A Darkness Strange and Lovely

stairs with the aid of a cane and the stooped posture of an old man—though he couldn’t have been any older than my mother. His dark mustache shone so brightly in the electric lamps that I was certain oil would drip off the long hairs and splatter on his white collar.

On his arm walked a petite, middle-aged woman. She was a full foot shorter than the man, yet if you took into account her enormous coiffure of onyx-black hair, she almost reached his crooked height.

The couple entered into the foyer, and the man bowed gingerly before me.

“I am Monsieur Frederic LeJeunes, Marquis du Bazillac. And you, Mademoiselle, must be Eleanor

Fitt.” He took my hand and dropped a kiss on the air above it. “Enchante. ”

“It i-is a pleasure,” I stammered, thrown off by the realization that this was the Spirit-Hunters’ generous benefactor. The exact man I had to woo if I wanted a place to stay.

“Zis is Madame Renee Marineaux,” the Marquis added, nodding to the woman.

She beamed at me, making her angular face almost pretty and her hazel eyes almost golden. It was quite a stunning effect on a woman who seemed unimposing—perhaps even plain—at first glance.

“How do you do?” she murmured.

I bobbed a polite curtsy.

“I was told,” the Marquis began, “by Mademoiselle Chen that you are taking breakfast now, non?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then you must—how do you say?— join us. It is right zis way.” He motioned happily to a set of open doors beyond the foyer, and I couldn’t help but notice how odd his cane was. And beautiful. The handle was made of ivory and carved into the shape of an open hand.

Dragging my eyes from it, I bared a polite smile. “Thank you, sir. Breakfast would be perfect—I cannot wait to try all the French delicacies.”

He barked delightedly and set off toward the restaurant. I glanced back at Joseph, but all I could see was a top hat floating above a sea of feathery bonnets. So I moved after the Marquis. I suppose those are the girls Jie mentioned. . . .

“Where are you residing?” the Marquis asked, cutting into my thoughts.

“To be honest, sir, I stayed with Miss Chen last night.” I fluttered my lashes in what I hoped was a sweet and helpless way. “I came here quite suddenly and have nowhere else to stay.”

“Then you must take a room here,” said Madame Marineaux, moving to my side. She spoke with a faint accent—though it did not sound French. “The Marquis is friends with the owner, you see, and he is taking care of these amazing Spirit-Hunters. You must allow him the privilege of hosting you as well.” She shot the Marquis a raised eyebrow. “Surely that can be arranged, Monsieur?”

“Mais oui!” The Marquis stomped his cane against the floor. “I will take care of everyzing.”

“Thank you very much.” I gave them both a grateful grin. “Merci beaucoup. ”

Moments later, we entered the restaurant. Pistachio-colored curtains lay over ceiling-high windows, and crystal chandeliers hung like icicles. A navy-uniformed waiter with a rigid posture and even stiffer mustache helped me sit as the Marquis assisted Madame Marineaux. Then, after taking a flurry of orders from the Marquis, the waiter glided off.

The Marquis set his strange cane against the table, allowing me full view of the gnarled ivory fingers, and I could not help but stare. The detail that met my eyes was amazing: the fingers were tipped with long, sharp fingernails, and the lines carved into the palm were astonishingly lifelike. But it was the fingernails that held my attention. They seemed dangerous, yet alluring. Exotic, I thought.

“Ah, you are admiring my cane?” LeJeunes tugged at his mustache, grinning. “It is magnifique, non?”

“Yes,” I said warmly. “I have never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?”

“From me,” Madame Marineaux answered, a pleased flush spotting her cheeks. “I am glad you like it. I found it on my travels. When I was in India, I visited a small village for which this symbol”—she dipped her head to the cane—“is considered good luck. And it has certainly brought the

Marquis luck.” Her gaze landed on LeJeunes with fondness.

“Oui, oui. It has.” He clapped his hands. “Such success in zee Senat elections, and I hope”—he winked in my direction—“I will have the same success in zee presidential elections. All thanks to my

Madame and my . . . what is zee word? Good luck charm.” He placed a gloved hand tenderly over

Madame Marineaux’s.

I shifted in my seat, intrigued by the Madame. “You have done much traveling?”

“Oh yes.” She smiled, her hazel eyes crinkling. “All over the world.” She angled her head to one side. “But surely that is of no interest to a young girl such as yourself.” She gave a tinkling laugh.

“Usually all the girls I meet wish to speak of parties and fashion!”

“Oh no!” I cried, shaking my head. “Your travels sound fascinating. My dream is to do just that, actually—to see the world.”

“You have made a good start!” The Marquis tapped the table, his smile spreading beyond the edges of his mustache. “You are in the City of Light. The best conversation and the finest parties are to be found here. La joie de vivre, Mademoiselle! Society and museums and lovely sights. You must see all of it while you are visiting your friends.”

At that moment our waiter strutted back into the room, pushing a trolley laden with breads, pastries, and richly scented coffee. As he laid out plate after plate, the Marquis motioned for me to serve myself. So I did, grabbing two croissants, a tart drizzled in chocolate, and a generous helping of butter.

After the Marquis had filled his own plate—it would seem he had a fondness for anything with cherries—he turned his eyes to me. “I have an idea, Mademoiselle! We are hosting a ball to celebrate all zee success our Spirit-Hunters have had.”

I froze in the middle of slathering butter on my first croissant. A ball? It seemed a dreadful time for a ball if les Morts roamed the streets.

“You must attend,” the Marquis urged. “Everyone who is anyone will go.”

Somehow, I grew even stiffer. It was bad enough that the Spirit-Hunters would have to take time off to go to the ball, but me as well? I couldn’t possibly attend such a gala when I had only one dress in my possession. Yet before I could protest, Madame Marineaux clapped excitedly. “That is a grand idea, Monsieur!” She turned to me. “You absolutely must come, Mademoiselle Fitt! It is in two nights.”

I set down my croissant and wiped my hands on my napkin. “I-I would love to, but I fear I have brought nothing suitable to wear to such an affair.”

Madame Marineaux clucked her tongue. “Do not be silly. Such a minor inconvenience. Why, I know a dressmaker with premade creations. She can tailor something for your, eh . . .” Her eyes dropped to my ample waist and then to my crammed plate. “For your needs. ”

Heat flooded my face, and I realized that the Madame had nothing more than half—only half— a pastry on her own plate.

I snatched up my buttered croissant. “I-I’m sorry, Madame, but I’m afraid the expense of a new dress would be too much for me.” I chomped almost frantically into the flaky bread.

“Expense?” LeJeunes repeated. He gulped down coffee and then wiped his mouth. “Pas de probleme. I will cover zee costs, and zis weekend you will attend zee grandest gala Paris has ever seen!”

I gulped back my bread, trying not to choke. “Sir, I could not possibly impose—”

“Nonsense!” Madame Marineaux wagged her finger at me. “I will send the dressmaker over this very afternoon. You cannot say no to new dresses.”

Dresses? Plural? Yet as I sat there, flustered and outvoted, the Marquis laughed happily. “Parfait!”