A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(76)

I wiped my face on my shoulder, but the movement was sloppy . . . and I realized I was shaking.

We were almost to the foyer, and the frantic cries of all the guests were now thunderous; but it wasn’t the noise that tremored through me. I was keyed up on magic.

And that meant that Oliver was right. When this passed, I would probably feel a great deal of guilt over Laure, over the Spirit-Hunters, and over all the damage I had caused. But for now I did not. All I cared about was finding Jie.

And, I thought, anticipation warming my blood anew, if the magic begins to wear off, I can always use more. . . .

Most of the hotel’s patrons had taken refuge in the restaurant. Everyone was a disaster—clothes torn, eyes wide with shock, and skin coated in bits of animal corpses. No one even noticed Laure and me, and while I dealt with her slowly rousing form, Oliver had his eye out for the Spirit-Hunters.

It was all going surprisingly well. We had called for a doctor to tend to Laure—not that she had any injuries to tend—and she seemed to have no memory of what had happened. She thought she had fainted, and she was in a happy buzz from Oliver’s magic.

But then Laure noticed the blood on her dress, and the panic set in. “Qu’est que c’est? Qu’est que c’est?” she breathed over and over again. “It is blood, non? Mais comment? How, Eleanor, how?”

I grabbed her hands and forced her to look at me. “Listen, Laure: it’s not your blood. It’s mine.”

This was perhaps a poor response, because although she stopped her frantic questions, she now looked incredibly suspicious.

“Your blood?” Her lids lowered slightly. “But you are not even hurt.”

“I’m not?” I glanced down, and for the first time I realized the state I was in. My sleeves and skirts were ripped to shreds; my hair hung in thick, crusted clumps before my face; and my arms were covered in jellied animal blood. Yet the skin beneath was as smooth and perfect as Laure’s.

Oliver had not only healed the young woman.

So I wound up telling her the truth. “It was magic, Laure. We . . . we were both attacked by the

Dead, and I healed us.”

Her brow furrowed. “Magic. You healed me with magic?”

I nodded wearily. “I am afraid there’s much more to it.” I glanced at the restaurant’s entrance.

Oliver was motioning to me—the doctor had arrived. I turned back to Laure. “But I cannot tell you everything now. And your doctor is here.”

She pushed to her feet, the picture of vitality. “I do not need one. I shall call a cab and return to my friend’s house. However”—she leaned close, her eyes boring into mine—“I expect to hear the whole story tomorrow, Eleanor. I will call on you. We have plans for breakfast, non? So tomorrow morning before I leave for Marseille, I will return.”

“Fair enough,” I murmured.

After walking with her to get a carriage, I returned to the crowded foyer to search for Oliver.

Sometime in the last hour of hell, I had decided I would turn to the demon for help finding Jie. I had been willing to give him my letters—had decided I could rely on him—until he’d ruined my moment with Daniel and my temper had clouded everything. No, perhaps I would never trust the demon completely, but he at least deserved my respect. He had saved my life and Laure’s. . . .

Besides, he was all I had left now.

“Mademoiselle Fitt!”

I paused, searching for who had called me. “Mademoiselle Fitt!” The Marquis’s dark hair and oily mustache appeared nearby, and he pushed through the throngs to finally pop out directly in front of me. “Mon Dieu, are you hurt?” His eyes ran over my destroyed gown.

“I’m not hurt.” I tried to smile, but I found I was too distracted by all the panicked people closing in. What if the Spirit-Hunters were here? What if I missed Oliver?

As if sensing my distress, the Marquis took my elbow and guided me through the people to the relative calm of the stairs.

“I heard les Morts were here,” he said, breathing heavily and leaning on his cane. “I came immediately! C’est horrible—très, très horrible!”

I nodded, unsure what he wanted from me, and turned my gaze back to the crowds.

“I cannot find zee Spirit-Hunters,” the Marquis went on. “I went to zee lab, but it is empty. Are zey hurt?”

“Uh . . .” I glanced at him just as he set his cane against the wall.

And suddenly I found I could do nothing but stare at it. The handle had changed shape again—I was sure of it. Now all five craggy fingers were curled inward into a fist . . . a fist that would fit perfectly into my hand. . . .

I wet my lips, unable to look away. All I wanted to do was touch the ivory. Feel the grooved carvings, see how the ivory could form such a realistic human hand. And above all, how it could change its shape.

“Mademoiselle?”

I started and jerked my gaze to the Marquis’s face. “Pardon me? Wh-what did you ask?”

“Are zee Spirit-Hunters hurt?”

“Oh, um, no.” I blinked quickly and tried to clear my head. “I-I believe they are fine.”

“Dieu merci, Dieu merci.” LeJeunes pressed his hands together as if praying. “I was so, eh . . . so worried when I could not find zem. Do you know where zey are?”