Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(56)

My brow furrowed. “I do not understand. How could you feel alone when we are bound? I always sense our connection, a pulsing line of magic here.” I clutched at my stomach.

He stared at me unwavering. “For a moment today, El, none of you saw me as a demon. You saw me as me. Yet now that we are back here, among the frightened distrust of Joseph and your inventor, I am alone once more.”

I let my gaze roam over his inhumanly perfect face. Such beautiful lips, such an elegant jaw.

There was truly nothing left of the Oliver from two weeks ago—and I recalled his words from a few days before. The more I’m trapped in this human body, the more I find myself wanting like a man wants. Feeling like a man feels.

And that was when I finally began to understand it. He was lonely, and the more he felt like a man, the more his otherness grated inside. He wanted to be one of us; he never could be.

“I don’t mean to push you away,” I said roughly. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Then help me go home, El. Set me free so I may return to a world that welcomes me.”

“But . . . but then I’ll be alone.” And then this familiar pulse of connection will be gone. Forever.

He gave a sad shake of his head. “Remember this, El: not everyone who you invite in will wish to be there. And no matter what you might want, I will one day have to leave.”

I blinked, and my mouth went dry. “But you won’t leave me now, right?” My voice was a whisper. “Allies . . . still?”

He did not answer. He merely sat up all the way, his cheek brushing past mine, and glided to his feet. When he offered me his hand, I almost laughed at how much dust was on his suit. He so hated being dirty. . . .

But I was too cold inside to laugh.

I took his hand. Air whizzed past my ears, and suddenly I was standing . . . and only inches from him.

“I am sorry for provoking you tonight.” He spoke in a distant voice. “It was wrong of me, El. It would seem I am just as cruel as your inventor when my feelings are hurt.”

My lips parted to speak, but Oliver wasn’t finished. “Tomorrow we find the Old Man. It’s so close. So close. Please live long enough for that, secrets or no.” He cupped my face with a single hand, his face so motionless that he looked carved from stone. “And for the love of eternity, please cast a dream ward tonight, all right?”

He lowered his hand, nodded once, and then set off toward the airship’s gondola. And as he walked, the grass whispered and the balloon continued to grow. It rose and rose until Oliver was long out of sight.

Until it had blocked out the moon and plunged my world into shadowy darkness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I awoke with the gray light of dawn at my porthole and the dregs of heavy sleep trying to tow me under. The airship hummed, and I knew by the groan of wind over the gondola that we were flying once more.

I had cast a dream ward the night before, and it had left my mind fuzzy. Confused. Then a memory flickered through my brain—one of shallow breaths and sweat. Of skin against skin and fingernails . . .

Daniel. I sighed, rolling onto my side and squeezing my eyes shut. It hadn’t been a dream, had it?

My eyes popped wide. Oh, it had certainly happened—as had my fight with Oliver.

For two heartbeats I wished I could erase the memory of the fight and keep only Daniel. . . . But I couldn’t, and Oliver was right: we were so close to the Old Man. We were so close to ending this. I simply had to get through today.

I hauled myself from bed and donned Daniel’s clothes once more—dusty, ripped, and stinking of yesterday’s trip in the city. I tucked an ivory artifact into each boot, and though it was stiff and conspicuous, should anyone look, I felt better having the pieces touch my skin. And somehow, knowing that Oliver knew of them only bolstered me more. It was one less secret to carry alone. . . .

I crept into the hall and toward the pilothouse. Joseph stood at the steering wheel, his perfect posture outlined by the foggy light of dawn. My eyes were drawn straight ahead—to the pyramids on the dark horizon, yet as I stepped into the pilothouse, I peered from the windows to the world below. In the gray light, the mosques looked like Gothic towers, and they cloaked the narrow roads in shadows. Yet even at this hour people moved about, clogging the streets with a thousand hues.

Joseph glanced back at me. “Good. You are awake. We will be at the pyramids in mere minutes, and I must know where to land.”

“Oh.” Tugging at my earlobe, I moved to stand beside him. “I, uh, don’t precisely know—”

“Good morning, Empress.” Daniel’s voice cut into the room, and when I spun around, I found him carrying a mug of steaming coffee—and a plate of buttered bread. With an earnest grin, he offered them to me. “Breakfast.”

A happy lump formed in my throat, and I slowly wrapped my fingers around the warm mug. The coffee smelled divine. “Thank you, Daniel.” My eyes flicked to his. “Truly—this means a lot.”

“It’s just breakfast,” he mumbled. He scratched at his stubbly jaw, and then, with aching slowness, he leaned his lips to my forehead . . .

Only to pause. His gaze dropped back to mine. “Er, is that all right?”

For some reason the coffee and bread trembled in my hands. “Always,” I whispered.

His lips twisted up, and then he pressed a gentle kiss to my brow.