“You have no choice, El. Not with the Hell Hounds on your trail. You have to learn how to hide your hand—just as I am hidden from their senses.”
“I am not learning necromancy.” My voice came out a growl. “It’s too awful. Look at what Marcus has done. And Elijah!”
Oliver winced. “You’re right.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “But then that leaves you with only one other option.”
“What?”
“Bind yourself to me.”
I stopped midstride. “What did you just say?”
“Bind yourself to me.” He paused and glanced at me. “Then you have access to all my power—”
“No.”
“And then you can set me free.”
“No!” I shrieked, pushing past him onto the lowest level. “Set you free? Bind to you? Absolutely not.” I scanned the hall—it split in two directions.
“I was afraid you might say that,” Oliver called after me. Yet nothing about his tone sounded afraid. If anything he seemed smug—as if my refusal was precisely what he wanted to hear.
“But bound to me or not,” he continued, now following me once more, “you’ve got to protect yourself, El.”
“Why do you think I’m going to Paris, Oliver?” I whirled around to face him. “There are people there who can help me.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have enough time. It’s only a matter of days—hours, even—before
Marcus’s spell is too strong for you and distraction won’t be enough. Then you’ll be dead, and I’ll be trapped in the earthly world for all eternity.”
“Trapped?”
His eyes met mine. “My master may be dead, but as you can see, I’m still bound to his blood. Only someone with that same blood— you—can set me free. But”—he shrugged casually—“I can’t make you do it. I’m just a man as long as this locket stays chained to my neck.” With a huffed sigh, he pointed left. “I’m pretty sure the doctor is that way. Now, can you at least consider my offer? Then maybe, if you’re still alive in the morning, you’ll have come to your senses.” He nodded his head to the stairs. “I’m two levels up, right by the stairwell. Room three-oh-four— if you decide you need me.”
He gave me one last melodramatic sigh before ambling off.
I didn’t sleep the rest of that night. How could I? For one, the doctor—a nice old sailor with muttonchops and an easy smile—had rubbed a stinky white salve all over my face, thereby forcing me to stay locked in one position in my bed lest I disrupt said salve.
For two, Lizzie came every hour to poke me and make sure I was all right. And though I appreciated this gesture, I also wanted her to stop.
And three, terror of the Hell Hounds blazed through me. I’d been so close to death. To complete and final oblivion . . . Would it happen again if I fell asleep?
So I lay in bed, and I ran through my dream over and over again. Though the fact that Clarence and
Elijah were watching out for me was partly comforting, it was mostly disconcerting. If only I had known they were real at the time, maybe I could have found a way, a spare second, to ask Elijah about his letters. About Oliver. For no matter what the demon said, I didn’t trust him. Why would he want to bind to me? Was it true that I was the only person who could free him? And what would a “free demon” even mean?
I stared up at the bottom of Laure’s bunk, and an idea formed in my mind. What if I could go back to the spirit realm—knowingly and intentionally go there? What if I could talk to Elijah? The thought of seeing him again . . . of seeing Clarence—my heart squeezed so hard, I couldn’t see straight.
I would have to ask Oliver how, though. He was the only one who might be able to tell me how to cross the curtain intentionally.
Of course, waiting until the morning turned out to be especially difficult. By the time the sun rose, a gray pink at our porthole, I was barely able to keep my eyelids up. I felt gritty and heavy with exhaustion, but I forced myself to wait for the sun to crest before dressing and marching down to
Oliver’s floor.
It didn’t take many knocks before a blustery man threw the cabin door wide. He wore a long nightshirt and only seemed capable of keeping one eye open. “Who’re you?”
“Um . . . I’m looking for—”
“Me.” Oliver bounced in front of the man. He wore the same gray suit as before, but it was wrinkled and untucked—as if he’d slept in it. “What is it, El?”
“I want to talk. Somewhere very public but where we can’t be overheard.”
He ran a tongue over his teeth. “How about the saloon?”
I nodded. “Lead the way.”