Susan Dennard - A Darkness Strange and Lovely

I forced myself to inhale, to push this need aside, to focus.

It was then that the noises from upstairs ceased.

One breath passed. Then two, and the only sound was the whir of the glass.

Then the calm was broken.

“It comes!” Joseph roared. “Be ready!” Heavy, sure footsteps banged through the hallway.

Then a new pounding came in an awkward counterbeat to Joseph’s. A split second later, Joseph hit the stairs and came flying into view. “Hurry!”

Jie spun the wheel faster. But the momentum was too much—the handle flew from her hands.

“No!” She caught the handle and started over.

Joseph hit the main floor, his eyes white and bulging, and dove into a crouch beside Jie. Behind him came the hollow punch of limbs against tight walls, the snap of bones on steep, crooked stairs, and the chomping of jaws in search of prey.

All of our eyes stayed glued to the stairs—each step was slowing the butler, but was it enough?

A black-shoed foot toppled into view. Then the other, and I knew with a sickening certainty that the Dead would reach us before the machine could make sparks.

Now I could see the man’s face: empty, bloody holes where his eyes had once been and crusted, brown blood all over his wrinkled skin.

Without thinking, I acted. I threw my hands up, latching onto my spiritual energy, and drawing in a warm, buzzing well of power. Then, like cracking a whip, I flung it at the body.

The instant my magic touched the Dead, a leash formed between us—but not a leash I could control. This corpse wasn’t bound to a necromancer. It was one of the Hungry: animated by a spark and searching frantically for any soul to consume.

I had no idea how to blast its magic back to the spirit realm. That was Joseph’s trick, and it needed electricity. Yet I found I could affect the corpse. I could pump my will into it.

“Stay!” My voice ripped out, high and desperate. “Stay back!”

The Hungry hesitated, then it slogged forward as if in waist-deep mud.

“Stay!” I yelled again.

Sweat dripped down my face. Despite the pleasant heat licking through me, holding this corpse was exhausting me. Why wasn’t the influence machine making sparks?

“Stay, stay, stay!” I shouted. The Hungry’s teeth clacked in spurts now, but with less time between each bite. And no matter how hard I strained, the corpse was gaining ground. Faster with each passing breath . . . until it was almost to the bottom step. Until it was only feet from reaching us. From reaching me.

“Stay!” I shrieked. “Stay, stay!” I couldn’t maintain this much longer.

At that moment, a pop! filled the hall. Joseph made his attack. As the machine sparked again, he thrust his left hand into the electricity. It flew into his skin, and as he tossed up his right hand, lightning blasted from his fingertips.

Blinding blue webs of light seared my vision, and my focus scattered. Instantly, the corpse lurched into a full sprint. Off the final stair and right for me.

I flung up my hands.

Crack! Electricity sizzled past me, hitting the corpse like a bullet to the chest. Then again and again.

For half a ragged heartbeat, the Hungry hovered upright, his jaw wide. Then he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

And we all stared at it for several long, shaking breaths. The air was heavy with thunder and humming with static. And when no twitch came, Jie let out a great whoop.

“That was amazing, Eleanor! I’ve never seen anything like it!” She threw her arms around my neck. “I’d say you’re now officially a Spirit-Hunter.”

But the instant Jie released me from her embrace, Joseph cast me a deep frown that emphasized his scars, stark and white. He was furious. Yet he did not say anything; he merely snatched his top hat off the floor, hopped over the corpse, and went upstairs.

I felt too good—too mind numbed and incredible—to give his reaction much thought.

Instead, I studied the butler’s corpse. In addition to the bloody gashes around his empty eye sockets, beneath his white hair were gaping holes where his ears had once been. Yet what really struck me as odd was the fine dusting of white powder that seemed to coat his entire body. Before I could consider what it might mean, though, the front door swung wide and a squeal erupted. The old maid scurried to my side, wailing, “Pauvre Claude, pauvre Claude!” Over and over, she cried.

Until Jie’s temper finally cracked. “Enough,” she snapped. “How’re we supposed to clean him up if you won’t shut pan?”

“But ’is wife!” the maid howled. “She died two weeks ago and now ’e die too— oh, pauvre

Claude! ”

“You said he has no family?” I asked.

“Nooooon!” she howled.

“So would it be possible for us to keep the body?”

“What?” Jie asked, staring at me. “We don’t take the bodies.”

“Why not? If we keep it, we can inspect it. For other mutilations or something to help us investigate.” And then Oliver can look at it.

Jie’s face bunched up. “It won’t be long before it starts to rot, yeah?”

I raised my shoulders. “I know, but is it not possible we’re missing something? A clue?”

“Taaaaake ’im!” the maid sobbed.

I gripped the woman’s upper arms and tried to get her to look at me. “Calm down. We need your help. We need you to hail us an extra-large cab. And get us something to wrap the body in.”

The woman shook her head. “I must ask Madame Marineaux about a wrap—”

“Use a bedsheet,” a woman commanded from above. I snapped my head up just as Madame

Marineaux rounded the staircase’s corner. Other than a slight flush to her angular face, there was no sign of her harrowing experience with les Morts.

This impressed me enormously. What kind of woman could travel the world, face off the Dead, and command Parisian high society with ease? The sort of woman I wished to be.

Madame Marineaux paused by the corpse to inspect him, her brows drawing together. “This is . . . well, sad does not seem sufficient.” Her gaze lifted to Jie and me. “Thank you, Mesdemoiselles. You have saved my household . . . and my life. The water closet door was almost broken.” She shivered and clasped her hands to her heart. “Did I hear properly that you wish to take this corpse?”

She looked so disgusted by the prospect that an embarrassed flush ignited on my face. “Er, yes.

We can study it for clues.”

“Oh. I had not thought of this.” She stepped around the corpse, her gaze firmly placed elsewhere.

“I suppose that is a very clever idea then.”

My mortification instantly shifted into pride.

Joseph trotted down the stairs and came to Madame Marineaux’s side. “I see no other signs of les

Morts. This poor man is the only Dead in your household.”

“Thank heavens,” she murmured. “And thank you, Monsieur.”

“You are most welcome, Madame. Now I fear we must depart.” His eyes met mine, and it was clear what he was trying to tell me: you and I need to talk.

“Oh, do not go,” Madame Marineaux begged. “I owe you a million thank-yous. Please, stay for dinner. We can discuss plans for the ball this Friday.”

“Je suis désolé,” Joseph replied, “but I cannot. Now that les Morts have returned, I must not be away from the lab for too long.”

“We have to wait for the Dead.” Jie nodded to the body. “ Eleanor wants to bring it back to the lab.”

“Oh?” Joseph popped on his hat. “All right. I presume there is an excellent reason for this, so let us get it into a carriage. Hurry—”

“Or,” I blurted, “I could stay. You two go on to the hotel, and I will make sure the butler gets to the lab.”

“A grand idea!” Madame Marineaux exclaimed. “And then you can stay for dinner. I would so like to have company after my terrifying afternoon.”

Again Joseph’s nostrils flared, but I could see in the straightening of his back that he would not argue with Madame Marineaux.

Instead, he spun to me. “I expect you to find me the instant you return.”

Jie’s forehead wrinkled. “Is something the matter?”

Joseph did not answer. He simply bowed to Madame Marineaux and strode from the hall. Jie flashed me a worried look, but I gave her a smile in return. Whatever Joseph’s problem was, I found I did not much care. My blood still bubbled with the thrum of magic, and all I wanted to do was make this happy moment last as long as I could.

So I turned to Madame Marineaux and said, “I would love to stay for dinner. Merci beaucoup. ”

Madame Marineaux’s house turned out to be as elegant and entertaining as its owner. She led me through her hallway and into a private sitting room.

“I never let people come here,” she said with a wink, “but I believe you will find it enjoyable.”

She was right—the room was fascinating. It was like being in a museum: on this shelf was a collection of tribal masks, on that table was an assortment of enormous seashells, and on the windowsill was a row of exotic orchids. The floors were covered in Oriental rugs and the windows draped with thick, scarlet drapes. A fireplace burned with a small, cozy fire, and everything felt so tasteful. So lovingly tended.

It was precisely what Mama had tried to create in our own home, but our knickknacks had been fake and cheap by comparison. And, of course, all those knickknacks were now long gone.

While Madame Marineaux went to check that her servants were recovered enough to make a small dinner, I wandered the room with a slack jaw. After examining everything I laid eyes on, I ended up before a shelf on which lay two hair clasps like Jie’s.

“Admiring my souvenirs?” Madame Marineaux asked. I hadn’t even heard her enter the room.

Smiling, I turned toward her. “Oh yes. Did you give Jie one of these?”

“I did.” Madame Marineaux moved to my side, her skirts swishing. “I thought she might like something from her homeland.”

“She does.” I nodded warmly. “She likes it very much.”

“I am glad.” She motioned me to a pair of rose-colored armchairs beside the fireplace. “Let us sit.

We will have an apéritif before our meal.”

As we crossed to the seats, I noticed a collection of portraits over the fireplace. One was of her, one was of the Marquis, and one was of an auburn-haired woman whom I did not recognize . . . though something about her reminded me of Madame Marineaux.

“Who is that woman?” I asked, dropping into a chair as she eased into the other. “Your sister, perhaps?”

For a moment the Madame’s shoulders drooped, and she did not reply. But finally she said, “No.