A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(79)

“Wait.” Massaging my forehead, I crossed to my bed. “Are you telling me that everyone is chasing after a chicken that lays golden eggs? It’s like something out of a child’s fairy tale. . . .” My voice trailed off as something from Elijah’s letters came to mind. Something about a fairy-tale joke.

“‘Jack and the Beanstalk,’” I whispered, easing onto the edge of my bed.

“Huh?” Oliver strode to the bed and plopped down beside me.

“Didn’t the story of Jack and the beanstalk have a chicken that laid golden eggs?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“But didn’t you tell Elijah a joke about it? When you were in Marseille—in some crypt?”

Oliver’s eyebrows drew together. “We were never in a crypt in Marseille. Not together, at least.

And I certainly never told him any Jack and the beanstalk joke.”

I lurched off the bed. “So it’s a clue!” I began to pace. Four steps forward, four steps back.

Exhilaration pulsed through me, laced with magic. I tossed back my head and for two long breaths simply basked in the heady warmth.

“So what do we do?” Oliver asked.

I smiled and skipped back to my bed. “We can look at Elijah’s letters and see exactly where in

Marseille they lead us. But again”—I wagged a finger at Oliver—“I won’t leave this hotel until the

Spirit-Hunters know about the Marquis and the amulet.”

Oliver scoffed. “And I said fine, but do you think they’ll actually listen to you?”

I crouched down and pushed aside the floor-length bedcover. “I will make them listen. I peered underneath the bed. “I will not let Jie . . .” My words died.

My carpetbag wasn’t there. Nothing was there.

And that meant all my money was gone—and all of Elijah’s letters with it.

Chapter Eighteen

I shot upright from the floor. “Did you take my carpetbag, Ollie?”

“Of course not.”

My stomach turned to lead. “Oh no.” I scrambled to my feet, lunging for the wardrobe and yanking back the door. Yet other than my undergarments and gray walking gown, there was nothing.

In a panic, I tore through the room, Oliver right beside me. Under tables and chairs, and even in the bathroom, I searched.

But my bag was gone.

I grabbed Oliver’s sleeve, on the verge of hysteria. “You are sure you didn’t take it?”

“I didn’t!” His head shook frantically. “Where was it?”

“Under the bed.”

“What?” He gripped my upper arms. “Why would you keep the letters in such a damned obvious place?”

“Because I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think! Are you completely stupid, Eleanor?” He was shouting. “Anyone could bloody take them— including Marcus!” His fingers dug into me.

“But can’t you find them?” My voice was shrill. “Sense them with your magic?”

His grip loosened.

“The way you found the letters on the boat,” I pleaded.

Oliver swallowed and then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I-I’ll try that.” He released me.

“Do I need to command you?”

“No. I . . . I can simply feel for it—the same way I sense you. Now be quiet.” He closed his eyes, and the faintest shimmer of blue shone through his eyelids. Then they popped up and he pivoted around, aiming for my balcony.

I scrabbled after, and we both tumbled through the glass door.

And instantly stopped. For there were the letters, reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes. The carpetbag was open beside it.

“Oh no, no, no.” Oliver dropped to the embers and shoved his fingers in. “No, no, no— please no.”

But his hands came up with nothing but soot. Tears slid down his cheeks, and he rolled his head back, eyes closed. “This was all I had left of him, El. How could you just leave his letters out?”

“They weren’t out—”

“And they damned well weren’t hidden either.” He jumped to his feet, rounding on me. “You are an idiot.”

I skittered back into my room. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough! I told you that I was still under Elijah’s command. I needed those letters to find the Old Man! Those letters and this locket”—he clasped the chain, his knuckles white—“were the only things I had left from Elijah.”

“Me too!”

“But he wasn’t your—” he broke off, his eyes twitching.

“Wasn’t my what?” I demanded.

“Nothing!” he roared. “It’s bloody personal, and none of your damned affair. I cannot believe you could be so stupid as this.” He twisted away from me, and when he spoke again, his voice was low. “I need a drink. I’ll be at the bar.” He released the locket and stalked to the door.

I ran after him. “You can’t just leave! What about the Old Man in the Pyramid? The Black Pullet?

Or Marcus?”

“What about Marcus?” He stopped at the door. “He’s obviously in the city, and now he has burned our only chance of finding the Old Man. You wasted away our time, and now he caught up to us.”