Strange and Ever After (2 page)

I toed the door shut. Then I locked it. But Daniel would not go away.

“Please talk to me.” His voice was muffled through the door. Through the roar of blood in my ears. “Please, Eleanor.”

“I just need a minute,” I mumbled. “A minute alone.” I stared at the closed door and barely managed to choke out a final word. “Please.”

I turned around, and a fresh numbness engulfed me. My posture deflated; my knees buckled; I slumped to the floor. I planted my hands on the wood, and stared vaguely at the swirls and grooves in the planks.

No. No. I refused to believe Mama was dead. Not her—not my dragon mother.

I needed proof. I would not accept this until I had evidence.

Or . . . until I had said good-bye.

I leaned right, curling into a ball against the low bunk.

Daniel pounded on the door. Then Joseph. Then Oliver. I ignored them. Even when Allison’s voice began to mingle with theirs, even when the engines started to rumble and the airship’s gondola swayed more wildly, even when my ears popped painfully from the rapid change in altitude, I stayed firmly curled on the floor.

Until eventually, I had fallen asleep. And when I had opened
my eyes again, the floorboards had been replaced by a golden, glowing dock.

Though I knew entering the spirit realm meant certain death, I did not care. Now that I was here—now that I was in this no-man’s-land—I could find my mother. And I could say good-bye.

My boots struck the dock, muffled in the heavy air. Unnatural. I risked a backward glance. The golden door was distant now—much farther away than it should have been, given I had only moved twenty paces or so. . . .

Fear rippled down my spine, and for the first time since I had crossed into this world, my numbness pulled back.

Then it
reared
back, and panic crashed over me. Was this truly what I wanted: to find Mama? Was it worth the risk of the Hell Hounds? Of final, explosive death as they protected the spirit realm from the unwelcome living?

Yes,
my heart told me. I wanted to see her so fiercely, I thought my lungs would burst and my ribs snap. For my mother’s final words to me had been filled with hate and rage. . . . How could I go on living if that was all I had for a good-bye? How could I accept that Marcus had
sacrificed
Mama? Decapitated her just as Elijah had decapitated all those young men . . .

Suddenly, a whine sounded, and I jolted forward. A dog stood on the dock.

I scooted back two steps. This was not a Hell Hound—this dog was much too small. Yet it was
something
, and it was here. In a no-man’s-land that should be empty.

“Go away,” I croaked, stumbling farther back. “Go.”

It did not move.

I gaped at it, my heartbeat throbbing in my skull. This dog was much too
real
—just like my phantom hand. Its black-and-yellow fur was scruffy, its body lean and wild, its ears tall and erect. For whatever purpose, it belonged here.

Jackal. He is a jackal.

The words formed in my mind, almost as if . . . as if they had been
planted
there. From somewhere else.

My throat pinched tight. “You’re . . . a jackal?”

The jackal gave another keening whine. Then it . . . no,
he
sank onto his haunches and very distinctly nodded his head.

My jaw went slack, surprise replacing panic. And when the jackal’s yellow eyes latched on to mine expectantly, I eased out a breath—relaxing slightly.

Why are you here?

I flinched at the second blast of thought that was
not
my own. “You . . . want to know why I’m here?”

The jackal nodded.

“I’m looking for my mother. She . . .” My fingers curled into fists. “She died several weeks ago. She would have crossed this dock to enter the spirit realm.”

And?

“And I heard that those who are not ready to die will stay here. On the dock. My brother did it—he stayed here and did not pass to the final afterlife. Since . . .” I swallowed. “Since I do not
think
my mother was ready to die, then perhaps I can find her on the dock too.”

The jackal shook his head.
She is gone
.

My heart sank like a stone. Heavy. Choking. “So you have not seen her?” I could not keep the tremor from my words. “She is taller than me—broad shouldered and . . .”

The jackal saw her pass on, and you are too late.

“But maybe she is here anyway.” I insisted. “How do you
know
she’s gone? Who are you?
What
are you?”

The jackal is a messenger, and the jackal
knows.
Your mother is gone, and you are too late.

The thought burned in my skull, bright and penetrating. I stared stupidly at him. . . . But then the words shifted and sank. Down they slid, like clotted oil into my throat. Into my chest.

My mother was dead, and I was too late. She had left the dock, and I would never, ever see her again.

It was over; she was over; my family was over.

Everything inside me went limp. My legs stopped working, and I fell forward. My knees hit the dock, my hands too. My wrists snapped back.

I did not care.

Because I could not have my good-bye. My final “I love you.” There would be
nothing.

My lungs spasmed. No air in, no air out. I would suffocate, and I would not care.

I clutched at the dock, digging my fingers into the weathered wood. Splinters sliced beneath my fingernails. Into my knuckles. Blood welled.

You are angry,
the voice said in my head. And he was right. I
was
angry. I was angrier than I’d ever thought possible.

When Marcus had taken my brother’s dead body and
donned
it like some ill-fitting suit, I had wanted to kill him. When he had killed all those people in Paris and then
kidnapped
my best friend, Jie, I had wanted to destroy him.

But now he had sacrificed my mother’s blood for his own power. Now . . . the fury blistered inside me.

I would crush Marcus. I would slice him open, and I would laugh as he bled out. I would rip his soul apart bit by bit.

He had stolen my good-bye, and I would obliterate him.

A growl sounded.

Dazed, I looked up. The jackal’s lips were drawn back, and the hair on his spine was high. He lurched at me.

I blundered back onto my knees. He lunged again—biting the air before my face. I scuttled upright.

Then for half a heartbeat, the jackal paused. His ears twisted behind, and the motionless air seemed to pause too. . . .

Go
.
You must go
. In a rush of movement, he thrust at me again.

My feet shambled backward, my eyes locked on the jackal’s bared teeth.
Go, go
. And that was when I heard them. A new, layered snarling echoed over the water. . . .

The Hell Hounds were coming.

The jackal dived at me once more.
You must run. NOW
.

In a blind scramble, I turned and charged for the distant curtain. Terror and grief coiled together at the nape of my neck, as heavy and inescapable as the Hounds.

I pounded my feet harder. Each step was like a drum, and
my knees kicked up higher, higher. I was out of breath before I was halfway down the dock, yet I barely noticed the scorch of air in my throat.

For as the curtain drew closer, the Hounds grew louder.

Then a wet, frozen wind slammed into me, and the baying of the Hounds shattered through my skull. I staggered, listing dangerously to one side—toward dark waves speckled with starlight. But my arms windmilled, and I maintained my course.

The Hounds were so close now. Inescapable . . . except that the curtain was close too. Its golden light shimmered brighter with each slam of my heels.

I would reach it. I
had
to reach it. . . .

Then the glow bathed over me. The snarling Hounds faded . . . faded. . . .

I glanced back once, to lock eyes with the jackal’s. He loped behind me and paused just before the curtain, unperturbed and almost . . .
smug
. Yes, that was what that lolling tongue meant.

“Tell her good-bye,” I said to him. “Please, if you are truly a messenger, then tell her good-bye.”

If he can, the jackal will.

Then I stepped completely through the curtain and into the earthly realm once more.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

My eyelids snapped wide-open. I stood in the middle
of my cabin on the airship. My chest quaked. My pulse shrieked in my ears, and with each gasp for air, the echoing howl of the Hounds vanished. . . .

A dull throb pricked at my senses. I glanced down . . . and blinked. My hands bled. Splinters poked out from my knuckles, yet I barely felt them. Elation and surprise hummed through me, dominating every other sensation.

I had just crossed into the spirit realm by my
own
power—something Oliver had sworn to me was impossible—and I had come out alive.

Though . . . I might not have escaped if not for the jackal.

Jackal.

I frowned. I hadn’t seen him when I’d crossed to the dock
before, yanked there by Marcus’s magic. Was the jackal
truly
a messenger? And if so, to whom could he relay messages? Of course, in order to give a message, I would have to return to the dock again. . . .

As my mind ran through possibilities—of how I could ask Elijah about necromancy, how I could beg for Clarence’s forgiveness, how I could tell Mama I loved her—a scratch began to sound at my cabin door.

I ignored it, focusing instead on all the things I could ask the jackal to share with my family.

Splat
. I looked down. A fat droplet of blood had hit the wood and now sank into the grain. My forehead knit. The engines on this airship were so quiet I could actually hear my own blood fall. I glanced to the porthole—the view outside was one of wispy clouds and green, patchwork farmland. We could have been anywhere in France right now. Presumably, though, we were south and east of Paris.

And, good God, we were
flying
. I shuffled two steps closer to the porthole, but the lush, pale green only served to confuse me. To distance me further from the moment. For seeing the land so far below and streaming by so fast . . . it did not feel real.

The scratching sound came again at my door, and this time there was a loud
click
. I whirled around just as the door banged open.

Daniel stood in the doorway, face flushed and lock pick in hand. Beside him, with his yellow eyes wide, was Oliver.

At the sight of them, anger sparked in my shoulders. “What the
blazes
,” I began, “are you two doing—”

“You’re hurt,” Daniel interrupted. He strode forward, and I didn’t miss the leather wallet of lock picks he slid into his pocket. He reached for me. “What the hell happened?”

I skittered back. “You broke into my room.”

“We were worried,” Oliver snarled. He stalked through the doorway. “You didn’t answer our shouts, and then I heard . . .
something
.” He did not elaborate, but the sudden flash of gold around his eyes told me he knew exactly where I had been.

Inwardly, I swore.

Our souls were bound—it was the magic of a demon and a master. So Oliver must have sensed my absence. Or perhaps he had even
heard
the Hell Hounds since he always knew when the guardians of the spirit realm were near. His existence depended on making sure they never found him.

“We need to tend these wounds.” Daniel’s voice cut into my thoughts. He gripped my wrists and flipped my palms upward. “This is bad. Your hands are destroyed.” He pushed me toward the porthole, toward daylight. Then his grassy-green eyes bored into my face. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I murmured.

His jaw clenched. “This ain’t nothing, Empress. Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Oliver declared. Yet there was a forced nonchalance to his tone. “I will heal her.”

Daniel eyes clouded with resentment. He did not like my magic. He did not like that I was bound to a demon. Yet I could
see in the twitching of his lips that he was trying to keep his hatred separate from this moment.

“How about,” he said slowly, “I just get you some bandages instead. I’ll heal you the old-fashioned way.”

“It’s fine.” I wriggled from his grasp. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Of course it does,” he argued. “And it won’t take me but a second—”

“It’s
fine
,” I repeated more forcefully. I did not want bandages. I wanted Oliver’s magic—warm and safe. Then I wanted solitude.

“Please, Daniel,” I added. “You should get back to flying.”

“Joseph’s at the helm. He’ll be fine for a few more minutes.” He lowered his voice and dipped in close. “Please, just heal yourself the normal way—”

“Magic
is
the normal way for her.” Oliver’s drawl held the same false apathy.

Daniel’s teeth gritted, but he held my gaze. “Please, Empress?”