Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(43)

“Here we are,” Oliver declared.

“That is Shepheard’s?” It was even more elegant than the Hotel Le Meurice. I scrambled off the cart and wiped at the dust on my pants.

“That is Shepheard’s,” Oliver confirmed.

“Finally,” Jie muttered. She rubbed at her head. “My scalp is getting sunburned.”

“That is why I have a parasol,” Allison said primly.

Jie and I exchanged arched eyebrows.

But Allison was not yet finished. As she launched into a march for the entrance, she flashed me a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “Are you regretting your wardrobe selection yet, Eleanor?”

“No,” I lied, scowling and brushing at my hair with my fingers. Jie only laughed, a loud, clear sound; and as she kicked off toward the entrance too, all my frustration with Allison slipped away.

Today was becoming a good day.

Oliver strolled up beside me, his elbow extended. “Shall I escort you, milady?”

With a grin, I hooked my arm in his. “You’re in an unusually fine humor this evening, aren’t you?”

“Hmmm.” His lips pressed into a vague, private smile, and he guided me up the front steps. “You are as well, Eleanor.”

“Because my best friend is here, and she seems to be feeling better. But what reason is there for your happiness?”

As he twirled us around a shoe shiner singing for baksheesh, he flashed his eyebrows. “Let us simply say, Eleanor, that on this particular day, I am very glad to be alive.” He towed me through a lattice-screened door. “Your palace awaits, milady.”

“That is all?” I demanded. “You are simply glad to be alive?”

“Mmm.”

I dug my heels into the ground, trying to get him to stop. But Oliver simply slipped his arm free, wiggled his fingers mockingly, and strode ahead, cryptic and confusing.

I hurried after him, through the entrance doors . . . but my stride instantly failed me. The hotel was even more luxurious inside. Potted narcissi and elegant leather sofas were crowded amid golden Persian rugs. The orange-sunburst tiles clicked beneath hundreds of feet, and above it all was the soft murmur of voices—primarily, I was surprised to note, speaking English.

While sportsmen in khakis and artists toting their paintbrushes streamed by, Oliver informed Jie and Allison from several paces ahead of me that it was likely everyone in and around Shepheard’s spoke English. The hotel was a haven for Americans and British abroad.

Allison tipped up her chin. “I daresay that will make our investigation easier then. We should start with the concierge.”

“Yes,” Oliver said slowly. “You inquire at the front, and, uh . . . I shall do a bit of snooping elsewhere.” With his hands sliding into his pockets, he slunk off into the crowds.

I craned my neck for sight of the concierge beyond the throngs of people. At last I found the dark-wood desk. “It’s at the far end of the room.”

“Let me do the talking, please.” Allison ran a disgusted eye over mine and Jie’s clothing. “In fact, you two ought to simply wait here.” She trotted away.

Jie and I shared more arched eyebrows.

Then Jie shrugged. “Well, I’m not waiting.”

“Good. Nor am I.” With our jaws set, we moved out after Allison. Jie was especially adept at swatting people aside like they were obnoxious insects, and we soon reached the desk. Allison threw us scowls. Then, while the decidedly European concierge was subjected to the full power of Allison’s arrogance and command, Jie strolled over to a rack of newspapers nearby.

Almost instantly, though, Jie hunched over and snatched up a paper. “Eleanor,” she called. “You’d better come look at this.” She lifted the paper as I scurried to her side. Today’s Egyptian Gazette, an English paper, read “Dead Rise in Marseille.”

My stomach flipped, and with trembling hands, I took the page. The article stated that the Spirit-Hunters were not being blamed for the mass rising of corpses in France—thank God. Enough people had seen us battling the Dead to know which side we were on.

“But it doesn’t say what happened to all the Dead after we left.” I glanced at Jie.

Her forehead furrowed. “The news was probably just telegraphed in this morning. Maybe the rest of the story hasn’t reached here yet.”

“I hope Marseille is all right.” My eyes skimmed over the article once more . . .

Until a hand slapped the back of my neck.

“Ouch!” I cried, whirling around.

It was only Allison. “Sorry.” She grinned, not seeming even remotely sorry, and offered me her gloved palm—on which was the smashed form of a mosquito. “They’re everywhere.”

I returned the Gazette to its rack, watching as Jie wriggled and scratched as if there were suddenly mosquitoes all over her.

“We ought to pick up a tansy salve at the apothecary,” Allison declared matter-of-factly. “It will keep the tiny monsters away.”

I nodded absently, rubbing at my neck. “Did you learn anything from the concierge?”

Allison’s lips pruned. “Only that information on guests is completely confidential and no amount of sharp disapproval will change that blasted man’s mind . . .” She trailed off, her mouth dropping open. Then she lunged at the rack of newspapers and yanked up a flimsy paper booklet. “This is Milton! This is that rotten man who owes my family!” She thrust the booklet at Jie—then at me.