A Darkness Strange and Lovely

I tensed. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you cannot make that hunger go away unless you train.”

“So, this”—I patted my stomach—“is a craving for more magic? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Oliver didn’t reply, but the wariness in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

“So I am like an opium addict?” My voice grew high-pitched and sharp. “I need more spells to feel good? To feel normal?”

“You’re too bloody strong. I didn’t expect this to happen so quickly. You have a lot of magic to control, but it means there’s a lot of magic to control you.”

“You knew this would happen. You should have told me! I don’t want to be addicted to necromancy, Oliver.” I jumped to my feet and staggered to the foot of the broken stairs. I wanted . . . no, I hungered to destroy Marcus—that was all—but what was the price?

I pressed my hands to my face. Stupid Eleanor.

Footsteps thudded behind me.

“What if I do magic the way Joseph does?” I demanded, my hands muffling my words. “Will the hunger stop?”

Oliver strode in front of me and pulled down my hands. Everything about his expression—from the slant of his brow to the sag of his lips—was apologetic. “I don’t know if that will stop the hunger, El.”

“But I would be using electricity—external power instead of my own.” I searched his face for an answer. “Would that end this . . . this addiction?”

“Perhaps,” Oliver said, his nostrils flaring. “But then you’ll be using electricity. A magnificent idea in theory but ultimately absurd.”

I gulped. I remembered thinking something similar at Madame Marineaux’s—about how inefficient the influence machine was.

“There are limits to what you can do with electricity,” Oliver continued, releasing my hands. “You cannot make a phantom limb, you cannot cast a dream ward, and you certainly cannot defeat Marcus.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is weak, Eleanor.” He lifted his chin imperiously. “Electricity isn’t natural. It’s . . . it is a fake power.”

“How do you know?” I asked. “Have you ever used it?”

“No,” he spat. “And I never will. Setting fire to my veins? It will change me. Kill me. And for what? A single blast of power that I can’t even control. I use real magic, El. I am made of soul, and using my power is as safe and natural as breathing. Just as your magic is.”

“But my natural magic is addictive.” My voice came out quick. “And in the end I’m limited. I only have so much spiritual energy inside of me.”

“But you can enhance your power, El.” He drew back his shoulders. “And you can control the cravings. Without Joseph’s method.”

“How?” I breathed. “How?”

“Supplement your magic.” He took a step toward me, staring straight into my eyes. Not once did he blink.

He looked dangerous. Demonic.

“Blood,” he whispered. “Sacrifice.”

For half a second I considered the words. But then the weight of those words careened into me. I staggered back. “No, no, no.” I lifted my hands. “You told me you didn’t approve of sacrifices.”

“I don’t mean human.” He sniffed. “Spiritual energy is in the blood of any living thing, El. Simply drinking the blood of an animal will—”

“Stop!” cried a high voice from another room. “Stop!”

Gravel skittered, and Oliver and I whirled around just as Jie hopped through a burned-out window and into our room.

“Did I hear him right?” She stared at me, her eyes huge. “Are you talking about sacrifices? And necromancy?” She punched a finger toward Oliver. “And did he call himself a demon?”

“J-Jie,” I stammered. Where had she come from? “I can explain.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” But when I tried to say something, I found that my mouth would only spring open and closed. I turned a desperate face to Oliver, but he looked as stunned as I felt.

“Well?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Say something, Eleanor. Is he really a demon?”

I nodded slowly. All the blood left her face. “Oh God,” she whispered, shaking her head and backing up. “I have to tell Joseph.” She spun on her heels, spraying pebbles, and hurried toward the nearest doorway.

“Wait!” I darted after her. “Please—I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t tell Joseph.”

She paused. “Why not? He’s already worried about you—and you know he is. He told you to stay away from black magic.”

“But I have no choice!”

“You always have a choice,” she snarled.

“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