Susan Dennard - A Darkness Strange and Lovely

• Название: A Darkness Strange and Lovely
• Автор: Susan Dennard
• Жанр: Любовно-фантастические романы

 Following an all-out battle with the walking Dead, the Spirit Hunters have fled Philadelphia, leaving Eleanor alone to cope with the devastating aftermath. But there’s more trouble ahead—the evil necromancer Marcus has returned, and his diabolical advances have Eleanor escaping to Paris to seek the help of Joseph, Jie, and the infuriatingly handsome Daniel once again. When she arrives, however, she finds a whole new darkness lurking in this City of Light. As harrowing events unfold, Eleanor is forced to make a deadly decision that will mean life or death for everyone.

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They don’t know what Oliver is yet.

“I have never seen anyone with so much natural magic,” Joseph continued. “Once she learns my methods, she will be incredible.”

“More like disgusting,” Daniel spat. “You’re letting a necromancer into the group. Just think about that.”

Fury cramped my gut. Daniel had no right to say such things, for he had no idea what I had been through. No idea.

“She has stopped,” Joseph declared. “She fights the call of black magic—and ultimately, Daniel, it is none of your concern what magic she uses. I am in charge, and I say she is in the group. I expect

Marcus to arrive any day—any moment—and we need her power, no matter what form it is in. As such, when she arrives, I expect you to control your temper.”

A strangled cry came next, but other than that Daniel made no more sounds.

I dug my palms in my eyes and waited until the normal murmur of conversation picked up. Then, my hands shaking, I strode as steadily as I could down the remaining steps and into the lab.

“Ah, Eleanor,” Joseph said with a tired smile. He waved to a stool. “Have a seat.” The butler’s corpse still lay on the farthest table. And though the windows were all opened, it wasn’t enough to kill the body’s stench.

“Where’s Jie?” I asked.

Joseph glanced at me sidelong. “We assumed she must be with you. She left a note”—he gestured to a slip of paper on the windowsill—“that said she was going out.”

“But that was yesterday afternoon,” Daniel said gruffly.

“And she has not come back yet?” I gaped at them. “Aren’t you worried? We should look for her!”

“It’s Jie,” Daniel said. “She can take care of herself.”

“One does not simply ‘go out’ for an entire day,” I snapped. “Not Jie, at least.”

Joseph scratched his neck. “I will send out one of our new patrolmen to check for her.”

“Please,” I begged.

“Yes. I will do it the minute I leave the lab.”

My shoulders sank. I had not even realized I had held them tensed. Perhaps I was overreacting—

Jie could take care of herself, after all.

“So,” I said to Joseph, “I suppose you received the patrol force you wanted?”

Joseph bowed his head in acknowledgment. “We did. And did you learn anything about contacting spirits?”

“Actually, yes.” I swallowed. “I read about séances.”

“Séances,” Joseph murmured. “They are very hard to successfully employ, and there are certainly dangers involved. However, it is an avenue worth researching. But first . . .” He set his hands on the table. “Daniel, I would very much like to see your newest inventions.”

I, however, had no desire to see them. I stood. “Perhaps I should go—”

“Non!” Joseph’s hand shot up. “This equipment is as much yours as mine, and I believe it will help you control your powers.” He gave an encouraging nod. “Look at these items as your tools.”

“Um, all right.” I reclaimed my seat, and Joseph motioned for Daniel to continue.

“Well, this box”—Daniel nudged his boot against the middle crate—“has two new influence machines. Nothing exciting.” His voice was coated with the odd, stiff affectation once more. “This other box contains the pulse pistols.” He shoved his crowbar into the crate he’d been prying at before I entered the room. As the nails squeaked, he said, “Do you remember the pulse bombs in Philadelphia?

The dynamite propels a magnetic rod, thereby creating an electromagnetic pulse. That pulse laid the

Dead to rest.”

“Quite useful and ingenious.” Joseph’s words were overenthusiastic, as if he was trying very hard to keep Daniel pleased.

“Useful,” Daniel agreed, “but slow.” He yanked the final nail from the crate. “You had to have matches, and you had to wait for the fuse to burn. Well, no more of that.” He hefted off the lid and swept aside straw, revealing a device shaped like a revolver. Copper wire coiled around the barrels.

“These are the pulse pistols. No more wasting time. You merely pull the trigger, and the Dead go down. There are two limitations, though. First, the range isn’t as wide as the bombs.” He tapped a munitions box beside the gun. “Second, the guns only hold one shot at a time, so either you carry a few loaded pistols all the time or you hope you can reload faster than the Dead can reach you.”

That’s quite a limitation, I thought. And beneath that, another thought flashed: I don’t need that.

Daniel tossed a pistol to Joseph, who caught it deftly and held it to the light.

“Incredible. This would have made things at Madame Marineaux’s easier, I daresay.” He glanced at me, a hopeful smile on his lips.

And that smile rankled me. A great deal. Why was he pretending to be pleased with me when the truth was he considered me and my magic an abomination?

Daniel strode to the last crate, his spine straightening. “This last invention is something I’m real . . . I mean . . . something of which I’m very proud.” He spent a few minutes working the nails out.

Once the lid was off, he pushed aside the straw and dug out an ornately designed, cream-colored box.

It was much like a lady’s hatbox, all soft designs and curves. Instantly, pain swept over his face. He dropped the box roughly on the floor. It hit with a heavy thud.

“What is in there?” Joseph asked.

“Nothing.” Daniel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s . . . it’s empty.”

Joseph gave me a glance, and I tugged at my earlobe. That box was most assuredly not empty, but before I could ponder what might be inside, Daniel fished out a second, smaller box. He placed it tenderly on the table and slid off the top.

My eyes widened.

Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, was a crystal the size of my fist. Though it was rough and uncut, it still glittered like sunlight on water.

Daniel slid his hand beneath the velvet pillow and withdrew what looked like a crooked, copper wrench. On one end was a clamp and on the other was a spring-loaded handle.

“I call this a crystal clamp,” he said. “It latches onto the crystal like so. . . .” He spread the clamps wide and set the crystal within. Then he clasped the handle. “Now, you squeeze this. That in turn squeezes the crystal and creates an electric current. As long as you’re squeezing, you have electricity.”

I gasped as comprehension hit me. “It’s like my amethyst earrings. Piezoelectricity, right?”

Daniel’s eyes flicked uncertainly to mine. “You . . . you remember that?”

Of course I remembered it. The day he had taught me that word was the day he’d carried me home in an unconscious heap. The day he had given me a new parasol. The day I had finally started to hope for more than just friendship . . .

“I am not sure I remember.” Joseph drummed his fingers on the table. “Though I do recall something about squeezing quartz and getting an electric current, non?”

“Exactly.” Daniel nodded. “When you squeeze quartz, the mechanical stress creates an electric charge. That charge moves through the copper clamp and into your arm. The copper also magnifies the charge, and of course, the bigger the crystal, the bigger the initial current. It’s not as powerful as a spark from the influence machine, but it should be enough to stop a corpse or two.”

“Kaptivan,” Joseph said, gently taking the contraption into his gloved hands. “A portable source of electricity.”

“You should try it out,” Daniel suggested.

“I cannot.” He laid the device back in its box. “If I take in the electricity, I must shoot it back out again. I learned that the hard way.” He shot me a smile, as if I might understand.

I did understand—all too well. Yet I had assumed it would be different with external power.

Instead, it would seem that no matter the source, no magic could be held indefinitely. You had to use it.

And that was simply one more limitation to electricity.

“Why don’t you try it,” Daniel said, his eyes settling on me. “I bet . . .”

He gritted his teeth as if he didn’t want to finish.

“Bet what?” I pressed. “Tell me what you were going to say, Daniel.”

“I was gonna say,” he snarled, “that you should try it out because I bet that new hand of yours can squeeze this clamp like a real professional.”

I stiffened. “Joseph said it’s dangerous.”

“Right.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Silly of me to forget.”

“You want me to hurt myself, is that it?”

“I didn’t say that, did I? Thing is, I’m just startin’ to wonder, Miss Fitt”—his words came out faster and louder—“what’s so great about that phantom hand of yours.”

“Stop.” Heat blazed up my body.

“What amazing tricks can it do? Can it stop the Dead? Or—I know—can it raise the Dead?”

I knew Daniel wanted to hurt me like I had hurt him, but this time he’d gone too far. I pushed onto my feet and marched around the table toward him.

“Show us some tricks,” he said, wiggling his fingers at me. “Show us your amazing necromancy with that shiny, new hand.”

“You jealous, spiteful ass,” I hissed. “Do you want to know what my phantom hand is good for, Daniel?”

“Please,” he said with a sneer.

“This.” I slapped him straight across the cheek, so hard that even with my glove, the blow flamed up my arm.

Then, before he or Joseph could react, I turned on my heels and stormed from the lab.

Chapter Sixteen

I had just reached my room, ready to pound my pillow into a pulp, when the Dead alarm rang. I rushed to my window. A scruffy boy was yanking the bell rope and hollering, “Les Morts! Les Morts! ”

“Number seventy-three,” I murmured, but I didn’t go down to the lab.

Nor did anyone come up for me.

Minutes later, just as I moved away from the window, two top hats hurried into a carriage, and I couldn’t help but note that they did not carry an influence machine. I supposed Joseph trusted Daniel’s newer, more portable inventions.

I also couldn’t help but notice Jie’s absence. They might not have been worried about her, but I was.

Yes, I knew Jie could take care of herself. I had seen her barrel through a line of corpses with nothing more than a casual flying kick. Yet why would she leave? And do it all of a sudden with nothing more than a vague note? It was not like her.

So I went to the hotel’s front desk and asked if anyone had seen her. They had not. I asked in the restaurant, the men’s smoking lounge, and even in the shops nearby. But no one had seen a bald

Chinese girl dressed like a boy. Not since yesterday.

As I strode back into Le Meurice’s marble foyer, wishing I had read the note she’d left for Joseph, a voice trilled, “Eleanor!”

I whirled around to find a violet-clad Laure hurrying toward me, her lips at their usual mischievous slant.

“C’est vrai?” She whipped a newspaper from her purse. “Is it true? The Galignani’s Messenger says you and that balloon pilot ’ad a fight.” She glanced down at the tiny print. “Ah, mais oui, the pilot and a second man fought over you in the Square Louvois. The second man was Oliver, non?”

I stared stupidly. “How did that get in the newspaper?”

“Everything is in the newspapers in Paris. Except for me.” She winked. “Though you can ’elp me change that. I want to meet the Spirit-Hunters.”

“You want to meet them?” My brow wrinkled. “I’m afraid none of them are here now—”

“Then introduce me later. Or— je sais! Show me their lab.”

“Really?” I squeaked. “You want to see it?”

“Bien sûr! These Spirit-Hunters are famous! I can imagine my parents’ faces when I return to

Marseille and tell them who I ’ave seen.”

“The lab is probably locked—”

For a moment her face fell. But then she flashed a grin. “Ah well. Then I will merely take a peek at the door of their famous lab, and that will be enough.”

“Well, all right,” I said grudgingly, waving to the stairwell. “I suppose there’s no harm.”

Less than a minute later, we were standing on the second floor and staring at the Spirit-Hunters’ lab 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.