Hands shaking, I grabbed a chunk of flesh on my bicep. Maybe I could wake myself up. It had worked when I had first crossed into the realm, and Oliver had shouted me back to the earthly realm.
No. The jackal will show you.
My gaze lurched ahead—and a frozen wind gusted into me. Hard. I tipped to one side, squinting to see through stinging eyes.
The jackal had stopped only twenty paces ahead. His ears lay flat against his head, and with a dipping motion of his snout, he shifted his gaze down.
He was pointing at something.
But the Hounds were so close now. The icy wind ripped through my hair and yanked at my loose shirt.
And, God, they were so loud. Echoing in my skull.
Look! The jackal’s voice burned behind my eyes. Look NOW.
My fingers fell from my bicep, and in a burst of speed, I launched myself toward the jackal—toward whatever it was he wanted me to see.
I reached him. I looked down . . .
And I saw into a hole. A gaping, jagged expanse in the middle of the dock. Beneath it I could just make out the dark, swirling waters of . . . of I didn’t know—whatever it was that surrounded this no-man’s-land between realms.
I looked at the jackal. “This is what you wanted me to see?”
He shook his head once, and then—with a high-pitched whine that somehow pierced deep into my mind—he jerked his snout down, into the shadowy waters below.
And that’s when I saw it: a boat. As old and splintered as the dock, it was hidden just out of sight at the edge of the hole.
“Wake up!” Clarence Wilcox’s voice slid into my ears. I spun around, my heart rising—with hope. With fear.
He raced toward me wearing the dress suit he had died in, and his coattails whipped like icicles behind him.
And on his heels, barreling toward me with the strength of a thousand cyclones, were the Hell Hounds.
Clarence flung his hands up, his knees kicking high with each step. And he screamed, “It’s not time, Eleanor! Not yet! Wake up! WAKE UP!”
The jackal jumped at me. Fangs snapped in front of my face. I stumbled backward, and somehow golden streaks reared up along the sides of my vision.
“No!” I planted my feet. Wind and frozen mist thundered over me and through me. But I would not move until I could speak to Clarence. “The boat—I can get in the boat!”
The jackal jumped again. I held my ground even as the world turned black before my eyes and howls shattered my ears.
But then Clarence’s figure vanished in a swirl of black and gray—and the jackal’s heavy feet slammed against my chest. The jackal’s glowing eyes surged into my face. . . .
I fell backward, and in a rush of light and silence, I plummeted through the curtain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hands gripped my shoulders—shaking. Jarring me awake. My eyelids burst open, and I stared dazedly into burning yellow eyes.
Oliver gaped at me, his breathing rough. Then fury scored into his face. He flung me back as if scalded. “You returned,” he hissed.
I didn’t answer. The Hell Hounds’ growls echoed in my ears, and my pulse still skittered. I squinted at the porthole. An orange glow filtered through. Dawn.
“You went back,” Oliver repeated, “after I told you not to.”
“Not on purpose,” I croaked. “I cast a dream ward.”
“Liar.” His face sank into a sneer.
“I swear, Ollie.”
Doubt flickered on his face, and I pushed on. “All I know is that I cast a dream ward, fell asleep, and awoke on the dock.” I rose roughly onto my elbows. “And . . . Clarence Wilcox was there. I saw him.”
Oliver’s sneer finally vanished, replaced with weary resignation. He strode to the porthole, and the sunrise disappeared. He became a silhouette of blazing orange. “Let them go, El. Let Clarence go. Let your mother go. And for God’s sake, let Elijah go.”
“Because you have let Elijah go?”
“Master your grief,” he continued dully, “and then let them go.”
Though the room spun, I stumbled to him. “Are you such a master of your grief?” I jabbed my hand into his waistcoat and yanked out the flask. He jolted toward me but made no move to reclaim it.
He simply barked a stony laugh. “My loss is a part of me, El. I cope with it as best I can. But you?” His gaze roamed over my face. “You fight to keep what you cannot have back.” His hands rose, and almost languidly, he pried each of my fingers from the flask. “Crossing realms will not return your family.”
“And I did not cross on purpose.” I relaxed my grasp, and the flask fell into his palms. “Marcus’s spell must be drawing me over the curtain still.” Even as the words fell from my tongue, I sensed they were not true. Marcus was not the one pulling me over the curtain. Somehow, these trips were linked to the jackal.
But I kept that to myself, for at that moment Oliver said, “Revenge will not bring back your family either, Eleanor.”