A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(58)

Black Pullet. Now I knew with almost complete certainty why Marcus was seeking my letters—and why Oliver wanted them as well. Yet this knowledge did me little good. I was no closer to stopping

Marcus than I had been before, for I had now lost the only people who could help me.

After a few minutes of these agonizing thoughts, I realized that simply waiting for the inevitable—

for Joseph to find me—was more than my nerves could stand. So I decided to put my brain to work.

I had new information; I should at least try to use it. It was time to dig through my sheaf of confusing letters. I could focus on those without thinking about myself. I would push all my other problems to the back of my mind, and I would go to the library to see what I could learn about the

Black Pullet.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy to leave the hotel as I had anticipated. As soon as I found Elijah’s letters in my carpetbag and hurried back down the main stairs, a tugging began to tickle in my gut.

At the final step, the hair on my neck stood straight on end. Oliver was near.

Yet I didn’t see him anywhere, so I resumed my trek—carefully, slowly—toward the foyer. It was as I passed the gentlemen’s smoking room, gray smoke billowing through its doorways, that I realized where he was hiding. So I crept to the heavy red curtains that draped the entrance and risked a glance inside. Through the haze, I could make out bulky scarlet sofas and beyond that a gold-and-black bar.

A bar over which hunched a gray-suited young man, no doubt nursing a gin between his long, demon fingers. For several seconds I watched him, yet not once did he turn.

I can sense him, yet he’s not sensing me. What I couldn’t tell was whether his obliviousness was from the gin or from a lack of desire to find me. But either way, this was my chance to sneak out unnoticed and conduct my research alone. So with my letters in one hand, I gathered up my skirts in the other and twisted around to walk away.

But I instantly stumbled back. A tall figure stood squarely in my path.

“Excusez-moi,” he said in stilted French, “mais je ne—” The young man broke off, his eyes widening in recognition. “Empress?”

That was when my own recognition kicked in. I choked.

Of course I had to run into Daniel Sheridan at that precise moment. He was dressed to the nines in a wheat suit, white tie, and even whiter pair of gloves. As if that wasn’t out of character enough, there was a gleaming gold monocle lodged in his left eye and a book— the book on manners, I realized—in his hand.

Despite looking unusually foppish, he also looked rather spectacular—ridiculous monocle and all.

The wheat of his suit blended into the sandy blond of his hair so that, in the brightly lit hall, he positively glowed.

I cowered. Had Jie talked to him? And what if Oliver decided to come over right now?

“What are you . . . doing here?” Daniel spoke with the same strange pauses he’d used earlier in the day.

I forced my knees into a curtsy. “Mr. Sheridan. I was just, um, taking a peek at the room.” I flourished my letters toward the smoking room. “I thought perhaps . . . Jie . . . was in there?”

“Um, no. It is for men . . . gentlemen only.”

“Oh! So you haven’t seen Jie in there? Or . . . at all?”

“Not since this morning.”

My breath shot out. Daniel didn’t know. “Well,” I said, beginning my retreat, “if you see her, please tell her I was looking for her—”

“Wait!”

I paused, my heel midair. “Yes?”

“Um, how are you?”

“What?” My foot dropped with a thud. “I am fine. And . . . you?”

He tugged at his tie. “Fine, fine. Thank you.”

“All right, then.” I let my gaze flit over his shoulder. Oliver was still focused on his drink—thank the merciful heavens. Now if I could somehow slide my conversation a few feet to the right . . .

Daniel swiveled his head into my line of sight. “Are you looking for someone?”

“No!” I squeaked. “I mean, that is to say, of course not—I don’t know anyone in Paris, do I?” I laughed shrilly. “No, I am merely soaking in every detail of this fine room. Lovely example of

Parisian decor.”

Oh dear, what was I blathering on about? “Well,” I rushed to add, “good day to you, Mr.

Sheridan!” I whirled around to hurry for the street.

But Daniel slung out a long leg and stepped in front of me. “Are you going to the post office?”

“What?” I frowned.

“You’re carrying a stack of letters.”

My gaze dropped to my hand. Sure enough, Elijah’s letters were still grasped tightly in my left fingers. “Ah, right. These do look like documents worth mailing, but no . . . no, I’m not going to the post office today.” I made to scoot around him.

He sidestepped, blocking me once more. “Then where are you going?”

I hesitated and wracked my brains for a good response, but all I could conjure was the truth. “Well, I-I’m going to the library. These letters are from Elijah, and I thought there might be a clue in them.”

“A clue?”

I lifted one shoulder. “Something to explain why Marcus wants them. He came all the way to