Another hand grabbed me from the other side. I choked at the sight of Elijah, filthy and huge—just as he had been before he died.
“Go!” he screamed, and suddenly we were racing twice as fast. My legs spun like wheels, but still
I could barely keep up with the two young men.
“Don’t stop,” Clarence shouted. “They’re almost here!”
The hallway blurred, shifting like paint into a murky, gray landscape. Barren, endless, this world was only broken by pinpricks of light across the sky.
Our feet pounded on wooden slats, and I realized with horror that we were on a rickety dock.
Splinters sliced into my bare soles, and a wind beat at us from behind. My nightgown whipped up into my face.
The howling of the dogs was deafening.
“We’re too late,” Clarence cried.
“Just keep going,” Elijah urged. Then he and Clarence released me, and they both fell back.
Somehow I pushed on. Ahead, a golden glow beckoned to me, growing closer and closer. I ran and ran and—
The wind shoved me. I flew forward onto my chest. My face slammed into the gray dock, and the roaring hounds swallowed everything. I tried to scrabble to my feet, but the moment I lifted my face, the howling stopped.
And I froze.
The dogs were there. Four of them, lips drawn back and fangs bared.
They were huge—bigger than me, bigger than a horse. Hulking, black, and with eyes of sun-bright yellow.
Eyes that were locked on me.
“Eleanor! Wake up!” I heard the voice, distant and dim.
I was shaking. Someone was shaking me.
“Wake up, El—wake up!”
And I knew that voice. This dock was a dream.
The moment the realization hit, the world winked out of existence. My eyelids popped open. I was staring at polished tan wood. The air was frigid.
“Eleanor, please wake up!”
I lifted my head, dazed, and found Oliver crouched over me.
“Where am I?” I tried to sit up, and he helped me rise.
“You’re on the bloody promenade deck—you almost walked off the edge.”
My eyes widened, and the contents of my stomach rose into my throat—because Oliver was right.
Three feet from my face was the railing.
And beyond that was the roiling, gray sea.
Somehow, I had sleepwalked onto the deck.
Oliver gasped. “Oh no.”
I wrenched my face toward him. “What?” In the swaying electric lights, his eyes were shining and his face was pink.
“Your . . . your face,” he said. “And your dress.”
“What do you mean?” I lowered my gaze. My nightgown was ripped to shreds. “Oh God.” I wrapped my arms around myself.
Then I realized who knelt beside me, and my eyes jerked back to his face. “Get away from me—I warned you!” I tried to scuttle back.
His jaw fell. “But I just saved your life!”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Hell Hounds, El. Didn’t you see them?”
My throat clenched shut. I stopped crawling. The Hell Hounds. The dogs from my dream. “H-how do you know about them?”
“Because my entire existence depends on it.” A gust of wind thrashed over us, sending his chestnut curls into his eyes. He had to shout to be heard. “My life hangs on making sure the Hell Hounds never find me!”
And in a flash it all made sense. “The Hell Hounds”—my vocal cords strained over the ocean wind
—“they’re the guardians of the spirit world?”
“Obviously!” He swiped his hair from his eyes. “But why are they after you?”
“After me? What do you mean? It was just a dream.” I struggled to my feet, my head spinning and the wind fighting me. Oliver reached out to help, but I bared my teeth. “Stay back.”
He retreated, his hands up. “I’m back! I’m back! But, El, that was not just a dream.” He pointed to my face. “Just look at yourself.”
I reached up and touched my cheek. “Ow!” I whipped back my hand. It was covered in blood.
For half a breath I stared blankly. Then I darted away from him, fear churning in my gut, and tottered to the nearest wall. My bare feet slapped on the smooth wood, and the wind whipped my gown in all directions.
I found a porthole, and in the yellow lamplight, I could clearly make out my reflection.
Lacerations lined my chin and nose. I leaned into the glass, and a new terror jolted through me, for there, embedded in my flesh at jagged angles, were giant splinters of dark, gray wood.
I glanced down at the deck and stomped my foot to be sure.
But no—there was no way this damage had been done by the deck.
And that could only mean one thing: my dream had not been a dream at all. It had been real.
Chapter Seven
As if my narrow escape from death was not enough agony for one night, things soon became even more complicated. After ogling myself in the porthole for a solid minute, the relative calm of the windy promenade deck was shattered by a childlike squeal.
My heart stumbled, and I spun around to find a terrified-looking Lizzie chasing toward me—her grandmother and a groggy Laure in tow.
“What happened?” Lizzie shrieked. “You’re hurt!”