A Darkness Strange and Lovely

Chapter Seven

As if my narrow escape from death was not enough agony for one night, things soon became even more complicated. After ogling myself in the porthole for a solid minute, the relative calm of the windy promenade deck was shattered by a childlike squeal.

My heart stumbled, and I spun around to find a terrified-looking Lizzie chasing toward me—her grandmother and a groggy Laure in tow.

“What happened?” Lizzie shrieked. “You’re hurt!”

Mrs. Brown gasped. “Oh, Miss Fitt, we must call a doctor!”

“Qui êtes-vous?” Laure’s eyes were locked on Oliver. “Who are you?”

“The poor man who found me,” I blurted before he could say anything stupid.

“But what happened?” Lizzie demanded. “I saw you get up and walk outta the room, but when I called, you didn’t answer.”

“Sleepwalking,” I said, my eyes darting from face to face. “I . . . I have a sleepwalking problem.”

“And now you’re injured!” Mrs. Brown cried. She hurried to my side and inspected my face.

“Dear, your face is destroyed.”

“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled, dabbing at my face. But I instantly grimaced. The bleeding might have lessened, yet the cuts still stung.

“Oh, it is that bad,” Laure insisted. With a groggy yawn, she stepped to my other side. “But Mrs.

Brown is right—you must see the ship’s doctor.”

“I can take you,” Lizzie offered. She held up her finger, around which was a small bandage. “I already visited him today. He’s on the bottom level.”

“Thank you,” I said, attempting a smile, “but this gentleman here can guide me.” I waved to

Oliver, who looked anything but willing to escort me to a doctor. “You’re in your nightgown, Lizzie, and should go back to the cabin.”

“C’est vrai,” Laure chimed. “I vote we let the jeune homme take her.”

“But how inappropriate,” Mrs. Brown proclaimed. “Her nightgown is in tatters, for heaven’s sake.”

“But he’s already seen me this way.” I tried—with little success—to keep impatience off my words. “Please, I appreciate you coming to my rescue, but I can get to the doctor just fine now.”

Laure gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “That is good enough for me, though perhaps you should lock the cabin door when you return.”

“Yes, I certainly will.” I waved good-bye to her—and Lizzie and Mrs. Brown—before turning to

Oliver. “I’m going to find the doctor.” He stepped toward me, but I flicked up my hand. “You are not coming with me.”

“But they said I must escort you.”

“And I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”

“The Hell Hounds are after you, El! You almost died. Don’t you realize what just happened? You crossed into the spirit realm. You can’t keep walking around by yourself—it might happen again!”

I didn’t answer, but simply pivoted and strode for the saloon door. As I knew he would, Oliver followed. And for some unfathomable reason, I let him . . . and I was even a bit glad to have him.

Was I so lonely that even the company of a demon was welcome? No, you merely want answers, and he’s the only creature alive who can give them to you. Yet even as these thoughts slid through my mind, part of me knew they weren’t true. Oliver was just so much like Elijah. . . .

I glanced back at him. “Why,” I shouted over the gusting wind and my smacking feet, “would these Hell Hounds be after me?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he yelled back. He lengthened his stride yet was smart enough to hang behind a few feet. “I thought the Hell Hounds were after me, actually. When they showed up at the wharf in Philadelphia, I thought it meant my binding spell was failing. That Elijah was dead, and the

Hell Hounds were out to get me.”

“Should the binding spell end with Elijah’s death?” We reached the saloon door. I motioned for him to open the heavy thing, and he hopped in front and heaved it wide.

“I thought it would,” Oliver said, “but . . . I don’t think it did. I certainly can’t do any magic, and

I’m . . .” He paused, and I had the distinct impression he was debating how much to tell me. At last he finished, “I think I must still be bound.”

And I knew in an instant he had opted to hide something from me. My distrust for him ramped up a notch.

As I strode past him and through the open doorway, he said, “You were in the spirit realm, you know. Right on the edge.”

“So it wasn’t a dream?” The door slammed behind us with a bang.

“No. It was real,” Oliver said, speaking at a normal volume.

I wiped at my face, trying to ignore how that made me feel. “Let’s say . . . well, let’s say I believe you. How did I get there? And why?”

“I don’t know, El.”

“Can you at least tell me what the dock was, then? Or the golden light at the end?”

“That whole area is the border between worlds. The dock is like a no-man’s-land, and that golden light was the curtain to the earthly realm.”

“That’s all very complicated.” I resumed walking. The saloon carpets were soft and welcome beneath my feet.

“It’s not complicated,” he retorted, following after me. “Ghosts that won’t settle collect at the border. They wait for their chance, for the Hell Hounds to look away, and then they run for that golden curtain.”

“But I saw Elijah there.” I glanced back at Oliver. “Does that mean he wants to come here?”

Oliver scratched his head. “You’re certain it was him?”

“Yes. And I saw an old friend of mine—one of Elijah’s victims, actually.”

He grimaced. “It sounds like their spirits were there to help you—on purpose— which makes me think that somehow they knew you were in danger. Like maybe they were watching out for you.”

“So that was really Elijah?”

Oliver nodded. “His spirit, yes.”

My throat closed tight. Elijah and Clarence—two people I’d have given anything to speak to again.

It would seem Oliver was thinking the same thing, for he said, “Did Elijah, um . . . well, did he say anything?”

“Like what?” I stepped onto the main stairs, paused, and gripped the left handrail until my knuckles were white.

“Like maybe a message,” Oliver explained. “For me.”

“No.” I resumed my descent, adding gruffly, “There wasn’t exactly time.”

“Right.” He shambled after me. “Of course not. Silly of me to have hoped.” He stared at the steps, his pace steady. Then his head snapped up. “Never mind. We have more important things to dwell on.

Like seeing the doctor. And figuring out why the Hell Hounds are after you—oh, and figuring out how they keep finding you.”

“We?” I paused on the next landing. “I don’t trust you.”

“No.” He tapped his chin, and his lips curved up in an almost arrogant smile. “But even if you don’t, I’m the only person who can help you right now. You told me you knew about necromancy, but obviously that was a lie. The first lesson in necromancy has to do with the Hell Hounds: Don’t mess with them. They’ll blast your soul straight into the final afterlife. No second chances. No questions asked. There’s a reason I never let down my guard, and those dogs are it. If they manage to sense me here—to recognize I’m in the wrong realm—I’ll be gone in an instant.”

“So . . .” I bit my lip, my grip still tight on the handrail. “If you hadn’t woken me just now . . .”

“No more Eleanor Fitt.”

I sucked in. There was a lot I didn’t know—and now I owed my life to a demon because of it.

Fantastic.

Oliver cleared his throat. “It was total luck, actually. Like I said, I never drop my guard. When I sensed the Hounds were here and not after me, I thought . . . well, I assumed the worst. I saw you on the dock in Philadelphia, you know—saw how you reacted when the Hounds came. And so I ran to see if you could sense them this time. To make sure you were all right. Luckily I was able to distract you —by waking you up—and that sent the Hounds away.”

“Distract me,” I repeated slowly. “It seems that every time my thoughts are elsewhere, the Hounds disappear.” I lifted my wrist. “And so does the pain in my hand.”

His eyes grew wide. “Your hand? It hurts when the Hounds come?”

“Yes, and it even starts flickering—like the ghost of my hand is somehow here.”

“Because it is!” He sprang onto the next landing and spun to face me. “Oh hell, it’s clever—don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t see at all.”

“Your hand—or the spirit of your hand—is trying to cross the curtain. The Hell Hounds are doing what they do best: stopping it.”

“But why would my hand try to cross?” I clutched my wrist to my chest and strode past him onto the next flight of stairs. “Does it have its own spirit?”

Oliver joined me. “Sort of. Remember what I said about phase changes? Well, the spirit form—

the, ah, water form—of your hand still exists. Only your ice form—your earthly body—is missing a hand. You must have cast a spell that’s calling your soul hand here. Then, because it’s not hidden from the Hounds, they attack every time it tries to cross.”

“Except that I haven’t cast a spell.”

“So someone else is calling your hand then. Someone who wants you dead, I’d say. But your hand isn’t magically bound to you, so it’s not hidden from the guardians.”

My eyes widened. “Marcus! He must be the one calling my hand!”

“You mean the necromancer wearing Elijah’s . . .” Oliver’s face tightened. “Him?”

“Yes. He’s the only person I can think of who could cast a spell like that. He wants something from me—” I broke off. I didn’t want Oliver to know Marcus wanted the letters as well. Not before I knew what exactly was in those letters that made them so valuable.

Beside me, Oliver shivered. “This Marcus must know quite a few tricks to cast such an advanced spell. If he is really the one behind this, he must know a lot about you as well—if he knows your hand is missing, I mean.”

I gulped. Mama must have told him.

“There’s no way you’ll be able to escape him,” Oliver went on. “Not without learning some necromancy.”

“No,” I spat. “I’m not doing that.” We rounded another landing and moved onto the final flight.

“You have no choice, El. Not with the Hell Hounds on your trail. You have to learn how to hide your hand—just as I am hidden from their senses.”

“I am not learning necromancy.” My voice came out a growl. “It’s too awful. Look at what Marcus has done. And Elijah!”

Oliver winced. “You’re right.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “But then that leaves you with only one other option.”

“What?”

“Bind yourself to me.”

I stopped midstride. “What did you just say?”

“Bind yourself to me.” He paused and glanced at me. “Then you have access to all my power—”

“No.”

“And then you can set me free.”

“No!” I shrieked, pushing past him onto the lowest level. “Set you free? Bind to you? Absolutely not.” I scanned the hall—it split in two directions.

“I was afraid you might say that,” Oliver called after me. Yet nothing about his tone sounded afraid. If anything he seemed smug—as if my refusal was precisely what he wanted to hear.

“But bound to me or not,” he continued, now following me once more, “you’ve got to protect yourself, El.”

“Why do you think I’m going to Paris, Oliver?” I whirled around to face him. “There are people there who can help me.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have enough time. It’s only a matter of days—hours, even—before

Marcus’s spell is too strong for you and distraction won’t be enough. Then you’ll be dead, and I’ll be trapped in the earthly world for all eternity.”

“Trapped?”

His eyes met mine. “My master may be dead, but as you can see, I’m still bound to his blood. Only someone with that same blood— you—can set me free. But”—he shrugged casually—“I can’t make you do it. I’m just a man as long as this locket stays chained to my neck.” With a huffed sigh, he pointed left. “I’m pretty sure the doctor is that way. Now, can you at least consider my offer? Then maybe, if you’re still alive in the morning, you’ll have come to your senses.” He nodded his head to the stairs. “I’m two levels up, right by the stairwell. Room three-oh-four— if you decide you need me.”

He gave me one last melodramatic sigh before ambling off.

I didn’t sleep the rest of that night. How could I? For one, the doctor—a nice old sailor with muttonchops and an easy smile—had rubbed a stinky white salve all over my face, thereby forcing me to stay locked in one position in my bed lest I disrupt said salve.

For two, Lizzie came every hour to poke me and make sure I was all right. And though I appreciated this gesture, I also wanted her to stop.

And three, terror of the Hell Hounds blazed through me. I’d been so close to death. To complete and final oblivion . . . Would it happen again if I fell asleep?

So I lay in bed, and I ran through my dream over and over again. Though the fact that Clarence and

Elijah were watching out for me was partly comforting, it was mostly disconcerting. If only I had known they were real at the time, maybe I could have found a way, a spare second, to ask Elijah about his letters. About Oliver. For no matter what the demon said, I didn’t trust him. Why would he want to bind to me? Was it true that I was the only person who could free him? And what would a “free demon” even mean?

I stared up at the bottom of Laure’s bunk, and an idea formed in my mind. What if I could go back to the spirit realm—knowingly and intentionally go there? What if I could talk to Elijah? The thought of seeing him again . . . of seeing Clarence—my heart squeezed so hard, I couldn’t see straight.

I would have to ask Oliver how, though. He was the only one who might be able to tell me how to cross the curtain intentionally.

Of course, waiting until the morning turned out to be especially difficult. By the time the sun rose, a gray pink at our porthole, I was barely able to keep my eyelids up. I felt gritty and heavy with exhaustion, but I forced myself to wait for the sun to crest before dressing and marching down to

Oliver’s floor.

It didn’t take many knocks before a blustery man threw the cabin door wide. He wore a long nightshirt and only seemed capable of keeping one eye open. “Who’re you?”

“Um . . . I’m looking for—”

“Me.” Oliver bounced in front of the man. He wore the same gray suit as before, but it was wrinkled and untucked—as if he’d slept in it. “What is it, El?”

“I want to talk. Somewhere very public but where we can’t be overheard.”

He ran a tongue over his teeth. “How about the saloon?”

I nodded. “Lead the way.”

Two flights of stairs later, he led me into the second-class saloon, which was—as Laure had declared—much like the first-class saloon. There was rich upholstery and an elegant grand piano, yet the ornamentation was calmer. Less nauseating, and more importantly, no one gave me or my gown a second glance.

“There.” I pointed to a nook in the back corner with two green chairs, and we strode over. With a grateful sigh, I swept my petticoats aside and eased to a seat. Rolling back my head, I let my eyes flutter shut. Though I hardly liked sitting with Oliver, I was too tired to maintain any of the fury I’d carried the night before.

But Oliver seemed to misunderstand my relaxation. “Does the rocking bother you?”

“Why do you ask?” I opened my eyes.

“Elijah didn’t like it either.” He dropped onto the seat across from me and gazed out a porthole.

“He got his sea legs eventually.”

“When did you travel on a boat?”

“From England to France and then again when we went to Egypt.” He sighed through his teeth. “I offered him relief, but he was funny about using my magic. He never used it unless he had to. I was more a companion to him than a tool. We were . . . friends.” He turned to me, his brow knit. “Though for a friend, you’d think he’d have let me win at chess every now and then. I swear, the man was ruthless.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “He was, wasn’t he? We used to play every day, and not once did he go easy on me—even when I didn’t know the rules yet!”

“That sounds like him. He was the same with riddles. He’d always pose those tricky little mind games—”

“Like the eight-queens riddle?”

“Exactly!” Oliver slapped his knee. “How do I fit eight queens on a chess board? I haven’t the bloody faintest.”

I grinned. “I never figured it out either.”

“Well, perhaps if we both set our minds to it”—he tapped his forehead—“we could finally solve it.” He bent toward me, a smile spreading over his lips. “Now, I assume you’ve brought me up here to make some deal?”

“Yes, though not the one you’re imagining, so wipe that look off your face.” I tugged at my earlobe. “I saw Elijah last night. I crossed into the spirit world, and he was there. ”

“I know.”

“So, I want to know if I can go to the spirit dock on purpose. Can I cross over and talk to him and

—” I stopped speaking. Oliver was shaking his head emphatically.

“No. For one, the Hell Hounds would be on you in a second. For two, that’s very advanced necromancy. You’d need years and years of training.”

“Oh.” I gulped. “Even . . . even with your magic? Could you send me over?”

He blanched, and his pupils swallowed up the gold of his eyes. “No. No.”

“What is it?”

“Your brother . . . he wanted the same thing, but I can’t. I wish I could—maybe none of this would have happened if it were possible. But if I try to cross, the Hell Hounds will destroy me.”

I deflated back into the seat. “What about voodoo? Can other magics cross into the spirit realm?”

He wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t know, El. I’ve only learned what Elijah learned.”

“So only necromancy.”

“Yes—” He broke off as two little boys came barreling past in a rousing game of tag. Once they were out of earshot, Oliver continued, “I believe you could call Elijah if you had his body, since a soul and its body have a special connection, but . . .”

“There is no body.” Disappointment swooped through me. “Damn Marcus.” I looked away.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said softly. “If there was a way I could talk to your brother, I swear to you, I would.”

I sniffed. He sounded just like Elijah, and I didn’t like how it made me feel.

At that moment a yawn cracked through my jaw.

“You know,” Oliver drawled, “one of the easiest spells to learn in necromancy is a dream ward.

Because necromancers are so vulnerable in their sleep, blocking dreams is one of the first spells they ever learn.” He shot a pointed finger up and recited: “A spell can’t hit its target if the target’s concentration is elsewhere.” He curled his finger back down and dropped his hand. “Spirit world, earthly world—it doesn’t matter. If you’re distracted, the spell can’t hit.”

“But if all it takes is distraction to deflect magic, it sounds like necromancy would backfire constantly.”

“Sure, but you’ve seen how hard it is to distract yourself with monstrous dogs salivating for your soul. A non-necromancer wouldn’t know he had to concentrate elsewhere, and the average person wouldn’t even be able to.” He shrugged. “Plus, distracting yourself when you’re asleep is almost impossible. However, if you cast a dream ward”—he dragged out the two words—”you’ll be safe and sound until the morning.”

“The spell is . . . easy?”

“Very.” He scooted toward me, his face animated. “And if you’re even half as powerful as Elijah, you’ll be able to cast it with almost no effort at all.”

I pinched my lips together, considering his words. He wanted me to do necromancy. Necromancy.

The black magic that had destroyed my brother and created monsters like Marcus.

But I couldn’t stay awake indefinitely, and the more tired I became, the less I would be able to defend myself with this distraction technique.

And . . . there was just the tiniest corner of my heart that wanted to know what Elijah had done.

Wanted to know what this magic was that had made him—and made Marcus too—devote his life to studying it.

Then another part of me—that roiling part in my gut that would do anything to kill Marcus and take my brother’s body back—wanted to see just what kind of power I had living inside me.

“This simple little spell,” I said warily, “you’re certain it will protect me?”

“It’s not a permanent solution to the Hounds, but it’ll keep them away a bit longer.”

I wet my lips, and before I could reconsider said, “All right. Tell me what to do.”

His lips curved into a grin. “Focus your power and repeat after me.”

“Focus my power?”

“It’s quite easy—or I think it is, based on Elijah. Close your eyes.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me or make me cast some horrible, world-destroying curse?”

“Because that wouldn’t help me, now would it? I need you—alive—to set me free.”

“That’s a very comforting response, Oliver. Of course I can trust you implicitly when all you care about is using me for your own designs.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been thoroughly lonely and bored until you came along.

So . . . I don’t want to lose you.”

I grunted, and his face sobered. “You really are just like him, aren’t you?” He blinked quickly.

“Never mind. Just close your eyes and feel for your power—your soul.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined sending my senses out to the very edge of my limbs.

“It’s like taking a deep breath,” Oliver said, his voice low. “With each breath, draw power into your chest. The magic is part of you—it’s your very soul—and all you have to do is gather it into one place. You’re making a well. That’s what Elijah called it.”

I sat up tall, inhaling until my lungs were full. I tried to pull every drop of spiritual energy into my body.

It happened immediately—a tingle that started in my toes and fingers and buzzed up to my chest.

It was warm. Soothing.

“Wow,” Oliver breathed.

“What?” I mumbled, keeping my eyes shut. This was nothing like the burning pain in my hand or the electric crack of Joseph’s methods.

“You’re glowing.”

My eyes sprang open. “I’m what?”

“Just concentrate!”

I looked down. My entire body was emanating a soft blue light. I stared in horror at Oliver. “M-my skin!”

“It’s fine.” He threw his hands up. “No one’s looking at us. Trust me, El. Don’t worry. It just means you’re strong. Bloody strong.”

I gulped. “Wh-what do I do now?”

“You’ve got plenty of power here for the spell, so just repeat after me: Hac nocte non somniabo. ”

“What does that mean?”

“I will not dream tonight.”

“Oh.” I drew in a steeling breath. I could do this—I could cast a spell.

“Hac nocte non somniabo, ” I whispered. Warmth rushed through me like a wave, and the magic twirled around my heart—once, twice—before coursing back through my limbs and out. A heartbeat later, all the magic was gone.

I collapsed back onto the seat.

“You did it!” Oliver clapped. “And on your first try. Do you feel all right?”

A tired smile tugged at my lips. “Actually, I feel amazing.” It was as if balmy bathwater lapped at my skin, and all my worries had fallen away.

“A complete sense of well-being?” Oliver’s eyes crinkled knowingly. “That usually happens with necromancy. You ought to go to bed now—while you’re relaxed. Your body needs to sleep anyway, to replenish the soul you just used. I’ll be here—at the bar—if you need me.”

I nodded, too exhausted and happy to do much else. Necromancy hadn’t been what I expected at all, and I suddenly understood exactly why Elijah might have turned to it.

For not only was it a dark magic—it was a strange and lovely magic too.

I slept like a stone for the rest of that day. It was far more sleep than a single waking night warranted, yet I wrote off the exhaustion as part of the necromancy.

And I also blamed the necromancy for the abysmal pit of hunger in my stomach. Laure kindly ordered sea biscuits and oranges to the room, but no matter how many I stuffed into my face, the hunger never seemed to fade.

Nonetheless, I managed to ignore it long enough to conk back out and sleep straight through the night. I spent the next morning gluttonously eating—this time with something more substantial than seasickness fare—and writing letters to Mary, Mama, and even Allison.

I reveled in the fact that I felt safe. That, for the first time in months, not a single cloud of grief blackened my sky.

Eventually Laure convinced me to dress, and she looked on as the stewardess’s fingers flew deftly up the final buttons on my gown.

“Mademoiselle Fitt,” Laure drawled, lounging against our bunk, “you must be the easiest woman to dress on this boat.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, giving the stewardess a thankful nod as she left our room.

Laure arched an eyebrow. “You ’ave no stays to pull or laces to tie.”

“It’s much more comfortable.” I smiled and patted my corset-free belly. “Perhaps one day all women will forgo the wretched—” I broke off as an itch began in my missing hand.

Holding my breath, I glanced down—and found the air over my wrist shimmered. Distract yourself, Eleanor. Focus elsewhere. Distract!

“The wretched . . . ?” Laure prompted.

“Um.” I wet my lips, attempting to recall what we’d been discussing. “Uh, one day we’ll forgo the wretched things and start wearing trousers instead—”

Pain rammed into me—so hard and so fast, a moan broke through my lips.

“What is it?” Laure stepped toward me.

“It’s my hand.” I grasped my wrist to my chest, hoping she couldn’t see the glow.

Then a single, long howl burst through the room.

It was happening again. The guardians had found me.

Without thinking, I bolted for the door. I needed Oliver—now! He would know what to do.

Laure shouted after me, but I shoved into the hall without a backward glance.

Snatching my skirts in one hand, I barreled down the corridor and toward the stairs. My absent hand throbbed with each step, and I didn’t have to look to know that it glowed. The bluish light shone in my eyes like a lantern.

I reached the stairwell and headed toward the bar. Moments later, I burst into the second-class saloon. Shocked faces turned toward me, and I ran my eyes over each one. But none of them had the familiar rosy cheeks and rounded jaw I needed.

“Eleanor!” a voice yelled behind me. It was Laure, but I didn’t turn. At that instant a howl burst through the saloon, carrying with it the dark stench of grave dirt.

Every lamp flickered and winked out.

Screams erupted—high-pitched and terrified—and I realized that, for the first time, it wasn’t only

I who could hear them. But what did that mean? Did it mean the Hound was here—actually in the earthly realm?

No, not hound. Hounds. There were several now, growling and barking over one another.

I spun around until I spotted the exit onto the second-class deck. Then I surged back into a run, my good hand out to shove people aside and my right hand a beacon to see by. If people noticed my glowing hand, they didn’t react—they were too busy scrambling and screaming in the dark.

“Move!” I shrieked, shoving people harder.

But I only made it halfway across the room before an icy wind blasted into me. I toppled forward and hit the ground. Pain burst in my chin, and the recent scratches ripped open. All around, the passengers’ shouts grew louder.

I dragged myself to my feet and trudged onward to the door. The wind was so strong, it felt like slogging through mud. Then came the sound like a full-speed train. The Hell Hounds were here—right behind me, with roars so intense they consumed every piece of my mind and being.

My legs pumped harder, my knees kicking high, and the bright square of daylight grew closer and closer. Just as I reached the door, a new voice shouted my name. “Eleanor!” Oliver’s figure formed in the doorway, arms outstretched. “Faster!”

It was exactly like the dream. Faster, I had to run faster.

I reached the door, and Oliver grabbed my sleeves and yanked me aside just as the Hounds galloped past—screeching like tornados and fully visible now.

We ran as clouds crowded in overhead, blocking out the sun.

We reached the smokestacks at the center of the boat. Oliver shoved me between them. “You’ve got to hide!”

“How?” My breath came in short gasps. “They know I’m here!”

He shook his head. “You’ve only got seconds.” He grabbed my stump and lifted it. My hand was there in its entirety, pulsing from blue starlight to pink flesh and back. “You’ve got to hide this!”

“How? ” I strained to keep breathing. I wasn’t ready to die—to have my soul obliterated! But the howls were racing closer, back on my trail. The smokestacks wouldn’t protect me from the Hounds’ supernatural jaws.

Oliver glanced desperately toward the sea. As my heart battered my lungs, I grabbed Oliver’s sleeve and yanked him to me. “If I bind to you, can you save me?”

His yellow eyes locked on mine. “Yes.”

“Then do it!”

He pulled me close. “Promise to set me free.”

The Hounds were so near, I could hear each snarl and the gnashing of their phantom teeth. “I can’t set you—”

“Promise to set me free,” he shouted, “and then I’ll save you!”

“Fine! Yes!” I shrieked over their raging howls. “I promise!”

Triumph flashed over his face. Gripping my left hand, he started whispering words I didn’t recognize and could barely hear. Then he leaned in until our foreheads touched. “Say Sum dominus et veritas.”

I hesitated.

“Say it, Eleanor—now!” The boat tipped dangerously, and the Hell Hounds’ growls shattered through my skull.

“Sum dominus et veritas!” I screamed.

Blue light flashed in Oliver’s eyes, and he tugged my glowing right hand up. The air around it sparked, cracking with electricity. Oliver’s eyes flashed the same color as my hand.

Abruptly, the wind stopped, and with it the howls.

But not the smell of grave dirt.

I turned to face them. The guardians of the spirit realm. They looked exactly as they had on the spirit dock, but now they stood still, confused. Four dogs towering over us, their noses sniffing and yellow eyes staring.

“Wh-what do we do?” I croaked.

“Give them a minute,” Oliver whispered. “Their target—your hand—just vanished. They should leave soon . . . I think.”

After what felt like hours of holding my breath, the dogs finally did twirl around and leave. I darted forward to watch them go.

Over the ship they bounded, their feet barely skimming the wood, before they leaped up off the edge and winked out of existence completely.

I spun to Oliver. “They’re gone?”

“Yes. Gone.”

My breath whooshed out. I almost doubled over. Oliver slipped his hand around my waist and guided me to the nearest bench, where we both plopped down and swallowed in air.

“That . . . that was close.” I was coated in sweat, and my scratches were scabbing over anew.

“Too close.” Oliver leaned onto his knees and held his head. “But that was smart of you, El. To bind to me, I mean.”

I winced. Maybe it had saved my life, but at what price?

“Don’t look so miserable,” Oliver grumbled. “You got to keep your life, and you got your hand back.” He reached for my right wrist and held it up.

My jaw sagged. All I could manage was a shocked sputter.

For there, wiggling at me as good as new, was a very flesh-colored, very real hand.