Strange and Ever After (24 page)

And I was trusting a spirit jackal to guide me.

“You see something, don’t you?” Oliver’s voice snaked into my ear, almost carried off by the gusting wind.

I tensed. There was nothing cruel in his tone . . . yet there was nothing gentle either. His voice was empty—as was his expression when I glanced at him sideways.

“Yes,” I admitted. If anyone would believe me, it was Oliver. “I see a jackal. We are supposed to be following him.”

“You seem unimpressed by this jackal, so I presume you have seen him before.” Oliver spoke it as a statement, not a question.

I grimaced. It was one more secret I had withheld from my demon.

But he did not seem angry—no flash of his eyes. No sharp words. As he swatted his hair from his eyes, he said, “He is not
a
jackal, El. He is
the
jackal, and it is best we not keep him waiting.”

“You know him?”

Oliver gave a grunt of acknowledgment. “There are many creatures in the spirit realm. The jackal is a messenger of sorts . . . I think. He stayed on the dock; I lived beyond. We never interacted.”

“You are not upset I didn’t tell you about him?”

Oliver settled a flat-eyed gaze on me. “A bit. It would have
at least explained how you crossed the curtain despite your dream ward. But . . .” He chewed his lip for a moment. “I am less upset over the jackal and more worried about him. Ivory artifacts and spiritual messengers open many questions. Let us hope we find the answers here.” He dipped his head toward the Great Pyramid before launching into long strides, his feet kicking up sand as he aimed for the first jagged level of enormous stones.

The need to chase after him swelled in my chest—to grab his sleeve and
beg
him to yell or drink from his flask or show any sign of what he felt. He was not
only
worried. Or if he was, it was a more terrifying, crippling worry than I had ever seen my demon wear.

But I simply set off behind him, assuming Joseph and Daniel would catch up soon enough.

Of course, climbing the Great Pyramid was no easy feat. Though the structure looked smooth from afar, the walls were actually comprised of steplike bricks that rose up to the peak. Each level of the bricks was as high as my head. So tall were the stones that I could not climb them unassisted.

“Help?” I called weakly, mortified heat rising in my face.

Oliver paused, already three levels up and with his clothes billowing in the sandy breeze.

He glanced back. Then, with seemingly no effort, he hopped to the level above me. He spoke no words, yet he offered me his hand. My heels were just digging into the rough rock when Daniel’s hands gripped my waist.

“I’ll help her,” Daniel said roughly, pushing me up.

Oliver towed me the rest of the way, yet the instant I was steady, he backed off. And he even offered Daniel a nod, as if to say “She is all yours.”

I did not like that. Oliver
always
jabbed at Daniel given the chance. His temper always ignited around my inventor. But there was no time to dwell on it, for Joseph joined us on the first level.

“Take these,” he said, withdrawing a pulse pistol from his belt and a crystal clamp from his pocket. “We should all be armed. We do not know into what we are walking.”

I accepted the pistol, placing it exactly as Joseph had in my belt and ignoring how the copper coils rubbed against my stomach. Then I shoved the crystal clamp into my pocket.

Joseph offered a pistol to Oliver. My demon pretended not to notice, and in an easy leap, he ascended to the next level. Daniel followed, offering me his hand—but his posture was stiff. His gaze constantly moving and checking our surroundings.

So up we went until I lost all track of time and the sun seared over Cairo. By the time the jackal had stopped his ascent, I was parched and sunburned. I thought surely we must be near the top . . . but a glance back showed we had barely risen half the way. The airship listed in the wind, and a lone figure paced in its shadow.

Jie.

Wiping sweat and sand from my eyes, I turned ahead . . . and found the jackal was now racing horizontally along the stone steps.

Hurry,
he insisted. Then he hit the pyramid’s corner and disappeared from view.

“This way,” I said tiredly, kicking into a jog. Joseph, Daniel, and Oliver hurried behind. I was panting even more desperately by the time we rounded the pyramid’s edge—and I caught sight of the jackal once more.

He had stopped halfway along the next ledge. Darkness cloaked this side of the Great Pyramid—and a pointed shadow ran off for what seemed like miles of rocky desert. I squinted into the sudden shade and chose my steps carefully. The stones were more eroded than on the south side, and loose pebbles were everywhere.

When we had crossed almost half the length of the pyramid, I realized with a start that the jackal had abandoned me yet again. I picked up my pace, my gaze darting up and down, ahead and behind. . . .

“What is it?” Oliver called after me.

“I do not know where—” My heel slipped on a rock. I toppled sideways, my arms flinging out. . . .

Oliver’s hands grabbed my waist.

Time slowed. Electricity shot through me from his fingertips. His emotions—his absolute
anxiety
over this day—sizzled into my skin. Into my lungs.

He
was
scared, but not because of the unknown. Because of how long he had waited for this one moment—because of how much depended on it.

Oliver towed me around. Each fragment of a second lasted
a heartbeat—a full,
painful
heartbeat. And as I tumbled into his chest, each gust of dry wind was a lingering kiss.

My eyes latched on to Oliver’s . . . and I was scared.
Terrified
. I thought each of my ribs would snap beneath the weight of his fear. Beneath the desperation in his gaze.

He had searched and fought for months to find the Old Man . . . and now he was about to fulfill that mission.

At last he could claim some peace. He could release this need—this burning, writhing drive in his gut from Elijah’s final, unfulfilled command. . . . And he could feel normal again. He could return home to the spirit realm, and he could shed this human body with all its human feelings.

Yet no matter how bravely
I
, Eleanor, acted or how fearlessly
I
forged ahead, a single misstep would mark the end of everything Oliver had fought for.

If I failed now, I failed everyone—not just myself.

The dusty, shadowy steps blurred around me. I saw nothing but Oliver’s blazing, golden eyes; I felt only his scorching fingertips.

Then a single word
thundered
into the front of my brain.

Hurry.
And with that thought I spotted where the jackal had gone.

Two levels above us there was an unnatural crack in the rocks that had not been there moments before.

I had no doubt this entry into the pyramid was magical. Supernatural, even. It shimmered with a hazy blue light.

Time reclaimed its hold on the world, lurching forward in a
flurry of seconds, breaths, and whipping wind.

Oliver released me, his gaze pleading. His desires clear:
Do not ruin this for me
.

I stumbled back, my fears and his fears already melting away beneath the jackal’s command. “There,” I shouted, and then I set to scrambling up once more.

Oliver, Joseph, and Daniel followed, and in mere moments we reached a narrow gap between two stones. A black tunnel descended within—but it was not so dark that I could not see the jackal. His ears were back, his hackles risen.

Hurry
.

I scrambled after him, but just as I wedged myself between the stones, Daniel called out, “Hold up! Be careful!”

Then came Joseph, clipped and wary: “You are certain about this, Eleanor?”

I ignored him—the jackal was already scampering off—and after I squeezed completely within, I found a tunnel before me. It sloped steeply down but was quickly swallowed up by darkness.

At the sound of Oliver crawling behind me, I hurried into the shadows. The ceiling, walls, and floors were made of smooth bricks, and just as the stone steps outside had become worn away and dangerous, the floor was littered with gravel and slick dust.

We had been so prepared with weapons . . . but lighting had never occurred to us.

Yet if the jackal had gone this way, then I would have to follow.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and soon we had lost the safety
of the sun’s light. When I glanced back, all I saw was a dim glow around the others’ silhouettes.

Oliver stepped in front of me. “I can still see.” His hand slipped into mine—and then I grabbed Daniel’s. He gave me a reassuring squeeze before reaching back for Joseph.

But we only made it three paces before a loud groan filled the tunnel. The sound of rock grinding on rock above us—and behind. Light flashed overhead . . . then shifted to fill the tunnel beyond. I squinted at the sudden onslaught, only to find a square mirror hanging from the ceiling. It had rotated to catch the light from outside, and though it was no larger than my head, it sent a sharp beam farther down the tunnel.

“Magic,” Joseph murmured. “Those mirrors were triggered by magic.”

I gulped. He was right. A gentle layer of power was settling along my skin like the finest of dusts. “But what triggered it?” I whispered.

“Does it matter?” Oliver’s voice was edged with impatience. He pulled free from my grasp and scooted ahead. “Let us simply be grateful we can see. Now where is the jacka—”

A second groan broke out, and a series of cloth fans shaped like palm fronds dropped from the ceiling—then began to wave. How they had not decayed I could only guess at. Magic seemed the likely explanation.

No matter the cause, they kicked up a draft and brought in fresh air.

I gulped, and with the pretense of scratching my leg, I let
my fingers run over an ivory tusk. I instantly felt stronger.
We have light, we have air, and there is only one direction in which to go.
“Keep walking,” I said, easing into a stride. “We should hurry.”

After another fifty steps we reached a second mirror . . . and a second cloth fan. As the fresh light stabbed farther down the tunnel, I glimpsed an abrupt end to the brick walls. From here on the tunnel was hewn from the bedrock.

We would soon be underground.

And I could not help but think of the tunnels beneath Paris—especially when the dust thickened and muffled our footsteps. Or when Daniel’s pistol would bounce high at every sound, his grip on my arm releasing and his body moving to protect Joseph. I knew, in those moments, that he thought of what Madame Marineaux had done—how he hadn’t kept his leader safe from her claws.

And I knew Joseph thought of Madame Marineaux too, for he scrubbed at his bandaged head.

Another fifty paces and a mirror creaked into position . . . to reveal a brick doorway ahead. Its frame was lined with hieroglyphics: eyes, falcons, cobras, and thrones. Beyond was a long, low-ceilinged room carved from the bedrock. On either side, running the length of the room, were eight pairs of blocks, each as ornately carved as the doorway. And standing atop the blocks were man-size statues. With their bronze headdresses, they looked like miniature versions of the statues guarding the Bulaq Museum—except these ones held spears.
Real
spears with metal tips.

Oliver marched through the doorway, and he did not bother to dampen our bond. His anticipation
rolled
off him.

I scurried after . . . but quickly stumbled to a halt—for Oliver had paused between two statues, his head cocked as if listening.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“This room is . . . waiting.” He tipped his head in the other direction. “There is magic, and it will soon be triggered.”

I moved closer to him, a confused question on my tongue, but as soon as I crossed the first pair of statues, a loud
snap!
grated through the chamber—and dust billowed.

Instantly, I had my pulse pistol out and trained on the statue to my right. Its spear was now extended.

I held my breath, my pistol trembling, and when I glanced back, I saw Joseph with his crystal clamp up.

None of us moved. None of us breathed. The only sound was the flapping of the fans.

“Keep moving,” Oliver hissed. “They respond to you.
You
are what the room waited for.”

“Why?” I asked, locked in my stance.

“They serve you,” Oliver said with a flicker of meaningful emotion across our bond. “
Pharaon
, recall?”

With a tight swallow, I nodded and stepped carefully onward.
Snap!
The next set of statues and spears shot out; dust exploded off them, and they did not move again.

Sand clogged my nose and mouth, yet as I stood there waving the air, I could just make out the various air currents. Dust twirled and twisted, carried away by the cloth fans.

“Again,” Oliver ordered. So again I crept ahead until all sixteen statues had their spears thrust out.

Until I stood before a final pedestal with a stone chest on it. I motioned for Oliver, Daniel, and Joseph to join me; and as they warily stepped near, I hunched over the chest.

Its lid was shoved off, just like the open sarcophagus at the museum. Yet when I peered inside, there was nothing more than a thick coating of grime.

“It’s empty,” I said as the three young men materialized beside me.

“Excludin’ all the dust,” Daniel muttered.

Joseph bent closer. “It looks to have been empty for many years.”

“Because it has,” said a new voice. “It has been empty for many centuries.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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