Strange and Ever After by Susan Dennard Page B

it eased my nerves. Then, in a rush of soft words, I told Joseph what Oliver and I had done in Marseille. “Girard gave Oliver instructions,” I finished. “Oliver knows what to do to find the Old Man.”
    For several breaths, Joseph was silent—and I feared furious. But then his lips pursed. “Learn what your demon knows so we may set a course.”
    My breath kicked out, relief overwhelming me. “Yes. I will.”
    Joseph angled his body toward me, and in a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “Mark my words, Eleanor. Every fresh cut we must make on Jie’s skin, I will give to Marcus. He will feel the deepest pain imaginable—over and over until he has paid for what he has done. Until his soul and his body are nothing but dust.”
    My mouth went dry. “We go to Egypt to end this,” I rasped out.
    And Joseph stared at me with unfocused eyes. “Yes, Eleanor. We go to end this. And this time we end it once and for all.”
    After leaving Joseph, I staggered to the washroom. Even the simple acts of relieving myself and scrubbing blood off myhands almost destroyed me. I barely had enough energy to reach Oliver’s cabin and peer in.
    He sat on his bunk, his elbows on his knees and his flask in his hands. He glanced up and briefly met my eyes. . . . Then he blinked once and returned his attention to the flask.
    He wanted to be alone, and I was more than happy to comply. By the time I finally shambled into my own cabin and fell onto the bunk, I was too exhausted to dwell on him or Allison or Egypt. I could not even bother to change from my damp clothes. It took every last ounce of my energy to crawl beneath a blanket and summon the magical words of a dream ward. . . .
    Then I slept.
    Hours later I awoke, cold and hungry. All was dark outside. I hauled myself to my feet and stumbled for the door. A light shone dimly around the edges, and when I opened it, I found jars of glowworms roped along the ceiling outside.
    A snort broke through my lips. How typically clever of Daniel—no open flames in an airship. At the end of the hall, a brighter light gleamed. The galley. I crept toward it, and the sound of a slicing knife hit my ears.
    Someone was cooking. Perfect.
    Of course, when I sneaked my head through the doorway, I found an electric lamp glowing over a sandy-haired boy hunched at the table. With a surprising lack of coordination, Daniel chopped at a piece of garlic.
    “What are you making?”
    He jerked around, the knife flying up. His eyes met mine;his breath whooshed out. “It’s just you, Empress. Sorry.” He lowered the knife.
    “Who else would it be? I do not think even Marcus could reach us this high.”
    He huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m antsy is all. I don’t like having a Wilcox on board. I don’t trust her.”
    As his words sank in, horror solidified in my gut. I had not once thought about the Wilcox family’s connection to Daniel. That Allison’s father and brother had tried to kill him.
    I dug my hands into my eyes. I had been so preoccupied with myself, I had forgotten the one piece of Daniel’s past that he wished to escape more than anything: the accidental death at his hands, the dynamite factory explosion, and the prison time he’d served when the Wilcoxes had framed him for murder.
    And now a Wilcox was on the ship.
    “I’m so sorry, Daniel. I didn’t even think about Allison—”
    “It’s fine,” he cut in. “If Joseph says she can stay, so be it. But it doesn’t mean I trust her.”
    “A-all right.” I frowned, for once grateful that Daniel did—and felt—anything Joseph commanded. At least he wouldn’t make trouble with Allison.
    I leaned back into the hall and strained to see through the dim light. “Who is at the wheel?”
    “Jie.” Daniel’s voice was low, and when I twisted back toward him, he shrugged one shoulder. “We’re just coasting over the Mediterranean for now. Ain’t difficult to fly, and . . . well, she doesn’t want to sleep.”
    “Ah.” I