A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(51)

The closer the balloon came, the more detail I could see. It was at least three times the size of a war balloon yet shaped like an ellipse. With a long gondola dangling beneath, it had the look of a boat with enormous white sails.

And never—not ever—had I seen anything like it. Not even at the Centennial Exhibition back in

Philadelphia, which supposedly contained all the world’s wonders. Clearly they had missed this one.

I couldn’t keep the grin off my lips. The words magnifique and incroyable flew around me, and not once did Laure stop her own exclamations.

Soon the balloon was low enough that the crowds were forced back, and a space was cleared at the center of the gardens. Blue-uniformed men rushed forward. I squinted and then blinked. One of those servants was the rigidly mustached waiter from the hotel.

But before I could consider what it might mean, one of the portholes in the gondola popped open.

A rope flew out. Then, one by one, each porthole burst wide and ropes came tumbling through. The servants from Le Meurice—for those were who they all were—rushed forward to snatch up the ropes.

I strained on my tiptoes, trying to glimpse how this monstrosity would be tied down, but then my attention was diverted—the gondola’s door was opening wide.

A folding ladder dropped down, and onto the first rung stepped a gleaming, black boot.

Applause rippled throughout the crowd and then finally burst forth in a thunder of clapping hands.

And it was as if someone took the clock and locked it in place.

I felt every brush of wind, every drop of sweat. I heard every whisper and shout around me. Heard

Laure’s elated laughter bubbling beneath. My heart grew and grew until I thought it might break free from my chest.

Perhaps it was the dregs of necromancy or perhaps it was the way the perfect breeze kissed my face, but in that moment, I did not think I had ever seen anything more beautiful in my life. Or inspiring. What kind of person did you have to be to tame the skies?

I held my breath, waiting for the rest of this unknown pilot to appear.

A gray-trousered leg came next, followed by a gray coattail, a sandy-blond head . . .

And then the pilot turned to face the crowd. To face me.

It was Daniel.

Chapter Twelve

My knees buckled.

Daniel. Daniel Sheridan! Here. Now.

I swayed into Laure. She looked over, alarmed, and tried to steady me. She shouted something. I didn’t answer—I couldn’t. All I could do was stare stupidly at the balloon, my breath frozen in my lungs.

Daniel leaned into the gondola, and when he came back out, he popped a top hat on his head. Then he spun around to wave at the crowd. A confident grin split his face.

And all of Paris cheered—except for me.

How many times had I tried to forget that blasted smile? The way his forehead relaxed and his green eyes crinkled?

A growl escaped my throat, and I squeezed my skirts in my fists. When Jie had said he was due back soon, I had not envisioned that his arrival would be quite so grand.

Laure gazed over at me, worry creasing her forehead. “Are you ill?” she shouted. I nodded and, taking her arm, swiveled about. I had to get away.

With far more violence than before, I shoved my way toward the garden gates and towed Laure with me. Perhaps if I ate croissants until I was sick, locked myself in my room, and pretended my pillow was Daniel’s face, then this enormous lump closing off my throat would go away.

Surprisingly, people stepped aside and let us pass. It was as if my misery were a storm cloud to be avoided at all costs.

And for some reason, this only made me angrier. I stomped on, Laure plying me with concerned questions the entire way.

We were almost up the stairs when I realized that the crowds really were clearing a path—but it wasn’t Laure and me they were avoiding.

I halted on the top step, pulling Laure to a stop with me, while ahead the Parisians continued to draw back.

Laure turned around. “Ah,” she breathed.

“Ah what?” I asked. But she didn’t have to answer, for footsteps pattered behind and a voice I knew entirely too well called, “Excusez-moi, Mesdemoiselles. Est-ce que je peux vous aider? ”

Laure’s lips puffed into a coy smile, her lashes batting prettily. But she said nothing, and so providing a response fell to me.

I drew in a ragged breath and forced myself around. Then I looked him square in the eyes and said, “Hello, Daniel. A fine afternoon for an overly dramatic balloon landing, don’t you think?”

His eyes doubled in size, and his mouth bobbed open like a fish. If the situation wasn’t so awful, I would have laughed at his shock.

He tried to speak, his usually tan face devoid of all color, but nothing came out.

Then, as if matters weren’t already uncomfortable enough, they somehow worsened. The entire crowd fell silent. Every single person stopped speaking and waited to see what Daniel would do.

Life ticked by in painfully slow seconds. My heart pounded in my ears, and I fought to keep my face still.

Someone coughed. Laure flinched. Then Daniel flinched and stumbled toward me.

“Miss Fitt,” he said.

“Do not call me that.” My voice came out surprisingly composed—though I desperately wished the crowds would cease their silence and ignore us. “I’m Eleanor to you, Daniel. You know that.”

His eyebrows twitched down, and with that, his own composure seemed to return. He swooped off his top hat and bowed. “Eleanor, what a . . . pleasant surprise.” He lifted and motioned to Laure. “Who is your companion?”