Eventually I withdrew the ivory fist from my pocket and held it to the porthole. It almost looked as if its shape had shifted—as if the fingers were beginning to unfurl. My brow wrinkled, and I examined it more closely . . . until I forgot what I was doing.
Whatever strange artifact this was, at least while I looked at it I did not have to think about Oliver. Or Mama. Or Daniel’s mechanical hand, now lying beneath my pillow. Or Jie’s broken gaze. Or anything at all. Somehow, simply staring at the fist made my heart settle and my brain ease. I lost track of time and thoughts, and I smiled.
But eventually I heard voices in the hall. Jie’s soft voice. It called me back to the present—I wanted to speak to her. I missed her.
So I returned the fist to my pocket and hurried into the hall. Jie was just walking into the pilothouse, and by the time I reached the glass room, she was at the wheel. She leaned on the spokes, her head in her hands. Though she stiffened slightly at my approach, she did not look my way.
“Have you slept?” I asked gently, moving to her side.
“No.” Her fingers curled around one of the spokes. “I . . . don’t want to.”
“You’re safe here.”
She turned her face toward me. In the bright morning sun, her eyes looked like endless pools of amber. “Am I?” She lifted her left arm, and a lump bulged beneath her sleeve. “I’m completely dependent on this.” She rolled back her sleeve to reveal a metal canister not much larger than a thimble. At one end was a round bit of rubber.
“What is that?”
“It’s called a cup.” Jie tapped the rubber. “This makes a suction—or I think that’s what Daniel said. It pulls out a few droplets of blood every second.”
“So Daniel made it?”
Jie nodded. “Based on what Miss Wilcox described.”
“Does it work?”
“Yeah.” She wet her lips, staring at it with blank eyes. “For now. But when I sleep? When I dream?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Is it worse to go to sleep and drown in the terror?” She swung her head forward, her gaze so distant, I thought she saw another world entirely. “Or is it worse to wake up and find it’s real?”
I swallowed, unsure what to say. At last I simply asked. “Were you . . . aware when you were with him?”
“Sometimes I would return to my mind, frozen in place and seeing him. Sometimes we would be walking. Sometimes he would be speaking to me . . . or dressing m—” She broke off and shuddered. “I-I never knew if those moments were intentional. If he let me be in my brain and see from my eyes so I would know how helpless I was. Or maybe he just lost control of his magic from time to time. At least I was only with him for one day.” She inhaled deeply. “At least you came for me.”
“Of course we came for you.”
“Right,” she said absently. Then she sighed through her nose and gave an empty smile. “Daniel speaking to a Wilcox. It’s hard to believe, yeah?”
I blinked at the sudden change in subject.
“And Miss Wilcox isn’t the only strange thing I found on here,” Jie went on. “Your, uh . . . demon is here too.” There was a tightness—a bitterness even—in her voice.
And guilt grated against my insides. So much had happened in such a short time—Jie had returned to a world upheaved.
“Joseph explained Oliver to me,” she added. “He says the demon helped us.”
“He has.” I lowered my hands.
“Then I guess it’s all right if he’s here.” Yet nothing in her voice said she felt all right. Especially when she murmured again, “Yeah, it’ll be all right.”
We descended into silence. The only sound was the engine, the occasional whip of wind against the gondola, and the opening and closing of doors. Soon enough, Allison bustled into the pilothouse, her chin up. “It is time for more bloodletting,” she declared with all the authority of a doctor. “Roll up your sleeve, Miss Chen.”
My eyebrows lifted. And with a deftness I never would have expected, Allison released the suction on Jie’s vacuum, slipped a clean bandage over the wound, and quickly bound it up. “Other arm,” she said, and Jie extended her right arm. Allison patted the soft skin below her elbow and then extended a sharp lancet.
Jie inhaled. Allison slashed. Blood blossomed. Then Allison set a second suctioning cup against the wound, squeezed the rubber tip to draw out the air . . . and released.
The cup stayed sucked firmly against Jie’s arm.
“If only we had leeches,” Allison murmured, shooting Jie an apologetic look. “Then we could just pop one of those on you, and I would not have to cut you every hour before the old incisions scab over. But if we cannot find leeches in Egypt, then a scarificator will do. It won’t hurt as much, at least.” Her gaze slid to me, lips puffing out. “Thank goodness I was here to help Miss Chen, no?”
Before I could offer a response, Jie made a guttural sound. Her face was unusually pale. “I don’t feel good,” she said.
Allison whipped an apple from her pocket. “Because you must eat.”