“He even has his own ship,” Jie went on. “To cross the Mediterranean. He can raise the Black Pullet, and he will.” With a slight lift of her head, she met my eyes. “One step ahead, Eleanor. He’s always one step ahead. And you can’t stop him.”
“We can stop him.” Joseph’s voice cracked into the room, firm and loud. He strode in, and Allison scurried aside. “We will stop him, Jie—even if it means going to Egypt.”
With a cry, Jie shoved off the floor and pushed past me. Joseph opened his arms, and she burrowed her face in his chest. He pulled her close, his chin resting on the top of her jaggedly shorn hair.
Joseph did not look young or lost now. There was a darkness in his gaze that I had never seen before . . . but that I knew.
The true hunger for retribution.
“We will stop him,” he said. “We will stop Marcus, and he will pay for this, Jie.”
Fingers clasped my elbow. I started, but it was only Allison. “Miss Chen’s wounds will fester.”
I shook my head vaguely. “All the same, we must keep her bleeding. To keep the spell from regaining control.”
“You want her to bleed . . . all the time?” At my nod, she dropped her hand. “Then Miss Chen needs a scarificator. And a cup.” At my vacant look she added, “They’re devices for bloodletting.” She waved to the inside of her forearm. “My father used to bleed daily—small cuts on his arm to balance his humors. The blood would free his negative emotions. I know how to make the cuts, and I even know how to keep them from scabbing over. I . . . I could cut Miss Chen. Every few hours, so that she never stops bleeding.”
Joseph eyed Allison, his knuckles pale around Jie’s shoulders—and my stomach turned to lead. He was going to invite Allison to stay.
Yet before I could open my mouth to protest, Allison plowed on. “And if we could get ginger, or turmeric, or garlic, we can help her bleed longer. Certain foods keep blood from clotting.”
“Then I will see to it that we get these foods,” Joseph said, peering down at Jie. Then he squeezed her even closer. “Can you tell me if her wounds will heal soon, Miss Wilcox?”
Allison’s eyes flicked to me, excited and . . . triumphant. Then she bustled to Jie’s side and inspected the cuts.
I gaped at Joseph. He could not truly consider allowing Allison to stay. Yet as I watched, Joseph removed Jie’s arms from his waist and held her face. “Miss Wilcox will tend to your wounds, Jie.” Then he leveled a firm stare at Allison. “You will make fresh incisions, Miss Wilcox, and then you will tend these wounds. I will ensure we get a . . . scarificator?”
“And a wet cup to produce suction,” Allison added. She took Jie’s hands in her own and gently guided her to a stool.
Joseph gave a final once-over to the scene before moving to the door. I followed, gripping at his sleeve, yet he pulled away to stride into his cabin across the hall.
I hurried after him. “You cannot let Allison stay,” I hissed. “She will slow us—”
Joseph paused in the middle of his room. Then, in a careful, controlled movement, he pivoted toward me. “Eleanor, I will say this to you only once, so listen closely. I protect people—it is what I do. I fight the Dead so that others may live, and there is nothing I value more than a human life. Except”—his voice dropped to a whisper, and he bowed his head toward me—“for Jie and Daniel. I will always, always put their lives above others. And above mine. I would kill for them.” He leaned in closer. “So if Miss Wilcox can keep Jie safe, then she will remain a part of this team. And that is the end of this discussion. Do you understand?”
For a moment I was speechless—unsure I actually did understand. Would I put Jie’s and Daniel’s lives above finding Marcus?
Of course you would, my heart nudged. And it was right. So I nodded at Joseph. “I understand.”
“Good.” He straightened. Then he ran a hand along his bandages—along the space where his ear had been.
I flinched. “You’re bleeding.”
“Wi.” His hand fell. “I will have Miss Wilcox change the bandages once she has dealt with Jie.” He turned, as if to dismiss me—but I had one more question.
“Do we go to Egypt?”
Without looking back at me, he nodded. “If Marcus seeks the Old Man in the Pyramids, then so do we. Somehow, we will find the Old Man first.”
With cautious steps, I moved to Joseph’s side. “I . . . or rather, Oliver knows how to find him.”
Joseph watched me slantwise. “How?”
I hesitated. He would be angry; he would not like that Oliver had interrogated Jacques Girard.
My right hand moved to my pocket, seeking the ivory fist’s calming power. For two heartbeats I simply savored the way it eased my nerves. Then, in a rush of soft words, I told Joseph what Oliver and I had done in Marseille. “Girard gave Oliver instructions,” I finished. “Oliver knows what to do to find the Old Man.”
For several breaths, Joseph was silent—and I feared furious. But then his lips pursed. “Learn what your demon knows so we may set a course.”