“Though nor does a chain that won’t break,” I retorted. “If you really want to convince me, you’ll have to give a better reason than that locket.”
Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose, and an ache flared in my chest. It was such an Elijah-like gesture—the old Elijah, the skinny, child Elijah—that I could have been sitting next to my brother at that very moment.
No wonder he seemed so familiar on the pier.
Yet of course, this similarity was not enough to make me trust him. “I’m listening,” I said. “For now, so you had best tell your story quickly.”
He sucked back another swig of gin, and I noticed with a start that the bottle was almost empty.
Then, smacking his lips, he said, “I was . . . well, born isn’t the right word . . . more like created two hundred years ago. You see, demons are a lot like humans, only we live in the spirit realm. We grow and age and eventually go where all spirits go.”
I picked at the edge of my toast. “I thought spirits went to the spirit realm.”
“Oh no. There’s a final afterlife. First, though, your spirit has to travel through my home.”
“And your home is the spirit realm.”
“Yep. And demons”—he splayed his fingers gracefully across his chest—“start there before eventually passing into the great unknown.”
“So you’re dead.”
“No!” He snorted. “I’m very much alive. I merely come from a different realm is all. I’m made entirely of spiritual energy. Plus, I live— exist—a great deal longer than humans.”
Behind him, the Frenchmen burst into an animated debate. I had to lift my voice to be heard. “So if all you do is exist, then why are demons painted as creatures of evil?”
His eyes flashed. “Because people are scared of us. We’re creatures of pure spiritual energy—we have a lot of magic at our command. But the truth is, demons are exactly like humans: good, bad, or”—he gave me a withering smile—“neutrally disinterested.”
At that moment, the Frenchmen’s debate ended with a rousing chorus of unintelligible, off-key singing. Oliver glanced back, his body perking up. Then, with very deliberate movements, he rose and stumbled over to their table, his now-empty bottle in hand and voice chanting along.
While he swayed and sang, the waiter returned. He set the new bottle of gin on my table, shot a disapproving look at the happily drunk carolers, and then glided away.
I nibbled at my toast and waited with growing impatience. There was only so long I could maintain my veneer of calm and strength—especially when memories of Elijah hovered so close to my heart’s surface. Several moments later, though, Oliver returned with a new bottle tucked under his arm. He dropped into his seat and inspected the label. “Rum. Delightful. A personal favorite.”
“Three bottles of liquor?” I sniffed disgustedly. “And all of them stolen.”
Oliver shrugged. “They have the money. I do not.”
“No? Then how did you buy a ticket onto this ship?”
“I did not buy a ticket per se. I found one . . . no, borrowed.” He nodded as if this was the proper term.
“In other words,” I said, “you stole the ticket. Just like you stole the alcohol.” Even though I too had stolen my ticket, I’d at least had enough conscience to compensate the poor woman—and to feel like utter scum for taking it in the first place. Oliver obviously had no such morals.
“You’re welcome to buy me more alcohol,” Oliver said, smiling sadly. “I intend to get so rip-
roaring drunk that I don’t remember a thing tomorrow.”
“All because Elijah died?”
He winced. “How can you say it so . . . so callously? Yes, because I just learned my best friend died. My master. My only—”
“Enough,” I snapped, sitting taller. He was definitely getting too close to topics best left alone. “I don’t care one whit about your grief or your supposed demon feelings. I want to hear how you knew
Elijah. Now talk.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue. “As I was saying, I was simply existing.
Then one day, a few years ago, I was summoned. It’s like . . . like a tugging in your gut. One minute I was watching the universe unfold, and the next I was being yanked into a dingy hotel room in London.
Suddenly I had a body and a skinny young man standing in front of me.”
“And from where did the body come? Is it yours?”
His nose wrinkled up. “Of course it’s mine! I didn’t take some poor person’s corpse, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Well, how else does one get a body?”
“It’s . . . it’s like water and ice,” Oliver said. “Phase changes. On the spirit side I was water. Then as I stepped through the curtain into the earthly side, I became ice.”
I broke off more toast, considering this. “So was it you hiding in the shadows downtown?”
He stared blankly—clearly clueless as to what I referred, which could only mean I had seen
Marcus in Philadelphia. But then a new question occurred to me. “Why are your eyes yellow?”
He ogled them at me. “That’s pretty standard for anyone whose natural form is raw energy.”
Meaning Marcus’s true form was pure soul—which it was, since his body had died years ago.
“Does this phase change happen to everyone? Because Marcus—the spirit who stole Elijah’s body—
crossed from the spirit realm, yet he stayed in his spirit form. A ghost.”
“As for that, I’d guess it’s because he was dead.” Oliver guzzled back more rum and then wiped his lips. “Basically, this fellow’s body and soul were separate. When he crossed the curtain, he stayed in his spirit form because that was all he could be. However, if a man still possesses both a body and a spirit, then he would change phases. For example, if you”—he tipped his head toward me—“went to the spirit world, you’d change into a watery soul form.”
I grunted. It made sense. “So you had a body and then Elijah bound you? Why did he need to use the locket?”
“The guardians,” Oliver drawled, as if that was the most obvious answer in the world. “The ones who keep unwanted humans out of the spirit world—they also do a rather good job of keeping demons and spirits in it. When a necromancer calls something over, he has to hide it from these guardians right away. Hiding is done by binding; and to bind a demon, you have to use an object of significance.
Elijah chose this. It binds me to your world, hides me from the guardians, and keeps me completely powerless.”
“Powerless?”
“Yep.” Oliver ran a finger along his chin. “I can’t do any magic. Only Elijah can use my power—
at least until our agreement ends.”
I leaned forward. “But Elijah’s dead.”
He twisted his face away and took another pull of rum.
“So,” I said, forcing Oliver to look at me again. “Does a spirit or demon have to be called by a necromancer? Because Marcus crossed over without a necromancer’s help.”
Oliver’s eyebrows jumped. “The guardians didn’t sense him? He must be very strong then. Of course, yellow eyes would suggest that too.”
I fidgeted in my seat. My emotions were stewing in a way I knew best to avoid. Anger seemed the best approach, and if there was one feeling I could summon easily, it was rage. “First Elijah hid you from the guardians, then he made you his slave, and now you can’t use your magic. Plus, your master died.” My lips curled back. “Why, I’d say you’re not a very good demon, are you?”