“Prettier than you,” Allison repeated softly, and I glanced at her in surprise. Her forehead was creased. “Do you really think that?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” I shrugged helplessly. “In all honesty, Allison, I have always envied your beauty. And all your friends. And,” I continued, since clearly I was in a confessing mood, “your wealth.”
She shook her head, her frown only deepening. “People were not really my friends, Eleanor. It was all because of Father. Mercy, Patience—I spent all my time with them, but they were never like . . . like your friendship. With Miss Chen.” She barked a harsh laugh. “And here I was, always envying you. All the clever things you would say. How you could always make people laugh. And how you never seemed to care what they thought of you.”
“But . . . I did care.” I tilted my head to the side, now eying her with surprise. “I cared very much and merely pretended not to.”
For several long moments she watched me, her expression inscrutable. Something was happening here. A shift in a wind I had not even noticed was there. But then a huge grin suddenly split her face.
And she laughed. A full, rippling sound that sent her hands to her lips and her shoulders bouncing. “Can . . . you . . . .believe it? We’re in the middle of Egypt, wearing stolen dresses and discussing how much we envy each other! Can you conjure a more absurd situation? And,” she went on, snorting, “we’re about to sneak into a party so I may demand money! It is like something out of a novel.”
I cracked a wry smile. “I suppose you are a Portia with no sense of mercy now.”
Her laughter paused . . . then she doubled over even harder. “I . . . forgot . . . you called me that! I had to ask Clarence what it was, you know—and of course it was Shakespeare. Heavens, it feels like ages ago.”
Because it was, I thought. It was a lifetime ago.
Bang, bang, bang! A fist hammered on the door. Allison and I flinched
“Eleanor!” Oliver called. “What is taking so long? It is past six o’clock now, and we still must find an apothecary.”
Allison and I exchanged winces. Then we dived into action—I laced up Allison’s gown, and she helped me don mine. The gowns did not fit well, but they were at least manageable. Though it did take a great deal of sucking in and grinding my teeth, I eventually managed to squeeze into the rose silk. It was harder than it should have been thanks to my corset-less waist, but soon enough, Allison had all the buttons fastened.
Of course, the gown was at least three inches too short, and though it made walking easier, it revealed my worn boots. But even more obvious was the huge bandage wrapped around my forearm.
“Maybe . . . no one will notice?” Allison said, but from the way her face screwed up as we pushed back into the lobby, I knew she was lying.
“Finally,” Jie groused as Oliver gave Allison and me a once-over. His eyes caught on my bandage . . . then drifted down to my boots.
“Nice ankles, El.” He bared a rakish grin that left Allison blushing and Jie smirking. Then, after gathering up the dress boxes that now held our old clothes, he loped off toward the street. Allison, Jie, and I hurried after.
“I managed to secure a carriage,” he said as we scampered down the steps and back into the seething array of beggars, donkeys, and street vendors. “I promised the fellow payment after our party—as well as loads of baksheesh.” He turned a high eyebrow on Allison. “Let us hope your professor pays up.”
Allison’s teeth clenched—as did mine. When we had left Paris, the last thing on my mind had been money. After facing armies of Dead, I never would have expected our largest obstacle to be funding.
“Here we are.” Oliver motioned to a dingy, dangerous-looking carriage pulled by a pathetic horse covered in open wounds and festering sores.
My stomach rebelled. And when I saw that one of the horse’s legs was lame, I flung a furious glance at the driver. I knew this was simply a cultural disparity—this horse was a work animal and nothing more—yet I could not accept it.
Jie winced as well when she noticed the horse’s sores, and even Allison wrinkled her nose.
So I turned desperately to Oliver as Jie and Allison ascended into the carriage.
“Can you help the horse?” I whispered. “Heal it or something?”
“How?” he asked without looking at me. “Recall: Mr. McIntosh is nothing more than a regular person with regular powers. Now, up we go.” His hands clasped my waist, and with surprising strength, he hefted me into the carriage. Then he hopped up beside me, hunkered down, and ordered our driver onward.
But not before his yellow eyes met mine and a thought flickered through my brain—his thought.
Command me once the party begins and Miss Wilcox is out of sight. Then I will heal the horse.