A Darkness Strange and Lovely

A moment later, a harried Joseph rushed into the dining room. He glanced over his shoulder repeatedly, as if expecting girls to appear behind every table and chair. He looked even more exhausted than before.

The Marquis waved. “Monsieur Boyer, come! Sit. Eat.”

Joseph nodded quickly, and as he darted for the table, I felt an odd twisting in my stomach. I frowned—it was a familiar feeling, yet it took me a moment to realize why.

Then it clicked. I had felt this when Oliver tested our bond at the train station. The demon had to be nearby. I whipped my gaze to the door, and sure enough, a slight, gray-suited figure lounged in the hallway beyond.

I shot to my feet. “I-I must use the necessary. Pardon me.” I wobbled a curtsy, embarrassed by the three pairs of surprised eyes yet also certain I did not want Oliver seen. Moments later, I dashed into the hall and veered sharply left. I strode away from Oliver and away from the restaurant’s view.

As I knew they would, Oliver’s footsteps clicked after me. It wasn’t until we had passed through two doorways and the hallway twisted sharply left that I slowed to a stop.

“You fool!” I turned and, grabbing his coat, yanked him to me. “They might have seen you.”

“That Joseph fellow did see me.”

My breath caught. “What? Did he recognize you?”

“No.” Oliver smirked, obviously entertained by my panic. “Why would he? We’ve never met.”

“But you’re a . . .” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You’re a demon. Can he not tell?”

“Not unless I’m doing magic. I couldn’t even sense another demon if the demon wasn’t actively tossing around spiritual energy. Like the rest of the world, all your Spirit-Hunters see is an incredibly dashing young man.” He flashed his eyebrows at me. “Besides, I was under the impression that you wanted me to meet Joseph Boyer.”

“I do want you to meet him. Just . . . just not yet.”

He scratched his chin. “So you aren’t mad at me for leaving you at the train station?”

“Well, uh . . . no,” I said at last, “though I am wondering where you have been all this time.”

He spread his arms wide. “It’s Paris, El! I’ve been everywhere. Enjoying my old haunts and finding new ones. Why, I discovered a charming bar in Montmarte, and while I was there”—he dipped toward me—“I heard about les Morts. Bloody disgusting. And bloody ambiguous.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that those missing eyes and ears could be any number of sacrificial rituals.” He tapped his chest. “And I am glad it’s not me tasked with finding the person behind it.”

“But we are tasked with that.”

“Er, why ‘we’ exactly?”

I frowned at him. “Well, the Spirit-Hunters are after les Morts, so I suppose I am too.”

“But what of Marcus—”

“He’s not here, so I will deal with him when he comes.”

“—and Elijah’s letters, your necromancy, and . . . am I forgetting anything? Oh yes.” He glowered.

“Setting me free.”

I ground my teeth. “And I will get to all that when I am good and ready. For now, Marcus isn’t here and les Morts are. If I want Joseph to help me, then I must first help him.”

“But I am good and ready now, El. I thought we were friends.”

“We . . . are.” My face scrunched up, and I realized that he was my friend. He knew more about me than even the Spirit-Hunters, and I didn’t want to lose that. And yet for all that Oliver knew of me, I knew almost nothing about him. “For a friend,” I said slowly, “you keep an awful lot of secrets. About my brother.”

He gave me a cool, sidelong glance. “And I have told you, that’s my personal business.”

“But maybe your personal business would help me understand Elijah’s letters.”

“Well, you could make it easier for the both of us if you simply gave me those letters.” He bowed toward me. “I could take them, you know. But I haven’t.”

Now it was my turn to gaze at him sidelong. “Why not, if it’s so easy?”

For a moment he did not reply, and I could see in the shifting of his pupils that he was rummaging through various replies. At last his eyes narrowed and he declared, “I haven’t stolen the letters because

I want you to trust me. I need you to trust me. We can’t make this partnership work if you don’t. I want to see the letters for personal reasons, so I am . . . content to wait. At least for now.”

I swallowed, unsure how to respond. I so desperately wanted to trust him too—wanted the easy reliance I’d shared with Elijah. “What if . . . what if we make a deal?”

“Ah.” His yellow eyes flashed bright gold. “I do love deals. What do you propose?”

“You help me with les Morts, and then I’ll let you see Elijah’s letters.”

His lips curled up. “What a lovely idea, El. I daresay, with me on this case, les Morts will be solved in a matter of days—nay, hours. And then those letters will be mine.”

My eyebrows twitched down. I had the distinct impression I had fallen into some unseen trap—

that I’d offered Oliver precisely what he wanted all along. Yet, as far as I could see, whatever it was he wanted matched up with my own desires, so I merely answered with “Thank you.”

His smile widened. “See if you can’t get me one of the bodies—that would help immensely.”

“Get you a body?”

“Yes. Missing eyes and ears could be a variety of things—all of them bad. But if you get me one, I might be able to—”

“Eleanor?” Joseph’s voice rang out from the hall. “Are you here?”

My heart skittered into my throat. “Go,” I hissed at Oliver. “I’ll find you later.”

He grinned, almost rakishly. Yes, he definitely enjoyed my panic. I shot him a glare before darting back into the main hallway.

After intercepting me in the hall, Joseph informed me—tiredly—that he had to attend a meeting with the Marquis and Madame Marineaux.

“But I would like very much for you to come to the lab once I am back. There are . . . things we must discuss.” His gaze flickered to my phantom limb. “I will let you know when I have returned, non?”

Dread cinched around my neck like a noose, yet as we walked into the foyer, I forced myself to give him a chipper “Of course!”

He nodded. “Until later, then.”

He was gone only moments when a porter came to my side and informed me that he would guide me to my room. Excitedly, I followed him up four flights and into a smaller version of Jie’s room—

though mine was blessed with a balcony that overlooked the gardens and the hollowed-out palace.

I had barely finished exploring the luxury of my new home when a dressmaker arrived, sent by

Madame Marineaux. Before long, the sun was in the middle of the sky and Jie was dragging me to lunch in the dining room.

Joseph still had not returned, and Jie explained over our meal—her words laced with annoyance—

that his daily absences were more the norm than the exception.

I hastily swallowed my mouthful of roast duck. “But where does he go?”

“Parties, salons, more parties.” Jie stabbed her fork into a potato.

I swallowed and wiped my lips with a napkin. “But shouldn’t he be working?”

She shrugged. “He wants to, but les Morts haven’t been here in three weeks, yeah? The demand for our services hasn’t been very high.”

“Oh. Right.” My forehead creased, and I chewed absently on a piece of a baguette. Well, I