Page 46 of Haunting the Deep

He doesn’t break his gaze. “I was just thinking how if I had not finagled my way out of my aunt’s house and bartered my way on board, I never would have spent this evening with you.”

Before I can respond, Alexander’s father approaches us. “Well, good evening, Miss Mather,” he says, and bows. “I hope my son isn’t boring you with too many stories.”

“Not at all,” I say. “Only exciting ones.”

“Yes, well,” he says, and frowns at me. “Alex, do come find me when you are done. I imagine you will be retiring to your room soon, Miss Mather.” His intonation implies it’s a statement and not a question.

Is he suggesting that I leave? “Of course,” I say.

He bows again and walks away.

“I don’t think your father likes me,” I say to Alexander in a hushed voice.

He laughs. “Sometimes I wonder if he likes me. Now, what were we saying?”

“I believe you were going to tell me how you bartered your way on board?”

“Ah, yes. My father paid an Italian immigrant and his brother an unreasonable sum to give us their steerage tickets. The White Star Line told us the first-class cabins were full. But of course, once we arrived on board, we were able to talk to Bruce Ismay and arrange other accommodations. J. P. Morgan and Alfred Vanderbilt canceled their trips at the very last moment, and their suites were available.”

“Bruce Ismay?”

“One of theTitanic’s owners.”

“Oh, right. Well, weren’t you fortunate.”

He smiles. “I do feel very lucky right now.”

His happiness is so infectious that I feel lightened by it myself. “And what will you do with all your newfound luck?” I ask.

“Use it to make a bet.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of a bet?”

“A bet that before we reach New York, you will dance with me.”

I laugh. “You know there’s no dance floor on this ship.” For a brief moment my confidence falters. How do I know that? Maybe Mollie told me?

“I do,” he says, and my lightness returns.

“I’ll take that bet. But I—”

“…hope you are prepared to lose.”

There’s a loud beeping noise, and I stab at my phone with my pointer finger until it goes away. There’s also a text.

Alice:Got no sleep. Not coming to school. Meet us in Ropes Mansion Garden when you get out.

I squint at the dim light shining through the white lace of my bedroom curtains.White lace, white gloves…I sit straight up in my bed and a pit forms in my stomach. The box with the green dress is on the floor next to my trunk, where I put it two days ago. What’s the deal? That wasn’t a dream like the other dreams about theTitanic.That was exactly like what happened when I put on the dress. I didn’t know myself there; I couldn’t remember who I was. And that guy, I was flirting with him. What the hell?

The blankets move at the end of my bed. I launch out of my covers and onto the floor so fast that I barely get my legs under me. A black paw emerges from a mound of down comforter, followed by a furry head. The pear-shaped cat stretches and then dedicates itself to licking its wobbly belly.

“So you’re sleeping in my bed now? Why not on my head? Might as well just sleep there. I have zero privacy anyway.”

The cat doesn’t bother looking up.

I open my vanity drawer and take out theTitanicletter and the dog collar. I tuck the letter into my Gracie book for safekeeping and knot the napkin around the collar so I don’t accidentally touch it.

I grab the black sweatshirt draped on my chair and carefully pull it over my bandaged arm as I head into the hall toward the stairs. I try to shake off the icky feeling I have about my nondream. It’s not like anything bad happened per se, but my gut tells me that place is dangerous. I can feel it in my bones, something terrible looming there right outside of my view.