Strange and Ever After (18 page)

“No,” I lied, scowling and brushing at my hair with my fingers. Jie only laughed, a loud, clear sound; and as she kicked off toward the entrance too, all my frustration with Allison slipped away.

Today was becoming a good day.

Oliver strolled up beside me, his elbow extended. “Shall I escort you, milady?”

With a grin, I hooked my arm in his. “You’re in an unusually fine humor this evening, aren’t you?”

“Hmmm.” His lips pressed into a vague, private smile, and he guided me up the front steps. “You are as well, Eleanor.”

“Because my best friend is here, and she seems to be feeling better. But what reason is there for your happiness?”

As he twirled us around a shoe shiner singing for
baksheesh
, he flashed his eyebrows. “Let us simply say, Eleanor, that on this particular day, I am very glad to be alive.” He towed me through a lattice-screened door. “Your palace awaits, milady.”

“That is all?” I demanded. “You are simply glad to be alive?”

“Mmm.”

I dug my heels into the ground, trying to get him to stop. But Oliver simply slipped his arm free, wiggled his fingers mockingly, and strode ahead, cryptic and confusing.

I hurried after him, through the entrance doors . . . but my
stride instantly failed me. The hotel was even more luxurious inside. Potted narcissi and elegant leather sofas were crowded amid golden Persian rugs. The orange-sunburst tiles clicked beneath hundreds of feet, and above it all was the soft murmur of voices—primarily, I was surprised to note, speaking English.

While sportsmen in khakis and artists toting their paintbrushes streamed by, Oliver informed Jie and Allison from several paces ahead of me that it was likely everyone in and around Shepheard’s spoke English. The hotel was a haven for Americans and British abroad.

Allison tipped up her chin. “I daresay that will make our investigation easier then. We should start with the concierge.”

“Yes,” Oliver said slowly. “You inquire at the front, and, uh . . . I shall do a bit of snooping elsewhere.” With his hands sliding into his pockets, he slunk off into the crowds.

I craned my neck for sight of the concierge beyond the throngs of people. At last I found the dark-wood desk. “It’s at the far end of the room.”

“Let me do the talking, please.” Allison ran a disgusted eye over mine and Jie’s clothing. “In fact, you two ought to simply wait here.” She trotted away.

Jie and I shared more arched eyebrows.

Then Jie shrugged. “Well,
I’m
not waiting.”

“Good. Nor am I.” With our jaws set, we moved out after Allison. Jie was especially adept at swatting people aside like they were obnoxious insects, and we soon reached the desk. Allison threw us scowls. Then, while the decidedly European
concierge was subjected to the full power of Allison’s arrogance and command, Jie strolled over to a rack of newspapers nearby.

Almost instantly, though, Jie hunched over and snatched up a paper. “Eleanor,” she called. “You’d better come look at this.” She lifted the paper as I scurried to her side. Today’s
Egyptian Gazette
, an English paper, read “Dead Rise in Marseille.”

My stomach flipped, and with trembling hands, I took the page. The article stated that the Spirit-Hunters were not being blamed for the mass rising of corpses in France—thank God. Enough people had seen us
battling
the Dead to know which side we were on.

“But it doesn’t say what happened to all the Dead after we left.” I glanced at Jie.

Her forehead furrowed. “The news was probably just telegraphed in this morning. Maybe the rest of the story hasn’t reached here yet.”

“I hope Marseille is all right.” My eyes skimmed over the article once more . . .

Until a hand slapped the back of my neck.

“Ouch!” I cried, whirling around.

It was only Allison. “Sorry.” She grinned, not seeming even remotely sorry, and offered me her gloved palm—on which was the smashed form of a mosquito. “They’re everywhere.”

I returned the
Gazette
to its rack, watching as Jie wriggled and scratched as if there were suddenly mosquitoes all over her.

“We ought to pick up a tansy salve at the apothecary,”
Allison declared matter-of-factly. “It will keep the tiny monsters away.”

I nodded absently, rubbing at my neck. “Did you learn anything from the concierge?”

Allison’s lips pruned. “Only that information on guests is completely confidential and no amount of sharp disapproval will change that blasted man’s mind . . .” She trailed off, her mouth dropping open. Then she lunged at the rack of newspapers and yanked up a flimsy paper booklet. “This is Milton! This is that
rotten
man who owes my family!” She thrust the booklet at Jie—then at me.

I barely had time to see the title,
The Exploits and Adventures of Rodney Milton, Greatest Egyptologist of the Century
, before she had whipped the booklet open and was scanning the contents.

“Here it is!” she exclaimed. “Saqqara.
That
was the excavation father invested in.” Clearing her throat, she began to read. “‘Saqqara was a well-known site that had barely been touched before the esteemed Professor Rodney Milton’”—she made a gagging face—“‘excavated the ruins in 1870. With funding from the University of Pennsylvania and other donors, Milton bravely explored many pyramids at the site. During his excavations, Milton uncovered an entire necropolis, or city of the dead, where hundreds of catacombs were built to honor ancient Egyptian deities.’” Her eyes snapped to mine as she shoved the booklet into her pocket. “‘Esteemed professor,’ indeed! And how very kind of this book to lump my father under ‘other donors’! Oh, I will find this double-crossing Milton if it’s the last thing I
do. And I
will
get that concierge to talk—”

“Wait!” I snagged her wrist before she could slay the poor man with her words. “Perhaps Oliver has had better luck. Let’s find him first.”

Yet as I turned to go search for him, my gaze landed on two ridiculous-looking girls marching toward the front desk. They were close in age to Allison and me, but their matching red hair and freckles indicated they were sisters.

One was tall and lithe, the other small and plump, much like Mercy and Patience Virtue back in Philadelphia—and with quite the same airs. They stopped imperiously before the concierge.

“We are expecting a delivery from Swan & Edgar,” said the taller, prettier of the two sisters. “When it arrives, please have it sent back.”

“Tell them we will not be needing the dresses,” inserted the plump sister, her expression dramatic and forlorn.

“Your names?” the concierge asked.

“Deborah and Denise Mock.” The taller one’s face flushed with annoyance. “
Surely
you know us by now. We have been staying here for
ages
.” With a scathing glare, she spun on her heel and scurried right back past us. “Come on, Denise,” she trilled.

Denise hustled after. “Oh, I am still
so
overcome that Mother will not let us go to the party.”

“Do not speak of it,” Deborah snapped. “I was looking forward to seeing the professor’s latest artifact, and now
everyone
will be talking of it without us.”

“And here I was,” Denise went on dismally, “so certain that my new rose silk would catch Mr. Chaplin’s eye. . . .”

The girls rounded an urn and slipped from earshot.

And Allison and I exchanged wide-eyed glances—and I knew she thought as I did. It was not so long ago that we behaved like those sisters, and that dresses and bachelors had dominated
our
conversations too. For all that girls like the Virtue sisters enraged me, I had once been just like them.

“Ladies.”

Jie, Allison, and I jumped. But it was only Oliver behind us. “The professor isn’t here,” he said, sliding to my side. “But he
does
dine here every week, and the staff knows all about him. Today he is at the Bulaq Museum.”

“Then let us go there,” Allison cried. “Can we afford the carriage fare?”

“Ah, but the cost does not matter.” Oliver opened his hands apologetically. “There is a party tonight, hosted in your professor’s honor. Apparently he has discovered some wondrous artifact, and he intends to unveil it.”

My breath hissed out, for certainly this was the same party the Mock sisters would be missing. . . .

“A party?” Allison snarled, stamping her foot.
“Esteemed professor, indeed!”

“Can we try to get in?” Jie asked.

“Doubtful.” Oliver’s eyebrows dipped down. “Security will be very strict. They aren’t letting anyone in without an invitation.”

Allison ground her toe in the tiles, as if they might be Milton’s nose. “So we must wait until after this party to speak to Milton?”

“Or we return tomorrow.”

“We cannot wait,” I inserted. “We have to assume Marcus is on his way to Egypt right now. We have certainly gained some time from the airship, but how much? A full day is already lost because of the Hell Hounds—losing any more is too much risk.” I rubbed at my earlobe, considering our options. Giza was not
so
far away, so we
could
hire a carriage . . . though that still would require more money than we currently possessed.

It was then, as I was frowning into space, that Jie nudged me.

“Look.” She dipped her head at two well-dressed gentlemen with large boxes striding toward the concierge. The boxes read swan & edgar.

“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.”