A Darkness Strange and Lovely

“Yes,” I breathed. “And what is that beyond it?”

At the far end of the garden was an enormous, hollowed-out structure. Its roof was missing and its walls charred.

“That,” Joseph said, “is the Tuileries Palace. It was destroyed in a fire several years ago.”

“And that?” I pointed right, to the other end of the gardens, where a giant, needle-like column poked up toward the sky.

“That is the Place de la Concorde,” Joseph answered. “It is an Egyptian obelisk . . .” His words faded off, so I glanced back at him—and found his eyes locked on my right hand.

I slowly drew back through the window. “You can ask about it.”

Rose patches appeared on Joseph’s cheeks. “May I see it?”

“Of course.” As I slid off my glove and extended my hand toward him, I prayed he didn’t have many questions. My reluctance to share the truth was somehow even greater this morning than it had been last night. Why muddy the clear waters? Things were going so well.

And heavens, how I had missed Joseph and Jie. Missed having friends who liked me exactly as I was . . . Besides, I told myself, you are making it easier for them too. No need to worry the Spirit-

Hunters when they had an entire city of people to protect.

“Kaptivan,” Joseph breathed. He inspected my palm like a fortune-teller at the fair. “How did you make this, Eleanor?”

I licked my lips. “I-I’m not sure how. It was bothering me . . . hurting when spirits were near, so I just, um . . . called to it. And it came.”

He squinted almost imperceptibly. “Surely it was not so simple.”

“Perhaps not, but I . . . I can’t really remember the details.”

A flicker of something passed over his face. Anger, perhaps, except that I’d never seen Joseph angry—at least not with me. “I urge you to remember the details, Eleanor. It is very important.”

“I-I’ll think about it.” I glanced off to the right and withdrew my hand. “Maybe I can remember something.”

“Hey,” Jie said, fidgeting with her hair clasp. “I’m gonna go down and order breakfast, yeah?”

Joseph nodded, and I took the opportunity to bolt to the table and waiting stool. “Jie told me you battled a corpse today.”

“Wi.” Joseph closed the window and followed me to the worktable. Sharp lines puckered his brow, and I noticed new creases around his eyes. He looked so very tired.

“This corpse was our first in quite some time,” he continued. “It was one of the Hungry, as they always seem to be. She was a baker’s wife, and the poor man . . . his son died a few weeks ago, and now he must deal with this too. Needless to say, he is devastated.”

“Jie only told me the basics about les Morts.” I pretended to focus very hard on adjusting my skirts around my stool. “What exactly is happening?”

He eased onto the stool beside me. “Before we came, there had been forty-eight walking corpses.

This was why we were called in, and within the first week of our arrival, we encountered twenty-two more. Seventy Dead in all. Then . . . nothing for the past three weeks—until this morning, that is.”

“And they’ve all been murdered?”

“Yes.” He sighed, and his shoulders sank a few inches. “We are at a loss for who might be responsible, though. Not a single corpse has appeared in the same place. From the rich to the poor, no class has been untouched—and there is no way of predicting when or where the next person will vanish. Nor when or where that person will reappear as one of the Dead—or the Hungry, rather, for they are not attached to a necromancer. Recall that a corpse not controlled by a necromancer is free and desperate only for its next meal of soul.”

My gut twisted and I fidgeted with my gloves. “Well, what if you kept track of all missing persons? Would that help you predict the next victim?”

“The police do provide us with a new list each week, but there are over two million people in

Paris. Most missing people are completely unrelated to our murders. . . .” His voice trailed off, and I realized his attention was focused back on my phantom hand. And the wrinkles in his brow were even deeper.

So before he could direct the conversation to my magic, I blurted, “Oh, Joseph, I almost forgot about Marcus!”

His eyes leaped to my face. “What about him?”

“He came to Philadelphia. That’s why I left—why I’m here. Marcus wants the pages from Le

Dragon Noir and the letters Elijah left inside.” I went on to explain how I’d seen yellow eyes, how

Mama had thought she’d seen Elijah, and how I’d been forced to flee on the next steamer bound for

France.

I however did not mention Oliver. “Then I came here,” I finished at last. “To you, for I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It was right for you to come.” Joseph massaged the scars on his cheek, his back stiff and straight.

“Do you believe that Marcus will follow you? Will he come to Paris?”

“I . . . I think so. He must know I have the letters, and . . .” I bit my lip. By omitting Oliver, I’d had to omit the Hell Hounds, and that meant I was going to have to tell a lie now. But only a little one—

one I could take back later. “I believe . . . that is to say, I’m rather certain Marcus saw me board the steamer. He knows I have left Philadelphia.”

“Good.” Joseph dropped his hand. His scars were tinged with pink from rubbing. “I hope Marcus comes. Is it possible he might have boarded with you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “If Marcus had been on the steamer, I would have known. He would have sought me out.”

“True.” His gaze shifted to the window. “Do you perhaps know when the next steamer departs?”

I frowned, trying to remember what the ticket clerk in Philadelphia had said. “The next direct boat won’t leave for another few days. As for an indirect boat, I haven’t any idea.”

“Nonetheless, he will be at least a week behind you. At best.” His lips twisted up in a slight, private smile. “But when he comes, I will destroy him. This time, Eleanor, I will be prepared.”

Chills slid down my body, and a fresh wave of desire—of hunger to face Marcus once and for all —clawed at my insides. And with it came the faintest flicker of magic, warm in my chest. I almost smiled.

But then a thought occurred to me, something I hadn’t considered yet was possible. “What if

Marcus does not follow? What if he stays in Philadelphia, Joseph?” And uses more magic and spells to reach me from afar.

“If Marcus does not follow,” Joseph answered, his voice barely audible, “then there is only one solution, Eleanor.”

“What?”

“We will go to him.”

The moment Joseph and I reached the bottom of the hotel’s main stairwell on our way to breakfast, a high-pitched squeal broke out.

I jolted, yet before I could calm my heart, we were set upon by a flock of brightly clad girls in all manner of flounce and lace.

“Monsieur Boyer! Monsieur Boyer!”

Pastels and curls swarmed around us, and with no warning, Joseph was yanked away from me. Two breaths later and I was left standing alone, mouth agape.

“Aha!” exclaimed a male voice. “Finally we have found you!”

I jerked my gaze to the foyer. The speaker was an expensively dressed gentleman. He moved down the