Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(6)

“Or what?” He straightened. “Will you command me?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flashed. “Do it then. Command your tool. Just as you did last night when you scorched away part of my very being with electricity. Just as you always do when you want something.”

My breath hiccupped. I deserved Oliver’s temper for what had happened in Paris. Yet when I had commanded him to grab a crystal clamp—a device that produced electricity from quartz—I hadn’t known the electricity would kill a piece of his soul.

But he had been the one to manipulate me into binding to him. He had become my tool willingly, and he had given me a two-month deadline by which I had to set him free.

“Use me, Eleanor.” Oliver leaned toward me. “Betray me so that for that brief moment while my magic keeps you warm, you can pretend your life is not broken. Why, I bet if you try hard enough, you could even pretend your mother is still alive.”

His words crashed into me. I rocked back on my heels, and all my guilt for mistreating him vanished.

“Heal me,” I said. “Heal my wounds now, Oliver. Sum veritas.” The words of command slid off my tongue like snakes, and instantly Oliver’s eyes ignited with bright blue magic.

His flask fell to the floor. He grabbed me and viciously squeezed my hands in his—so tightly that my cuts ripped wider and the splinters dug deeper.

Then through clenched teeth, he began to murmur. A heartbeat passed. Two more . . . until finally the warmth came—a sparkling, pure heat a thousand times more comforting than alcohol or an embrace. It washed over me, through me. It circled around my heart and then settled into every piece of my soul.

And one by one, the splinters wriggled out of my skin. The lacerations on my hands and knees closed up, and the pain around my heart eased. When the last cut was finally healed, Oliver flung away my hands and stalked to the door. “You will push everyone away,” he growled beneath his breath. “Just like he did, you will lose us all.”

He. Elijah. My brother.

Oliver grabbed for the doorknob.

“Wait,” I called. I finally felt strong again. I finally felt alive.

Stooping down, I retrieved Oliver’s flask. He drank too much, my demon. It might dull his grief, but he was wrong: magic did heal mine.

I stepped toward him. “I am not Elijah.”

“Yet you are becoming him.” His golden eyes met mine, glowing in time to his pulse. “All you care about is how the magic makes you feel. How is that so different from your brother?”

“You were the one who introduced me to power.”

“Perhaps I did,” he agreed, “and perhaps I inflated your ego too much in the process. You are strong, but you are not omnipotent.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and his eyes fluttered shut. “And nor does it atone for what you did to me last night—forcing me to touch electricity. . . . I can never forgive you.”

Before I could open my mouth to argue—to explain how his power saved all of Paris—he said, “And what of Laure?” His eyes opened and latched on to mine. “She is your friend, yet you killed her—you actually killed her when you brought that corpse back to life. If I hadn’t been there to save her, then Laure would be dead now. And,” his eyebrows rose, “as if that was not bad enough, you promised to explain everything to her. Yet instead, you left her in Paris with nothing but a note.”

“That,” I ground out, “was my only choice. We have to reach Marseille before Marcus does—you know that. And as for the butler’s corpse, raising it was an accident.”

“Accident or no, you have pushed Laure away.” He ticked off one finger. “And you have pushed me away.” He ticked off a second finger. “Who will be next, El? I understand how much you want to make Marcus pay, but at what cost—”

“How can you possibly comprehend?” I cut in, my pitch rising. “Do you have a family? Or loved ones? Or someone you would give your very life to protect? No,” I went on, unconcerned when his nostrils flared or his breath hitched. “You have none of those things, so do not speak to me as if you understand.”

For a long moment he stayed silent. His lips pressed tighter and tighter, turning into a white line.

Then I felt it. Felt the deep, agonizing pain that lived inside him.

He didn’t mean for me to feel it—it simply shuttered over our bond and then instantly vanished again.

Yet I almost staggered back from the force of it. I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep my face blank. I would not give him the satisfaction of thinking he had gained something with that display.

“You’re dismissed,” I said, swiveling away and crossing to the bunk.

“Am I?” Oliver barked a laugh. “You will push everyone away, El. Even your precious Danny Boy.”

I flung myself onto the bunk and squeezed my eyes shut. “Do not act as if you care for my life, Oliver. You only want me around so I may set you free.”

Fabric shifted and feet padded. I popped my eyes wide—to find Oliver only inches away, his body angled down. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I have no family. Yet I do have a home—a spirit realm that I will do anything to return to. You see me as your tool, Eleanor, and I see you as mine. After we destroy Marcus and my responsibilities are complete, do not forget: you owe me.”