Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(53)

We reached Heliopolis in an hour and a half, and as we approached, I felt a change in the air. A heightening of my senses, as if I were entering another world. Or another time.

The wheat fields around the ruins seemed spun from silver as they listed and swayed in the night wind. Even the crumbling walls seemed to glow from within.

Our fuel salesman had fallen asleep beside his donkey—which had, in turn, fallen asleep beside a sycamore. I left Oliver to deal with him while Allison, Jie, and I hurried into the gondola. We found Joseph laying planks back over the engine.

His face lit up at the sight of us—especially at the sight of Jie. “You are well?” At her nod, he smiled wide. But then his eyes settled on our evening gowns. His forehead puckered. “I do hope you did not spend our funds on dresses.”

“Not at all,” Allison declared with a laugh. “One hundred eleven American dollars, two hundred thirty-four Turkish sovereigns, ninety-seven British pounds, and four hundred twenty-one Egyptian gineih. And it is all with Mr. McIntosh now, so he may secure our fuel.”

Joseph huffed a relieved laugh. “That is good. We were beginning to worry when it grew so late.” He picked at his bandages.

“Oh, do stop,” Allison scolded, flurrying toward him. “You will bring infection if you continue.” She leaned in and scrutinized. “Actually, we ought to change those wrappings now. Our trip was very fruitful, and we managed to buy both fresh bandages as well as a scarificator.” She twirled around, motioning to Jie. “Come along, both of you. We shall clean you up, Mr. Boyer, and try out the new scarificator, Miss Chen.”

She strode into the hall, and Jie tiredly followed. Before Joseph could join, though, I snagged his sleeve. “Where is Daniel?”

“I believe he went for a walk in the ruins.” Joseph glanced at the open hatch. “He only just finished fixing the engine.”

Good. I could find Daniel later then.

I let Joseph, Jie, and Allison vanish into the washroom before I hurried to my cabin. Then, in a rush, I closed the door and yanked the ivory tusks from my boots. My curiosity had been eating me up since the Bulaq Museum, and now I could finally examine these artifacts. I wanted to see how the fist had fused onto the carved, flat piece. I wanted to know what an ancient pharaoh had awoken to give me.

Moving to the porthole, I held both tusks in the moonlight.

The tusk with the half-clenched fist—my fist on it—looked as if it had never been broken. I squinted, my eyes still adjusting to the dimness of the cabin, but a careful scrutiny showed no sign of fracture. If I had not seen the two pieces fuse together, I would never have believed they were ever separated.

The next thing I noticed was that my ivory fist was the right hand, and the other was the left. Clearly, the two pieces were a set. The question was: a set for what?

A yawn cracked through my jaws. I was too tired and confused to examine properly, so I stowed the artifacts beneath my pillow for later inspection. Yet as I moved to undress, I glimpsed a figure outside, ambling along a distant wall; and as I watched, he hunkered down, craned his neck back, and stared up at the stars.

Daniel.

I could change into practical clothes later; right now I did not want to miss seeing him. So I hurried from the gondola and into the night. The cool air clung to my bare shoulders, my exposed collarbone, refreshing and alive.

My skirts rustled with each step—and the sounds grew louder as I glided through the grass, dug my heels into crumbled gravel. The nearer I drew to the ruins, the more the world seemed to melt away—fade into a dream.

For this moment—dressed in a beautiful gown, gliding through silver wheat toward the ancient remains of a temple—seemed too fantastic to be real.

And yet it was real.

As was Daniel when I rounded a row of broken columns and reached him. At the sound of my approach, he twisted . . . and then his eyes widened.

“Empress,” he breathed, kicking off the wall. His feet crunched onto the rubble, yet he did not move toward me. He simply watched, looking stunned. Lost.

So I moved to him, bold and unafraid, and stopped two paces away. The breeze ruffled through his hair, billowed through his shirt.

“Is this real?” he asked softly. “Or am I sleeping?”

I laughed, a soft but genuine laugh. “It’s real.”

Ever so slowly, as if he feared the moment might break, Daniel eased closer.

The breeze kept sweeping; the grass kept singing.

He shook his head, almost in wonderment. “I have no idea where that dress came from, but I would say it was made for you.”

I gave a shy smile, and happy heat warmed my face.

He grinned back and swooped into a graceful bow. “May I have this dance?”

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music.” Narrowing the space between us, he slid one arm tentatively around my waist. When I didn’t pull away, he grew braver and tugged me close. Then his left hand gently clasped my right. “The last time we danced,” he said, “at that ball in Paris, you were bewitched. I want you to have a new memory of dancin’ with me.” He eased into a slow one-two-three, one-two-three. “And”—he briefly touched his forehead to mine—“I want to have a new memory too.”

I could summon no worthy response. I could only shake my head and stare up at him. This had to be a dream. He still had grease streaks on his cheeks, and he smelled so very much like himself—of outdoors and machines.