A Darkness Strange and Lovely

door.

Laure marched to it. “Let us try it, oui?”

“I’m certain it’s lock—” I broke off, for Laure had pushed the handle, and it was most assuredly not locked.

She shot me a grin. “Do you think I could ’ave a peek?”

I gulped. I knew Joseph—or Daniel—would disapprove . . . but if we looked inside, I could also quickly search for the note from Jie. “Yes. Hurry.” I strode toward Laure. “We’ll go in, but only for a moment.”

“Parfait.” She eased back the door, and we crept inside, closing it softly behind us. “It smells,” she whispered.

“Because there is a corpse over there,” I murmured, pointing.

She made a gagging sound and instantly pinched her nose. “A corpse?”

“Yes.” I grinned at her. “The Spirit-Hunters do hunt the Dead, after all.” Laure only cringed in response, so, leaving her to stare around the room, I darted toward the windowsill where Jie’s note still lay. I snatched it up and held it to the light.

Gone out. Be back later.

—Jie

For several moments the only sound was Laure’s feet padding over the carpet as she inspected anything and everything. I read the note again. And again and again, my heart picking up speed each time. This was not Jie’s handwriting. It was similar; but after exchanging letters with her for months, I knew her wobbly style. This lettering was too smooth. Too assured.

So what did that mean?

I shot a glance at Laure. She was reading the titles of Joseph’s books and mouthing them to herself, her eyebrows arched high.

My gaze returned to the note. Had Jie been taken? And by whom? For what purpose? In the end it didn’t actually matter—what mattered was that Jie’s absence was bad.

I needed the Spirit-Hunters to return. I needed to tell Joseph to send out all of his new patrol force.

I needed to find Jie.

I could ask Oliver to look, I thought. Except that I was not ready to. I so desperately wanted to trust the demon . . . but I couldn’t. Not after his display yesterday. If only I could talk to Elijah . . . ask him about Oliver and the letters—

My thoughts were interrupted by a choke.

I whirled around—only to find Laure standing beside the butler, her face green. “It smells so strongly.”

I grimaced. “That’s because you’re right beside the body. Come stand here. Next to the window.”

She clasped a gloved hand to her mouth and rushed to my side. As she worked on opening the window, I turned away and tried to refocus my thoughts.

The words of Joseph’s book came to mind. The words about a seance. A longer-dead ghost will require more power and therefore more people.

I straightened. I couldn’t hold a seance by myself, but I could mimic one, could I not? I could pretend to have more people by using a crystal clamp to enhance my power.

Triumph rushed over me—but then a crash sounded. I jerked toward Laure. On the floor was

Daniel’s ornate cream box—upside down and with the lid popped off.

“Excusez-moi!” Laure wrung her hands. “Je suis desole, Eleanor! I am so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” I muttered, shoving Jie’s note into my pocket and kneeling. Please don’t be broken.

Laure crouched beside me. “When I opened the window, I did not see the hatbox.”

“I don’t think it is a hatbox.” I yanked the lid off the floor.

“Then what is it?” She slid the box over, revealing what had spilled onto the floor . . . and she gasped.

My heart sank like a stone. It was a mechanical hand. Bronze gears shone in the place of knuckles, and polished wood flesh gleamed in the afternoon sun. At the wrist there were a series of tendon-like wires: the muscles to operate this creation.

I gulped, and with shaking fingers, I reached out to stroke it. The detail was immense and meticulous, from the small, carved fingernails to the soft curve of the palm.

Tears burned, welling in my eyes. Daniel had told me there were ways to make mechanical hands, and when I had asked if he was offering, he had answered, I can always try.

He had not only tried, but he had succeeded. No wonder he had been so upset by my phantom limb.

“Are you . . . are you all right?” Laure’s voice was gentle.

“No.” I wiped at my eyes. “Daniel made this . . . and it was meant for me.” I picked up the hand and laid it gently back in the box. Then I placed the lid on top.

“Was meant for you?” Laure pushed herself up and helped me rise. “Why not is meant for you?”

“Because I have this,” I answered bitterly, lifting my right hand. “I have this cursed, magical abomination.”

She shook her head and returned the box to the windowsill. “I cannot pretend to ’ave any idea of what you speak. But”—she gazed at me, sympathy dragging at her eyebrows—“I do know a broken heart when I see it.”

All I could do was bite my lip and nod.

“Il t’aime. ” She offered me her handkerchief. “He loves you.”

I took the lacy cloth and dabbed at my eyes. “Perhaps. Or more likely he was experimenting—”

“Non,” she interrupted. “He loves you, Eleanor. Je sais. I saw ’ow he looked at you on the street, ’ow he listened to you. And now, there is this.” She waved to the green box. “He loves you. The question is, Do you love him in return?”

I stayed silent, avoiding her eyes.

“Perhaps,” she said at last, “it would be best if I leave you alone for a bit.”

“Y-yes.” I gulped. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. I will explore the ’otel for now, and when I am finished, if you are—’ow do you say? — recovered, we will go out for lunch. Unless you are attending this ball tonight at the palais? The one in all the papers?”

“Ball,” I repeated numbly. I had forgotten all about that—and it was quite possibly the last thing I wished to deal with right then.

“If you are too busy preparing for the party,” Laure said, “then perhaps we can meet for breakfast tomorrow. Before I return to Marseille.”

“Or perhaps we can do both.” I gave her a small smile. “Lunch and breakfast. Thank you, Laure.” I offered her the handkerchief, but she shook her head once.

“You keep it. You ’ave more need of it than I.” Then, flashing me her own tiny grin, she waved good-bye and glided from the lab.

I instantly crumpled onto a stool and began to cry. “Why didn’t he just tell me?” I mumbled to myself, wiping at my tears. I knew I could not blame Daniel for my own mistakes. I had bound myself to Oliver; I had chosen a phantom limb; and I had covered my tracks with lie after lie.

I would ask the Spirit-Hunters to forgive me—for hiding the truth and for betraying their trust.

But I would not be ashamed of the magic inside me. This was who I was now, and I would have to show Joseph and Daniel that there was nothing to be afraid of.

And, by God, I would find Jie.

With a final sniffle, I pushed away all the sadness and locked it up, far out of reach in the back of my mind.