Susan Dennard - A Darkness Strange and Lovely

“No. I don’t. I would have died had I not used my magic, had I not bound myself to Oliver.”

She retreated two steps and gasped. “You bound to it?”

“Him,” Oliver snapped. “I am a—”

“Shut pan.” Jie bared her teeth at him. Then she turned to me. “I’m telling Joseph about this.”

“No!” I lunged for her. “Please! Let me . . . let me at least explain.”

“I don’t want to hear any explanations from you.” Her eyes roved over me, repulsed. Betrayed.

“You know a demon is causing les Morts. What if it’s him?”

“What?” Oliver straightened. “How ridiculous—”

“Really?” She thrust her chin at him and then at me. “For all I know, you’re both raising the

Dead . ”

“Jie!” I reared back. “How can you say that?”

“Easy. We think a demon is murdering these people, and what do you show up with? A demon.

And on top of that, you’re learning necromancy. It’s not a hard conclusion to make—especially when the moment you came to Paris was the moment les Morts started rising again.”

“No.” I grabbed the sides of my face. “Jie, you know me! I’m not a murderer!”

“I knew you,” she spat. “And that Eleanor wouldn’t do necromancy. But fine.” She threw her hands up in defeat. “You wanna keep secrets from me, then keep ’em. But Joseph has to know about this.”

“And I’ll tell him!” I blurted.

“Why should I trust you?” she sneered. “You’ve lied to us—lied to me.”

“No!” I shouted, anger rising over my fear. “It’s not Oliver. It can’t be Oliver. He was in America.

With me.”

She shook her head, her lips clamped tight. “You’re a necromancer now, Eleanor, and that makes us enemies.”

Then, with a final jaw clench, she pivoted around and burst into a run. I immediately shoved after her. Oliver shouted for me, but I didn’t hear. I had to stop Jie. Had to make her see things my way.

I pushed my legs faster. By the time I reached the open courtyard, I had broken into a full sprint.

My ankles twisted on loose stones and white dust puffed onto my skirts, yet Jie stayed far ahead.

So I ran harder. My lungs seared and my vision turned hazy, yet still I ran—out of the ruins and into the gardens after Jie’s shrinking figure. Flowers blurred in the corners of my eyes as I barreled onward, aiming for the street. For the hotel. For the almost-vanished Jie.

By the time I reached the hotel, my body shaking, I had given up.

Joseph was going to find out sooner or later anyway. What was the difference in defending myself to Jie than in doing it to the both of them? Let Jie tell him. For now I wanted to be alone to process everything that had happened—that was happening. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

So I hauled myself up to my bedroom, sat on the edge of my bed, and stared at the carpet.

Thoughts flashed through my mind one after the other—from the letters to animal sacrifices to the

Black Pullet. Now I knew with almost complete certainty why Marcus was seeking my letters—and why Oliver wanted them as well. Yet this knowledge did me little good. I was no closer to stopping

Marcus than I had been before, for I had now lost the only people who could help me.

After a few minutes of these agonizing thoughts, I realized that simply waiting for the inevitable—

for Joseph to find me—was more than my nerves could stand. So I decided to put my brain to work.

I had new information; I should at least try to use it. It was time to dig through my sheaf of confusing letters. I could focus on those without thinking about myself. I would push all my other problems to the back of my mind, and I would go to the library to see what I could learn about the

Black Pullet.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy to leave the hotel as I had anticipated. As soon as I found Elijah’s letters in my carpetbag and hurried back down the main stairs, a tugging began to tickle in my gut.

At the final step, the hair on my neck stood straight on end. Oliver was near.

Yet I didn’t see him anywhere, so I resumed my trek—carefully, slowly—toward the foyer. It was as I passed the gentlemen’s smoking room, gray smoke billowing through its doorways, that I realized where he was hiding. So I crept to the heavy red curtains that draped the entrance and risked a glance inside. Through the haze, I could make out bulky scarlet sofas and beyond that a gold-and-black bar.

A bar over which hunched a gray-suited young man, no doubt nursing a gin between his long, demon fingers. For several seconds I watched him, yet not once did he turn.

I can sense him, yet he’s not sensing me. What I couldn’t tell was whether his obliviousness was from the gin or from a lack of desire to find me. But either way, this was my chance to sneak out unnoticed and conduct my research alone. So with my letters in one hand, I gathered up my skirts in the other and twisted around to walk away.

But I instantly stumbled back. A tall figure stood squarely in my path.

“Excusez-moi,” he said in stilted French, “mais je ne—” The young man broke off, his eyes widening in recognition. “Empress?”

That was when my own recognition kicked in. I choked.

Of course I had to run into Daniel Sheridan at that precise moment. He was dressed to the nines in a wheat suit, white tie, and even whiter pair of gloves. As if that wasn’t out of character enough, there was a gleaming gold monocle lodged in his left eye and a book— the book on manners, I realized—in his hand.

Despite looking unusually foppish, he also looked rather spectacular—ridiculous monocle and all.

The wheat of his suit blended into the sandy blond of his hair so that, in the brightly lit hall, he positively glowed.

I cowered. Had Jie talked to him? And what if Oliver decided to come over right now?

“What are you . . . doing here?” Daniel spoke with the same strange pauses he’d used earlier in the day.

I forced my knees into a curtsy. “Mr. Sheridan. I was just, um, taking a peek at the room.” I flourished my letters toward the smoking room. “I thought perhaps . . . Jie . . . was in there?”

“Um, no. It is for men . . . gentlemen only.”

“Oh! So you haven’t seen Jie in there? Or . . . at all?”

“Not since this morning.”

My breath shot out. Daniel didn’t know. “Well,” I said, beginning my retreat, “if you see her, please tell her I was looking for her—”

“Wait!”

I paused, my heel midair. “Yes?”

“Um, how are you?”

“What?” My foot dropped with a thud. “I am fine. And . . . you?”

He tugged at his tie. “Fine, fine. Thank you.”

“All right, then.” I let my gaze flit over his shoulder. Oliver was still focused on his drink—thank the merciful heavens. Now if I could somehow slide my conversation a few feet to the right . . .

Daniel swiveled his head into my line of sight. “Are you looking for someone?”

“No!” I squeaked. “I mean, that is to say, of course not—I don’t know anyone in Paris, do I?” I laughed shrilly. “No, I am merely soaking in every detail of this fine room. Lovely example of

Parisian decor.”

Oh dear, what was I blathering on about? “Well,” I rushed to add, “good day to you, Mr.

Sheridan!” I whirled around to hurry for the street.

But Daniel slung out a long leg and stepped in front of me. “Are you going to the post office?”

“What?” I frowned.

“You’re carrying a stack of letters.”

My gaze dropped to my hand. Sure enough, Elijah’s letters were still grasped tightly in my left fingers. “Ah, right. These do look like documents worth mailing, but no . . . no, I’m not going to the post office today.” I made to scoot around him.

He sidestepped, blocking me once more. “Then where are you going?”

I hesitated and wracked my brains for a good response, but all I could conjure was the truth. “Well, I-I’m going to the library. These letters are from Elijah, and I thought there might be a clue in them.”

“A clue?”

I lifted one shoulder. “Something to explain why Marcus wants them. He came all the way to

Philadelphia—even approached my mother for them.”

“Oh?” Daniel slid his hands into his pockets, waiting for me to go on.

“I believe Marcus wants the Black Pullet, yet no one knows how to raise it—whatever it might actually be. All I know is that it’s some creature from the spirit realm that can grant its master immortality and endless wealth, but there’s some critical step in this whole summoning process that remains unknown. It’s possible Elijah figured out what that step is, and maybe”—I held up the letters

—“there’s an answer in here.”

Daniel nodded once. “Would you . . . would you like some company?”

“No!” The word shot out before I could stop it.

Bright pink exploded on Daniel’s face. “Oh, uh . . . of course. I just thought you might, um, want a companion. And by companion, I meant you might want me to join you . . . to keep you safe, of course.

You did say Marcus might show up at any time, and . . .” He trailed off, dabbing at his hairline.

One would think that seeing Daniel—the young man who’d had his fair share of pleasure in discomfiting me— at a loss for words would be wholly entertaining for me. Instead, it made my insides squirm.

“I-I know where the library is,” he continued, still stammering. “I could keep a lookout while I guide you there. And I have research to do myself, so . . .” His eyes dropped to his shoes. “Never mind. It was rude of me to . . . to intrude. Forgive me.”

He turned to go.

Maybe it was the way his cheeks burned scarlet or the way his shoulders dropped a few inches. Or maybe it was the way he said “forgive me”—the way he actually seemed to mean those two words. Or maybe I was simply desperate to get him away from the hotel before Jie told him the truth. But whatever the reason, the outcome was the same. “Daniel!”

He stopped and looked back.

“I . . . I don’t actually know the way.” I took a step toward him. “So an escort—and bodyguard—

would be welcome.”

And with those words, Daniel’s lips cracked wide in a breathtaking smile.

My heart jolted, and a thousand emotions—emotions I didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand—exploded in my chest. But biggest of all was a hollow ache that seemed to start in my heart and radiate outward.

I jerked around before he could see the horror no doubt lining my face, and as I scurried for the entrance, all I could think was, Why did I just agree to let him join me?