“Brilliant,” I whispered, flashing Jie a bright grin. Then I snatched at Allison’s arm. “Go tell them you’re Deborah Mock.” At her oblivious stare, I pointed at the dressmakers. “Tell them you’re Debbie and those gowns are yours.”
Understanding brightened her eyes, and without wasting a heartbeat, she puffed out her chest and swept toward the men.
“Hullo,” she sang, “I am Deborah Mock, and if I am not mistaken, these gowns belong to me. Thank you so very much for delivering them.”
Allison managed to get the dresses in mere moments, so we promptly aimed for the hotel’s washroom. Professor Milton’s party would begin at six—and it was already a quarter until.
“And we still gotta find a Western apothecary,” Jie reminded us as we strutted around a row of potted violets. Allison and I had the two dress boxes, while Jie and Oliver sauntered behind us. “If that scar . . . scarifi . . .”
“Scarificator,” Allison inserted.
“That,” Jie said. “If it will make these cuts hurt less—”
“It will,” Allison chimed.
“—then I want to get one.”
“Eleanor and I promise to hurry,” Allison said.
My eyebrows lifted at her.
“What?” she demanded, stopping before an ornate door marked ladies.
“I am merely surprised, is all. You are quite good as a nurse.”
“Humbug,” she scoffed—but there was no denying the pleased flush on her cheeks before she pushed into the water closet.
I threw a backward glance at Jie and Oliver. “Stand guard?”
Jie chuckled, as if it were stupid I even mentioned it, while Oliver gave an elegant shrug. “I always do, don’t I?”
I blinked, briefly struck by how different he seemed. With his fitted charcoal suit (somehow always impeccably clean) and his top hat (stolen in Le Havre), he looked as he always did. . . . And yet when I’d first met him two weeks ago, he had reminded me of Elijah—young, silly Elijah.
He did not remind me of Elijah anymore. Now Oliver seemed like a man. His own man.
“Enjoying the view?” He smirked at me. “If you continue to stare, Eleanor, you might give me the wrong impression.”
My cheeks warmed, and to my even greater shame, Jie snickered. I scowled and turned toward the water closet. “I do not know what you mean.”
“No,” he murmured as I pushed through the doorway, “you never seem to.”
Yes, there was definitely something different about my demon these days. And Jie. It was not just what Marcus had done to her—though perhaps that had triggered this shift—but she seemed . . .
Well, she actually seemed to like Oliver. Or at the very least, she did not seem to mind him. Had it only been two days ago that she had screamed at me in the burned-out Tuileries Palace? That she had raced off to tell Joseph? And it had only been yesterday that she had hissed demon and cowered.
The door softly clicked shut behind me, and I found myself in a washroom as ornate as the lobby. The space was open, long, and filled with comfortable wicker seating. At the back was a low counter with multiple china washbasins, and to the right were several doors into individual toilet closets.
Allison laid her box on a sofa, and with my help, we had her down to her small clothes in mere minutes. Then as she donned Deborah’s gown, I stripped free of Daniel’s trousers . . .
And thought of my inventor, back at the airship. He would be slaving over the broken engine, while Joseph fretted over each detail. . . .
And while Marcus drew ever closer, seeking the same Old Man my brother had sought and hoping to gain immortality and wealth from some ancient, mythical monster.
But soon—so soon—we would give Marcus what he deserved. We would crush him, and then everything could return to normal. Or a broken version of it, at least.
Pivoting toward Allison, my fingers moved to my trousers’ pocket to check on the ivory fist. . . .
And I froze, my jaw sagging.
For Allison was dressed in Deborah Mock’s gown, and though it was not yet laced up and was at least four inches too long, it was stunning. The jade muslin was decorated with sky-blue flowers sewn along the shoulder-baring collar—and larger flowers were fastened onto the bustle.
“Heavens,” I breathed, dropping the trousers on a chair and approaching her. “Jade is most certainly your shade, Allison.” I was so used to seeing her in mourning, I had quite forgotten how well she looked in such colors. . . . And I realized with an inward frown that this was likely the first time she had donned anything but black since Clarence’s death.
A smile tugged at her lips, and she ran a hand over the skirts. “It is nice. These Mock sisters certainly have taste. . . . Now your turn.”
“So that I may look the fool next to you?” I grinned, and Allison blinked.
“Whatever you do you mean?”
“Do not pretend you aren’t prettier than I.” Still smiling, I moved to my dress box and towed off the top.
A rose silk gown with lace trim met my eyes.