Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(9)

“And he is the one who now possesses Elijah’s body,” Allison whispered.

I nodded. “And he was the reason the Spirit-Hunters were in Paris. It was his demon we fought. She was sacrificing people to help Marcus build a spell—a compulsion spell that we believe he used to kidnap Jie.”

Allison’s breath caught. “The Chinese boy?”

“Chinese girl,” I corrected, looking back to Allison’s face. “Marcus and Jie boarded a train bound for Marseille, so now we intend to ambush him there. And we intend to kill him.”

“But what if that is precisely what he wants?” Allison gestured south, toward Marseille. “Perhaps he kidnapped Jie just to lure you in.”

I blinked, surprised Allison would jump to that conclusion so quickly. Of course Joseph, Daniel, and I had thought of that—but we were also intimately familiar with Marcus’s tricks by now. Allison was not. . . .

Yet her cleverness had always managed to catch me off guard in the past—even after she had proven it time and time again.

“Marcus might be luring us,” I finally acknowledged. “We did consider that, but since we have this balloon, we can travel much faster than any train. We intend to reach Marseille first and ambush him.”

“Yet why is he even going to Marseille?” she pressed. “Why kidnap your friend only to carry her south?”

“He seeks a basilica in the city. One that might have information leading to the . . .” I hesitated. Allison did not need to know of the Black Pullet—a mythical creature of immortality and wealth my brother had once sought. Nor did she need to know of the Old Man in the Pyramids, who was said to be the only person who knew how to summon the Black Pullet.

And she certainly didn’t need to know we had traveled all this way on mere guesses that the crypt in Marseille’s Notre-Dame de la Garde would have answers leading us to the Old Man.

So at last I simply said, “He seeks a basilica with information leading to more power. Black magic,” I added with a lift of my eyebrows. “So you must see how dangerous it will be, Allison, and why you cannot join us.”

“But then where the blazes will I go? I am on this airship—Mr. Boyer allowed me to board—so I am bound for Marseille no matter what.”

“Perhaps you can find a hotel when we arrive. Or a restaurant.”

“Oh, so I shall go have lunch? While I wait for you to fight Marcus to the death?”

“Yes.” I laughed dryly. “That is exactly what you must do.”

For several moments she was silent. Her lips pursed, her gaze darted around the room, and I thought the argument was blessedly over. But then she tipped her head to one side. “So Jie Chen is a girl . . . who dresses like a boy. For safety?”

I nodded, and Allison settled a disapproving stare on my trousers. “Is that why you do it? Or is your purse so empty you cannot afford a gown? You may borrow one of mine, you know. I have several in my luggage.” She motioned to the rear of the balloon.

I scowled as shamed heat rushed through me. It infuriated me that Allison could still humiliate me over my family’s poverty.

“My clothes,” I said through gritted teeth, “have nothing to do with money. I cannot outrun the Dead in skirts and flounce.”

“Oh?” She clicked her tongue. “And whose clothes are these? Clearly they are not your own since the sleeves and pants are far too long.”

More heat scorched up my face. I had nothing to be ashamed of, yet my body reacted as if I did. As if Allison’s opinion still mattered. But I forced myself to say in my smoothest tone, “These are Daniel’s clothes.”

“Ah.” Her eyes widened melodramatically. “Your beau. The ex-convict you have chosen as your suitor. Or”—she jabbed a finger in the air—“is that other fellow your beau? They were both so very desperate to get into your cabin just now. And we all know how men fall at your feet for no apparent reason.”

My jaw went slack. I knew she blamed me, at least partially, for her older brother’s death. If Clarence had not been courting me, he might never have walked into Elijah’s trap . . . and he might never have died.

But I had never loved Clarence, and Clarence had never loved me. He had courted me to make our mothers happy and to bribe me. His family had criminal connections; I knew about them; he had not wanted me to blab.

Yet Allison knew none of this. All she saw was someone who had chosen a ruffian over her older brother.

Yes, she blamed me for Clarence’s death . . . and I supposed, deep down, I did too.

Still, no matter how much I understood her feelings—and perhaps even appreciated all she’d recently done for me—I could no longer keep the edge off my words. “His name is Oliver, and he is not my beau.”

“Oliver what?” she demanded.

I flung my gaze around the room for inspiration. I could hardly say that Oliver was a demon—and especially not that he was my demon. My eyes landed on the apple still clutched in my fingers. “McIntosh,” I said gruffly. Then more firmly. “His name is Oliver McIntosh, and he is nothing more than a good friend.”

“Oh?” Allison pushed out her chin. “Then why have I never seen him before? I know no McIntosh families in Philadelphia.”

I squeezed the apple until my fingernails cut through the flesh. Until juice trickled out. “I met Oliver on my way to France. He helped me out of several dire situations.” I left it at that.