A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(33)
I sniffed. “Or foolish man. Don’t leave me to go buy new top hats.” I set a hand on my hip. “If you have enough money to buy that, then why did I buy our train tickets?”
He turned away, his cheeks reddening. “Because I don’t have the money.”
“You stole it! Just like your boat ticket and all that alcohol.”
“Shhh!” He leaned close, his eyes scanning everyone around. “Yes, I might have borrowed it, but I was attracting too much attention without something covering my head. We’re in France now. If you think the rules of society mattered in Philadelphia, they are nothing compared to what awaits us in
Paris.”
“Oh, pshaw. The Spirit-Hunters aren’t concerned with society, so I don’t see why we should be.”
Oliver rolled his eyes as if I was the most naive creature in the universe. “All thoughts on the morality of stealing hats aside, we have to work extra hard at keeping ourselves anonymous. You have a team of Hell Hounds and a powerful necromancer after you. The last thing we need are stories about us in the Galignani’s Messenger.”
“The what?”
“It’s a newspaper for English-speaking visitors in France. It details what everyone is doing, thereby fulfilling the gossip needs of society—and you can be certain that a glowing girl with a handsome lad such as myself is the sort of story people talk about.”
“You’re changing the subject.” I puffed out my lips. “If I really am a lit fuse, then I suppose you’ll have to teach me necromancy.”
“Are you joking?” He folded his arms over his chest. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the last week?”
“Well, I was scared. I am scared. It is scary, don’t you think?”
He grimaced. “Remind me never to drink with you. You babble like an idiot.”
“Humbug.” I snorted. “But I do want to learn it now. It feels so good! And I don’t want to cast any more accidental spells. Plus . . . oh! Just imagine what I could do to Marcus with necromancy. Boom! ”
I wiggled my fingers like an explosion. “Fight fire with fire, you know.”
“Or you could simply talk him to death. I feel on the verge of suicide myself—”
“I’m serious, Ollie. Teach me necromancy. I order you to.”
“Fantastic.” His mouth quirked up, the faintest sheen of triumph in his eyes. “But in about ten minutes when this stupor wears off, do not forget what you said. Now come on.” He held out his hand.
“The train is here, and you have a team of Spirit-Hunters to find.”
Chapter Nine
The view outside the train was exactly as Henry James described it in Madame de Mauves: trees of cool green, meadows rolling onto the horizon, and a gray light that made the sky look silver.
I pressed my face against the window while Oliver maintained his usual slouch in the seat across from me. I groaned inwardly. Why had I ordered Oliver to teach me necromancy? And why, now that the magic had worn off, was I not regretting that decision more?
What was wrong with me?
Despite my frustration with my scruples (or lack of them) and despite the fact that my legs were going numb sitting on the hard seat, before I knew it I had dozed off against the polished wood wall. I was soon traipsing through As You Like It ’s Forest of Arden with Orlando shouting his love to me and posting love poems on all the aspens.
Although, when I awoke five hours later, it occurred to me that the grassy green of Orlando’s eyes and the wool of his gray flat cap were entirely too similar to a certain Spirit-Hunter’s I wanted to forget.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Oliver asked. “You look awfully pale.”
I gulped and sat up straighter. “I just . . . dreamed of someone. Someone I’d rather not think of.”
“That inventor fellow?”
I gaped at him. “H-how did you . . .”
He chortled. “Let’s merely say that when you told me about the Spirit-Hunters, your careful avoidance of discussing him, combined with the lovesick look on your face—”
“I am not lovesick!”
“Of course not,” he said flatly. “Does he know how you feel?”
“I refuse to discuss this with you.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “It’s good you could nap. You wore yourself out with that spell.”
“And blazes, am I hungry now.” I folded my arms over my stomach. “I cannot wait to feast on croissants.”
He grinned. “They are the best pastry in the world, aren’t they? Did you know they were brought to
France by Marie Antoinette? They’re actually an Austrian creation.”
“Really?”
He lifted a flat-palmed hand. “I swear. I met her ghost. She was not pleased with death. She kept moaning, ‘ Pas chance pour l’amour. ’ No chance for love.”
“Is that true? Is there no love on that side?”
“Of course it’s not true. You saw Elijah. His love for you hasn’t faded or else he wouldn’t have come into your dream and saved you from the Hell Hounds.”
I frowned and turned my gaze out the window. Russet and gold-tipped trees were sprinkled over foliage still clinging to summer-green. As we roared by, it all blurred together like some Impressionist painting.