Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(52)

“Dormi!” Oliver’s voice slammed into me, and his footsteps pounded into life. Drumming loud and coming in fast. “Dormi!” Oliver was close now, Jie just behind him, and blue light blazed from my demon’s fingertips. His magic was finally working—this time he would be able to lay the mummy to rest.

But before he could do that and before he could reach my side, I yanked the second ivory piece from Thutmose II’s hand. Then, though they hardly fit, I shoved both ivory artifacts into my boots.

I could not say why, but for some reason I wanted no one to see these. Madame Marineaux had given me the ivory fist back in Paris, and the mummy of Thutmose II had woken up and given me the tusks. They were mine.

I had just gotten the folds of my skirt wrapped around the ivory when Oliver and Jie reached me—and the mummy collapsed in a heap of bones and shredded cloth.

“Eleanor.” Oliver dropped to the floor beside me. His arms flung around me, crushing my ribs in an embrace while Jie kicked at the heap of mummy bones—presumably for good measure.

Oliver quickly jerked back and examined me. His face shone with an unearthly beauty—the result of his magic—yet his cheeks were flushed with worry.

“What the hell happened?” Jie demanded, crouching beside us.

“I-I don’t know,” I finally stammered out, yet before I had to offer up any pathetic explanation, Allison’s shouts echoed through the room.

“And that,” she roared, “is why you should never mistreat a Wilcox. Or anyone, for that matter, you sniveling excuse for a man!”

“Allison!” I shouted. Jie hauled me to my feet. “Don’t hurt him—we need his money!” Jie’s hand slid into one of my own, Oliver’s into the other, and we sprinted down the hall, toward Allison, towering over a sprawled figure.

“Get his wallet!” Jie cried.

“I did,” Allison yelled. “Don’t worry, I have this completely under control.” Yet her tone was anything but reassuring. There was a brutal edge to her words that sounded . . . deadly.

Oliver and I scrambled into the entrance hall. Milton’s nose gushed blood, and his lip was cracked in two. The mace lay several feet away.

“What did you do?” Oliver demanded, lurching toward the man. Milton was barely breathing.

“I didn’t do it,” Allison snapped. “He was like that when I found him—the mummy must have done it.”

My gaze darted to the mace—one side of it was covered in blood. But I didn’t say anything, for at that moment the professor’s eyes fluttered open.

“Bitch,” he snarled. “Daughter of a whore. I won’t give your pathetic family a thing. May you all rot in—”

Allison’s foot came up faster than I could even see. With a thud, her toes hit the professor’s temple.

His eyes rolled back in his head.

“Dammit, Allison.” I grabbed for her, but she skidded back. “You knocked him out!”

“He deserved it.”

“He may have,” Oliver said through grinding teeth, “but an unconscious man is no help to us. So unless his wallet is overflowing with money, we’re no better off than we were before.”

“It is overflowing.” She tossed a black leather purse at Jie. Coins clanked as she caught it. “And,” Allison said, lifting her voice haughtily, “you should all be thanking me. You got exactly what you came for.” She bared her teeth in a smile. “And so did I.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Did you heal the horse?” I asked Oliver. We were nestled back in our carriage. Allison’s head was slumped over with sleep—as was Jie’s—and the darkened gate into Cairo lumbered overhead.

“Yes,” Oliver said softly. In the shadows I could see nothing but his glowing eyes. “Did you not feel it? Or see it?”

“I didn’t feel it,” I murmured, twisting around to glance at the horse. He trotted into the moonlight, towing us out through the gate . . . and yes, he looked fit and clean.

I glanced back to Oliver. “Thank you.”

His eyelids twitched, and he yanked out his flask. Then he gulped back several enormous swigs of liquor, exhaled sharply, and offered it to me. “Zabib?”

My nose curled up. “What’s zabib?”

“Alcohol, of course. I got it at the apothecary.”

Something about the way he said “got” gave me pause. My mouth fell open. “You stole it, didn’t you, Oliver?”

His only response was to return his flask to his waistcoat and lace his hands behind his head.

“Oliver—”

“Do. Not. Judge me,” he growled. “Not when you are just as morally decrepit as I. Neither of us would survive the final judgment. Remember that.” His eyes fluttered shut. But I knew he did not sleep. Whatever generous kindness had possessed my demon earlier, it was gone now.

“What bothers you?” I asked once Cairo had faded away behind us. “Oliver, is something the matter? You were so happy earlier,” I pressed. “What has changed?”

He refused to answer me . . . yet I knew he listened. “All was so good in the city. We were friends and getting along so well. For once you worked with everyone instead of turning me against—”

“Enough.” His eyes snapped wide, glowing and furious. “Stop speaking before you say something you will regret and force me to say something I will regret.” Then he sank even farther into his seat and did not move the rest of the journey. All I had for companionship were windy silence and moonlight—though at least we made better time on our return. The newly healed horse was quick and lively.