Mrs. Brown gasped. “Oh, Miss Fitt, we must call a doctor!”
“Qui êtes-vous?” Laure’s eyes were locked on Oliver. “Who are you?”
“The poor man who found me,” I blurted before he could say anything stupid.
“But what happened?” Lizzie demanded. “I saw you get up and walk outta the room, but when I called, you didn’t answer.”
“Sleepwalking,” I said, my eyes darting from face to face. “I . . . I have a sleepwalking problem.”
“And now you’re injured!” Mrs. Brown cried. She hurried to my side and inspected my face.
“Dear, your face is destroyed.”
“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled, dabbing at my face. But I instantly grimaced. The bleeding might have lessened, yet the cuts still stung.
“Oh, it is that bad,” Laure insisted. With a groggy yawn, she stepped to my other side. “But Mrs.
Brown is right—you must see the ship’s doctor.”
“I can take you,” Lizzie offered. She held up her finger, around which was a small bandage. “I already visited him today. He’s on the bottom level.”
“Thank you,” I said, attempting a smile, “but this gentleman here can guide me.” I waved to
Oliver, who looked anything but willing to escort me to a doctor. “You’re in your nightgown, Lizzie, and should go back to the cabin.”
“C’est vrai,” Laure chimed. “I vote we let the jeune homme take her.”
“But how inappropriate,” Mrs. Brown proclaimed. “Her nightgown is in tatters, for heaven’s sake.”
“But he’s already seen me this way.” I tried—with little success—to keep impatience off my words. “Please, I appreciate you coming to my rescue, but I can get to the doctor just fine now.”
Laure gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “That is good enough for me, though perhaps you should lock the cabin door when you return.”
“Yes, I certainly will.” I waved good-bye to her—and Lizzie and Mrs. Brown—before turning to
Oliver. “I’m going to find the doctor.” He stepped toward me, but I flicked up my hand. “You are not coming with me.”
“But they said I must escort you.”
“And I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”
“The Hell Hounds are after you, El! You almost died. Don’t you realize what just happened? You crossed into the spirit realm. You can’t keep walking around by yourself—it might happen again!”
I didn’t answer, but simply pivoted and strode for the saloon door. As I knew he would, Oliver followed. And for some unfathomable reason, I let him . . . and I was even a bit glad to have him.
Was I so lonely that even the company of a demon was welcome? No, you merely want answers, and he’s the only creature alive who can give them to you. Yet even as these thoughts slid through my mind, part of me knew they weren’t true. Oliver was just so much like Elijah. . . .
I glanced back at him. “Why,” I shouted over the gusting wind and my smacking feet, “would these Hell Hounds be after me?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he yelled back. He lengthened his stride yet was smart enough to hang behind a few feet. “I thought the Hell Hounds were after me, actually. When they showed up at the wharf in Philadelphia, I thought it meant my binding spell was failing. That Elijah was dead, and the
Hell Hounds were out to get me.”
“Should the binding spell end with Elijah’s death?” We reached the saloon door. I motioned for him to open the heavy thing, and he hopped in front and heaved it wide.
“I thought it would,” Oliver said, “but . . . I don’t think it did. I certainly can’t do any magic, and
I’m . . .” He paused, and I had the distinct impression he was debating how much to tell me. At last he finished, “I think I must still be bound.”
And I knew in an instant he had opted to hide something from me. My distrust for him ramped up a notch.
As I strode past him and through the open doorway, he said, “You were in the spirit realm, you know. Right on the edge.”
“So it wasn’t a dream?” The door slammed behind us with a bang.
“No. It was real,” Oliver said, speaking at a normal volume.
I wiped at my face, trying to ignore how that made me feel. “Let’s say . . . well, let’s say I believe you. How did I get there? And why?”
“I don’t know, El.”
“Can you at least tell me what the dock was, then? Or the golden light at the end?”
“That whole area is the border between worlds. The dock is like a no-man’s-land, and that golden light was the curtain to the earthly realm.”
“That’s all very complicated.” I resumed walking. The saloon carpets were soft and welcome beneath my feet.
“It’s not complicated,” he retorted, following after me. “Ghosts that won’t settle collect at the border. They wait for their chance, for the Hell Hounds to look away, and then they run for that golden curtain.”
“But I saw Elijah there.” I glanced back at Oliver. “Does that mean he wants to come here?”