Susan Dennard - A Darkness Strange and Lovely
As if on cue, my stomach grumbled angrily. I grinned. “First, I would really like to eat.”
She laughed and rubbed her hands together. “Then let’s get you a baguette!”
The Hotel Le Meurice was so grand, I was terrified to step inside. Like a moth in the butterfly garden, I absolutely did not belong. But if Jie could swagger into the gleaming marble foyer with its white columns and gold chandeliers and not mind the stares, then so could I.
Jie gave a nod to the navy-uniformed man behind the front desk; and before I had a chance even to see what was beyond the main entrance, she whisked me left, beneath an enormous crystal chandelier and on to a grand stone stairwell.
“This marquis,” I said, ogling the pink marble walls, “he’s rich, I presume?”
Jie laughed. “Very. He probably sleeps on a mound of gold.”
Two flights up, we stepped into a hall that ran off in either direction. Teal rugs muffled our footsteps, and lamps every few feet gave a steady stream of electric light.
“I am in awe,” I declared. “All of Paris is so elegant, and this is downright opulent!”
“You haven’t even seen the best part yet.” Jie pointed directly across from us to a white door built into a wall of glass-paneled windows. White curtains blocked whatever was on the other side. “That’s the lab. Now you’ll really be impressed.” She slipped out a key, and moments later, the door swung back.
I gasped, rooted to my spot in the doorway. “Impressed” was an understatement. The same teal carpet as the hall’s was underfoot, while mauve armchairs lined the room’s edge. Simple mahogany bookshelves covered the walls, and in the middle of the room were three wide worktables—all lit by dangling chandeliers.
“Wow,” I breathed.
“It’s supposed to be a parlor for the three suites in the corner.” She motioned to the back, where a tiny hall connected to three doors. “But the Marquis paid for us to make a lab.”
“Do you all sleep on mounds of gold?”
She snickered. “Just satin, I’m afraid.” She slid her hands into her pockets and ambled in.
I stepped carefully after her. “And you think the Marquis will pay for me as well?”
“Yeah. I’m sure of it.” She guided me around the paper-strewn tables and toward the corner hall.
“The Marquis has more money than he knows what to do with. He’s paying for Daniel to visit
Germany.”
My heart skittered. “Daniel . . . isn’t here?”
“No. He’s studying with the German army to learn about weapons and flying machines—pretty much anything that might be useful to us.”
“Oh.” Disappointment slashed through me, so sharp, it actually hurt. I bit the inside of my mouth.
“And for how long,” I asked, trying to keep my face passive, “is Daniel away?”
Jie shrugged. “The Marquis offered to send him for a whole month, and Daniel jumped at the chance. . . but I think he decided to stay only two weeks in the end.” She shuffled into the hall, which was really nothing more than a narrow room with a door on each wall. “So that means he should return in a few days.”
My heart stumbled again, but I stoutly avoided thinking about my feelings. The last thing I needed to worry about was a young man—even if he had left me somewhat heartbroken.
I cleared my throat. “So which room is yours, Jie?”
She motioned to the door on the right, and then with a flick of her wrist, she spun the knob and pushed inside.
I moved to follow but instantly stopped again. My jaw went slack. The hardwood floor was covered in an elaborate violet carpet that matched the chaise longue and two armchairs. A huge, plush bed in sky blue stood beneath a draping blue curtain that contrasted perfectly with the maroon-and-
gold window curtains. A writing desk, two bedside stands, and even a full-length mirror stood guard against cream walls.
“Wow,” I said. “Your situation has really changed. To think you were living and working in a closet only a few months ago—to think that Philadelphia still believes you’re to blame for all those deaths and walking corpses.”
She opened her palms. “Like I said, I think that’s why the Marquis makes Joseph go out so much —to counteract the bad gossip. And to help his own presidential campaign. Either way, we’re the only people who can help Paris, and unlike the stupid Centennial Exhibition, no one here expects us to pretend the problem isn’t exactly what is. These sacrificed Dead are walking, yeah? And it’s our job to find who’s behind it all.”
I frowned. “Tell me more about the Dead. What’s happening exactly?”
“We call them les Morts, remember?” She crossed to the bed and flung herself on her stomach.
“The basics are that these Dead show up randomly . . . but they’re the Hungry Dead. Rabid and fast.”
“Is it a necromancer?”
She propped herself on her elbows. “We don’t know. See, all les Morts have one thing in common: they were murdered first . . . and their ears and eyes were cut off.”
I shrank back, my stomach coiling. “That’s what you meant by ‘sacrificed’?”
“Yeah, and it’s not nice. They keep showing up reanimated. Or they were. We haven’t seen any in almost three weeks. But listen, Joseph can explain it better. He has some theories, and he can tell you about ’em once he’s back from”—she twirled one hand in the air—“living the tiring but very glamorous life.”
“You sound as if you don’t like the glamorous life.” I pointed at the nearest window. “But a view of Paris? Free clothes and trips to Germany? What is there to dislike?”
“A lot.” She rolled her eyes. “You should see how the women fall over Joseph and Daniel; it’s . . .”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“It’s what?”
“Nothin’.” She rolled onto her back and watched me through half-lowered lids.
“What is that look for?” I demanded.
“This is my I-know-how-you-feel-about-Daniel face.”
“Excuse me?” I hitched up my skirts and stalked to the bed. “How do I feel about him?”
She tipped her head to the side. “You two are like . . . I dunno, like something that’s completely in love but won’t admit it.”
“What? That’s utterly absurd.” I dropped onto the chaise at the foot of the bed.
She crossed her arms. “You seem awful defensive.”
“Honestly.” I moaned. “Why does everyone seem to think this about me? I am not in love with
Daniel Sheridan.”
“Who else thinks it?”
“Oh, um—” I paused, not wanting to mention Oliver. “My maid.” I glanced to the right. “But I’m not. In love, I mean.”
She swung her legs around and leaned back onto the pillows. “Isn’t there some line about protesting the truth too much?”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” I sighed dejectedly. “It’s from Hamlet, and you’re probably right. But listen, I thought . . . well, I thought there was something between us. But when I asked him how he felt, he told me very plainly that he was not in love with me.”
Jie winced.
“Surprise.” I wiggled my fingers halfheartedly in the air. “Now can you please drop these silly notions.”
“But have you considered that maybe it’s a complicated situation because of—”
“Enough,” I cut in. “Please. I do not want to discuss Daniel a moment longer. Please finish what you were saying before. About all the women.”
She nodded slowly and clasped her hands behind her head. “Well . . . the ladies are in love with
Joseph and Daniel, and it’s sickening.” She watched me, clearly waiting for my reaction.
“Don’t worry, Jie.” I gave a tight laugh. “The women can have them both. I have other things to worry about. Les Morts. Marcus.”
“Marcus?” She sat up. “You mentioned him in your telegram, but I didn’t understand.”
“Um . . .” I gulped, searching my brain for any topic that wasn’t Marcus. I only needed a few minutes to get a solid story in order. A story that carefully avoided any mention of Oliver. I cleared my throat. “Can we possibly order dinner first?”
“Right!” She scooted off the bed. “I promised you a baguette. I’ll get you some food, and then you can tell me what’s going on. And then”—she waved to my enormous yawn—“I’d say it’s time for bed.”
I patted my mouth until the yawn passed. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”
She grinned, her eyes crinkling. “I’m glad you’re here, Eleanor.”
I grinned back. “And I’m glad to be here.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Jie woke me with her usual finesse.
“Up!” She jabbed my ribs. “The sun has been high for hours, yeah?”
I cracked open an eyelid. “How do you have so much energy?”
“’Cos it’s the middle of the day!” She pushed her face in mine. “Joseph and I have already fought one Dead—”
I bolted upright, almost hitting her chin. “The Dead? Les Morts have returned?” I glanced out the window; the sun was not high. “What time is it?”
“Eight.” Jie snickered at my stricken face. “Early for you, but les Morts wait for no one.”
Jie assisted me with dressing, and as she buttoned my gown, I couldn’t help but wonder where
Oliver might be—though I supposed he had managed this long by himself. One night alone in Paris wouldn’t kill him.
Once Jie and I had pinned up my hair, we marched into the lab. A tall man with skin the color of hazelnuts stood over the middle worktable. He looked as handsome as always—no hair out of place, no wrinkle in sight.
“Joseph!” I leaped toward him.
He spun around, his face splitting with the biggest grin I’d ever seen the Creole wear. “Miss Fitt.”
He swooped into a bow.
“Now, now,” I scolded, “call me Eleanor.”
He lifted, his eyes twinkling. “It is so wonderful to see you, Eleanor. The last time I saw you, you saved my life.” His hand moved to his left cheek, where jagged white scars puckered—scars that could only be the remnants of Marcus’s attack. “I must say you look as lovely as ever.”
Heat flooded my face. “Joseph, I had no idea you could be so charming.”
He spread his hands, laughing. “It is this Paris air. La joie de vivre.” He hooked his foot around a stool and slid it out. “Sit. Talk!”
My stomach twisted hollowly. “As long as I can still eat after . . .”
Jie snorted. “Breakfast’ll still be there.”
I gave her a playful glower, but as I moved to sit, the view outside caught my eye. “Paris!” I darted to the window, my mouth falling open. “Look, it’s Paris! In the sunlight! And oh, it does look exactly like the prints.”
