Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(14)

I gulped and swept my gaze up to the Notre-Dame. Figures still scurried in the streets . . . away from the Old Port. Away from us.

But before I could speak my concerns, Allison’s voice lashed out. “Eleanor.”

I twisted around—and winced. She was wobbling off the ladder, and her face looked as green as mine must have been. Yet, unlike me, she forced her chin high and extended her parasol toward me like a rapier. A master beckoning her servant. I hurried over.

“Someone will have to collect my bags,” she declared. “I refuse to leave my things unprotected on that airship while I wait for you.” She threw me a sideways glare. “And I suppose I shall hire a carriage to take me to the nearest hotel. Though I see no one about. What sort of city . . .”

A wind kicked up, even rougher than before, and carried her final words away.

“What?” I shouted, moving closer.

“Where are all the carriages?” she yelled back, but the wind thundered even harder. It swept at her petticoats. She shrieked and grabbed at her skirts—only to drop her parasol. It clattered and rolled toward the edge of the dock.

I dived for it—as did she. But with her hands pressed awkwardly to her knees, she stumbled forward. . . .

The wind shoved her over completely. She hit the ground with a scream, and I snatched up the parasol.

“My gloves,” she screeched as I helped her stand. “They’re ruined!”

Another gust of wind slammed into us. She almost toppled over again—as did I.

I glanced at the sky. No clouds marred the perfect blue. Nonetheless, there was an electric charge in the air now. That feeling of a storm about to hit.

My grip tightened on the parasol’s handle. “I don’t like this weather.”

“Who cares about the weather?” Allison snapped. “These gloves cost me a fortune.”

“I’ve got it!” Daniel shouted. “The fastest route to the Notre-Dame is definitely up the hill.” I peered over my shoulder at him. He shook the map in the air. “We head due east.”

“Obviously,” Oliver groaned, pointing at the basilica. “We can all see where it is.”

“Hush.” I glowered at Oliver. “Don’t pick on—”

Suddenly, a scream ripped from Allison.

I wrenched toward her—and found her arms outstretched. She shrieked again, and her fingers clawed for me. I seized her hands . . . but she was being dragged away from me.

I held tight, and with all my might I pulled and pulled . . . until at last, in a sudden burst of released speed, Allison fell forward and tumbled against me.

That was when I saw what had grabbed her.

Two putrid hands rose from the water and scratched at the cobblestones. Scratched at us. And as I watched, my stomach rising into my chest, hundreds of other fingers splashed through the harbor’s surface—and far in the distance, a single scream tore through the city.

“Les Morts! Les Morts!”

The Dead had risen in Marseille.

CHAPTER FOUR

The corpse that had grabbed Allison clawed at the street. I towed Allison behind me as her screams pierced the wind.

Its arms grappled closer. Then its rotten face appeared above the water. Broken teeth chomped, and fingers grated on the cobblestones.

Without thinking, I stabbed Allison’s parasol into the corpse’s empty eye socket. The metal tip squished in, clunking against bone.

I shoved, and the body toppled back into the water, its hands catching empty air as I skittered out of reach. But my heels hit something. I jerked around—it was Oliver, yanking me to safety.

“Stupid,” he snarled, his eyes locked on the water. “There are hundreds of them!” He grabbed at Allison’s arm next, and then pitched us both toward Joseph and Daniel.

“What do we do?” Allison wailed. “The Dead are everywhere!” She clutched her face and scrabbled closer to Joseph. “What do we do?”

“This changes our plans,” Joseph said, shouting to be heard over the splashing and crunching bones of the Dead—and the distant echoes of a shrieking city. “Our duty now lies in retrieving Jie and protecting Marseille. Marcus is second priority to that.”

“No.” The word rushed from my mouth. We had come here to kill Marcus. “If we have to stop all these Dead, then he wins!”

Joseph shook his head grimly. “And if we do not stop the Dead, then we leave an entire city at risk. Daniel.” He glanced at the inventor and pointed to the harbor. “Deal with those, please.”

“Gladly.” With a grim slant to his lips, Daniel unholstered two pistols and marched away from us. Corpses grabbed at the pier, but their bone fingers had not yet gained purchase. So with a steady arm, Daniel took aim at the nearest set of yellow skulls and matted hair. . . .

Pop! One pistol fired, and the nearest heads sank beneath the waves.

I wheeled back on Joseph. “Marcus wants us to give up on him—you know he does. This is just a distraction.”

“She’s right,” Oliver inserted. “He has ambushed us instead of the other way around.”

“Be that as it may,” Joseph said, “but this is my duty. My job. I find Jie and protect the city first. That is what the Spirit-Hunters do.”

“What about me?” Allison cried. “What do I do?”