A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(36)

“Uh . . .” I twirled around. Where was Oliver? Get separated—ha.

I turned back to Jie and beamed. “Yes, that’s mine. Now tell me everything!”

“You first!” She swooped my bag up over her shoulder, and we joined in the flow of people leaving the station.

“I’d rather wait,” I said, choosing my words carefully. It was all going so well, and I wanted to cling to that a bit longer. Later—I could always talk about Oliver, Marcus, and the Hell Hounds later.

“I’m tired,” I continued. “It’s been a long day. You tell me about Paris first.”

“Fair enough.” She smiled. “But let’s get a cab, yeah?”

Several seconds later, I took my first steps into Paris, and my heart grew so big, I had to shuffle to a stop and simply soak it all in.

In some ways Paris was as familiar to me as Philadelphia—the carriages rattling on the cobblestones, the people hurrying home, the smell of horses and mud and city—and yet in most ways it was so, so different.

The same beige-faced buildings and gray roofs I’d seen when entering the city now peered down at me from every direction, and I couldn’t help but imagine all the people behind each tall window and down each winding street.

And with the sun setting beyond the rooftops, the streetlights seemed to glow even more brightly, casting all those lives and smiles and heartbreaks in an unearthly warmth.

I grinned until my cheeks ached. I had done it! I’d left Philadelphia far behind, and my troubles were long lost in the dust. Or . . . they were at least somewhat behind me.

Oh, don’t think of all that, I ordered myself. I was in Paris and with my dearest friend. I ought to give myself at least a few hours to revel in it.

Jie let me gape for several minutes, but then her usual impatience kicked in, and she hauled me down to the busy street. After waving over a hansom cab, she rattled off the hotel name and a few

French words. The driver helped us inside the coach.

“Learning the language?” I asked, impressed, as we settled onto the bench seat beside each other.

Jie twirled the end of her braid. “I don’t like relying on Joseph to talk to everyone, and I hate not knowing what people say about me.” She sighed and stared out the window as we clattered to a start.

“But we’ve only been here a month. I haven’t learned much.”

Some of my excitement melted, and for a moment I pressed my hands to my lips and watched her.

She was the same girl from the summer—fierce, quick to smile, and unafraid—but there was a new dullness in her eye.

“You don’t like it here,” I stated.

“Is it that obvious?” Her eyes slid to mine. “It’s not the city’s fault, or even the Parisians’. Truth is, I’ve just been lonely.”

“Me too.” I sighed and hooked her arm in mine. “But now we’re together.”

She chuckled. “And I’m glad for it, yeah?” Suddenly her breath caught, and she wrenched free.

“Eleanor, you have two hands! How?”

“Uh, w-well,” I stammered. It was all fine to avoid mentioning Oliver, but this would certainly need an explanation. Stupid Eleanor! Why hadn’t I prepared an answer for this?

“I used . . . magic,” I finally said.

“How?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I simply figured it out, I suppose.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Simply . . . figured it out?”

I nodded, relieved when she didn’t question me further and only said, “Joseph did say you had power.”

Taking my new hand in her own, she slipped off the glove. She spread out my fingers and held them to the light. “It’s just like your old hand!”

“It is my old hand.” I pulled it back, embarrassed. “I . . . I managed to call it through the curtain and bind it here.” That was mostly the truth.

She whistled. “That sounds like dangerous stuff. You should’ve waited for Joseph.”

I only grunted in response, and Jie seemed to notice my discomfort. She dropped my hand. “You don’t wanna talk now—sorry. You should look at the city, yeah?”

“Right. I’m in Paris.” I forced a smile, sliding to the window. But the streetlamps glared off the glass, making it hard to see much beyond the cobblestone streets.

“Or,” Jie said with a laugh, “maybe you should look at the city tomorrow. In the daylight.”

I turned back toward her. “So where is your hotel? And, um . . .” I scratched at my ear. “Do you think I could stay with you?”

“ Of course you can stay with me.” Her eyes lit up. “Besides, I’m sure the instant Monsieur

LeJeunes knows you’re here, he’ll offer you a suite.”

I exhaled heavily. “Thanks, Jie. Is this monsieur the host you mentioned in your letter?”

“Oui.” She batted her lashes. “He’s the Marquis du Bazillac, and he’s in the Senat—though he’s running for the presidency. He was the one to write to us in Chicago. Of course, he thought we were three men. Imagine his surprise when he realized I was a woman.” She grinned wickedly.

“And he doesn’t care about the Centennial Exhibition? About the fact that you’re wanted fugitives?”