, when it’s just the two of us.”

I frowned, not liking the sound of that, but then Allison shot me a panicked look. “We are late. Everyone will see us arriving, and we look hideous, Eleanor.” As if to prove the point, she gave an indelicate scratch at a mosquito bite on her collarbone.

“You look lovely,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone. And for good measure, I lifted one heel—showing my dusty boots and a thoroughly indecent amount of calf. “At least your gown covers your ankles.”

“Hush,” Oliver groaned, stepping behind me. “Did you not hear me say that you look perfect? You do,” he glowered at me, “and you need to act like it. Otherwise that fellow checking invitations is never going to believe you’re the Mock sisters.” He pointed to a suited man directly beside the wide entrance doors.

“Right.” I hooked my arm in Allison’s. “We must pretend this is nothing more than the Continental Hotel back in Philadelphia, and those men are simply porters.”

She drew in a fortifying breath and set her jaw. “Yes. I do believe we can manage that. Come on.” She set off, her arm slipping from mine.

Yet before I could follow, Jie punched me lightly. “When you get inside, find a good hiding place. And all the exits—just in case things go bad, yeah?”

I nodded. “Right. A hiding place.”

“Come on,” Allison screeched at me, so I flashed a final smile at Jie and scurried off. My skirts rattled like palm fronds, yet I had only gone ten paces when a strange twist began in my stomach. I paused and glanced back, thinking it must be Oliver.

He leaned against our carriage, Jie beside him, and at my stare he lifted an eyebrow. “Heal the horse,” I whispered. “Sum veritas.”

He bowed his head, giving me a lazy smile, and I resumed my stride.

But the twisting began again, and with each step after, it grew more intense. Clearly it was not coming from Oliver . . . so from where? My forehead crinkled as I focused on the sensation. It was not unpleasant. In fact, it was quite the contrary. It was . . . exciting. As if I anticipated something.

I towed all thoughts of it aside, for I had caught up to Allison before the museum doors.

“Invitations?” said the mustached doorman. His suit was too large and his accent too thick.

Allison twittered. “We seem to have forgotten them.”

“Then I cannot let you in.” He bowed. “I am sorry.”

“What do you mean cannot let us in?” Allison gave a derisive snort. “I am Deborah Mock of the Mocks, and Professor Milton is expecting me.”