A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(72)

But I didn’t let Joseph’s warnings go completely. I knew this was an addictive warmth, and I made myself cling—if only by a thread—to the reality beyond. Soon, the last drop of soul had poured into my chest, and I could feel the well pulsing in time with my heart.

“Now think of Elijah.” I imagined his auburn hair. His glasses—the way they constantly slid down his nose. I thought of his smile. His sea-green eyes. His goofy, braying laugh . . . Then I slowly squeezed the crystal clamp.

Electricity—a sharp zap—slid up my arm and into my chest.

The well grew bigger, and my heart raced faster.

I sent my senses out, groping for the golden, glowing curtain. It was always there, always present . . . and then I found it.

I opened my eyes. The curtain shimmered before me as clearly as my bedroom had only moments before.

I grinned, proud. I could use this power without letting it taint me.

All right, now I simply say his name.

“Elijah Fitt,” I whispered. “Elijah Henry Fitt, your sister, Eleanor, wants to speak with you.

Answer my call.”

Nothing happened. I tried again. “Elijah Henry Fitt, your sister, Eleanor, wants to speak with you.”

Still nothing happened, and now my chest was starting to ache. “Elijah,” I called, a sharpness creeping into my voice. “Answer me!”

Maybe he was busy . . . or . . . or blocked! I could try someone else.

“Clarence Wilcox,” I rasped, quickly running out of breath. “Clarence Wilcox, come to my call!”

Still nothing. Was I doing something wrong?

And why was electricity still zapping up my arm?

I looked down in horror at my right hand—it was still squeezing the crystal! I tried to pry the clamp from my fingers, but I couldn’t let go. My muscles would not release, and the well continued to grow. Blindingly bright, it pushed every last drop of air from my lungs. As my heart beat faster, I knew with terrifying certainty that this would kill me.

No! A whimper escaped my throat, and with it, the last of my air.

I needed to cast a spell, needed to get this magic out of me . . . but I couldn’t remember any spells —not with my pulse careening and the room spinning. All I could think was that I had to stay awake, had to keep my eyelids up. . . .

Just as I toppled forward, I latched on to the only words I could conjure. Awake, awake, awake . . .

When I finally came to, I was facedown on my bed. My head was pounding, and the instant I peeled back my eyelids, I wished I hadn’t. It hurt. Everything hurt.

I pushed myself up. My vision sparkled with painful stars, and yet I felt so relaxed . . . aching, but somehow good.

It’s from the magic, I thought. Whether I meant to or not, I had found a way to cast the power from me.

I scooted off the bed. For a moment I swayed unsteadily, but I knew that if I did not move, I would collapse into sleep. I had failed, and now it was time to move on. I needed water, needed to find Laure, and needed to launch a full search for Jie.

I scuffed to the door, but just as I was leaning on the doorknob, a scream erupted from outside.

I wrenched open the door. An old woman barreled toward me, her eyes huge. “Rat!” she shrieked.

“Rat!”

My breath whooshed out. A rat—nothing dangerous.

But then another door burst open, with a fat man toppling out. “Les oiseaux sont enragés! ” He sprinted frantically toward me. “Aidez-moi! ”

I barely had time to sort through this when three more doors—no four, then five—tore open and panicked guests came screeching toward the stairs. Toward me.

As the first old woman scrambled desperately by, I finally caught sight of the rat.

But this was no rat. The giant, raw hole in its neck crawled with white maggots, and its eyes were milky white. This rat was Dead—a Hungry Dead.

And it wasn’t the only one.

I kicked into a run. I needed the Spirit-Hunters. If all the animal corpses in the area had come to life, I could not face them alone. I had wasted all my energy on the failed séance.

I bounded onto the stairs. A flight below was a black-uniformed steward. “Help!” I shrieked. “Get help!”

He didn’t react, just continued his quick descent. I clambered after. Someone needed to find

Joseph and Daniel. “Help!” I yelled again. “Á l’aide!”

He paused on the second floor, and I jumped the remaining steps between us.

But I stopped midstride.

The stairwell reeked of carrion, and this was not a steward—it was the butler from the lab.

No, no, no!

I lurched back around. So did the butler, his jaw gaping and bloody eye sockets close. Stiff arms flew up, grabbing for me.

Somehow I managed to sweep up my skirts and leap two, three steps at a time. “Run!” I screamed as guests came toward the stairs. “Les Morts! Run!” Thank God, they listened, and as I raced up floor after floor, the broken beat of footsteps stayed close behind.

It felt as if it took forever to climb those stairs. My legs burned and my chest was on fire. I couldn’t maintain this pace—and the hotel had to dead-end eventually . . . because I was almost to the top floor. I would have to face the Hungry here. Now.

I scrambled onto the top landing and surged into the hall.

But I instantly skittered to a stop, my mind erupting in panic. There were rats everywhere! And mice and sparrows and a mangled cat. They were all dead yet somehow brought back to life.