Susan Dennard - A Darkness Strange and Lovely

“But . . .” Daniel wet his lips. “Didn’t Madame Marineaux say that Marcus killed his mother?”

“Yes.” My hand eased into my pocket, my fingers sliding around the ivory. Just touching it made me feel better. Stronger. I stood taller. “The Madame also said that Marcus tricked her into a binding agreement. And she also said Marcus was going to Marseille.”

“And if Jie was with Marcus at the train station,” Joseph said, “then she is also bound for

Marseille.”

“But what’s there?” Daniel asked.

“The answer to the Black Pullet.” I closed my eyes, my fingers clenching the ivory even more tightly. “Marcus found my letters from Elijah, and he must have solved the riddles within. He must have seen something in them that I did not.” In a flat voice, I told them what happened with the burned letters and the Jack-and-the-beanstalk riddle. “There’s a crypt in Notre-Dame de la Garde, and something important must be in there. That’s why Marcus is going to Marseille, and it means . . .”

Joseph sat taller. “It means we must also go to Marseille.”

“Unless it’s a trap.” Daniel tugged at his hair, a grimace on his face. “Why keep Jie alive unless it’s to lure us down there?”

“Perhaps you are right.” Joseph’s fingers went absentmindedly to his wound.

Daniel snatched Joseph’s wrist. “Don’t.”

Joseph blinked. His hand lowered, and he quickly tossed back another swig from the flask. Then he drew back his shoulders. “But, trap or not, I will not leave Jie in that monster’s hands. We go to

Marseille.”

“I . . .” I bit my lip. “I want to save Jie too, but if Marcus left yesterday, then he’s a whole day ahead of us. He also knows what was in Elijah’s letters. He knows where to go. He’ll be ready and waiting long before we can even get train tickets.”

“No,” Daniel said. He stepped to Joseph’s side. “You forget: I have an airship. It’s faster than any train. We can be in Marseille in a few hours. Then we could trap him .”

Desire blossomed in my chest. Desire and something darker—something violent. I was ready to go after Marcus. No more waiting, no more looking for clues or answers. I was ready to face him now and to make him pay.

Make him pay for wearing Elijah’s corpse. For hurting Joseph. For taking Jie and killing, killing, killing so many innocent people. For killing his own mother and entrapping Madame Marineaux . . .

And for all the hell I had had to endure over the last three months. It was time for Marcus to pay.

As Daniel placed a hand behind Joseph and helped the Creole stand, I asked, “How long does your balloon take to prepare?” My words lashed out, overeager and hungry. I swallowed and forced myself to add, “To prepare it for flying, I mean.”

Daniel’s eyes flicked to mine, but he instantly looked away. “It can be ready to go in an hour.”

“Then let us go.” Joseph motioned to the door. “Hopefully your de—” He broke off. “Hopefully

Oliver has found a cab by now, for there is no time to waste.” He and Daniel shuffled past me toward the door.

I took two steps after them. “Joseph?”

He glanced back at me, his eyes dark and inscrutable. “ Wi ?”

“When you said ‘Let us go,’ did you mean . . . all of us?”

His lips twitched up ever so slightly, and he nodded once. “Yes, Eleanor. I meant all of us.”

I could not help it. I grinned.

Several hours later, with the sun almost risen and the sky a stunning blue, I found myself at the gates of the Tuileries Gardens. Daniel’s balloon drifted overhead, packed and waiting. Oliver was already on board, sulking . . . furious. Daniel was still in the lab, grabbing his final things, and the last

I had seen of Joseph, he had been beneath the hotel doctor’s none-too-gentle hands. I’d had just enough time to get cleaned up and don a fresh suit (awkwardly borrowed from Daniel) before the airship had arrived, ready to be loaded with the Spirit-Hunters’ equipment. I left letters for Allison and Laure, explaining everything and begging for their forgiveness. Whatever news Allison had would simply have to wait. If she had made it this far from Philadelphia, she could make it a bit longer.

The same went for Laure. I felt rotten for abandoning her. After the horrors of yesterday, she deserved better, but I could not— would not—risk Jie’s life waiting for both girls to arrive. Perhaps I would see them in Marseille.

And now it was time for me to go.

My feet padded lightly on the steps into the garden. A breeze licked through the chestnuts and sent the balloon floating toward me. It strained against its leashes, a creaking melody to the rustling leaves and curious voices of passers-by. Even at this early an hour, a crowd had gathered to watch the airship.

To think that none of these people knew what had happened in the night while they slept. What had happened beneath their homes. What we had saved them from or how much it had cost us.

To think that, for them, it was just other day.

It annoyed me. Angered me, even. Philadelphia had been the same as Paris—so much work and so many tears, and all for what? So people could simply get on with their lives.

“And so,” I whispered to myself, pausing on the final step, “the wheel is come full circle.” But

Shakespeare quotes held no comfort for me today, no matter how true they were. I had too many unanswered questions.

For one, where was the compulsion spell—the one built from les Morts ? It had sounded as if

Marcus was using the seventy-three sacrifices to build a long-lasting spell, so did he take it with him when he left Paris? Madame Marineaux had said nothing about the amulet’s final destination or final purpose.

For two, what had happened to the Marquis? Had Marcus been the one to kill him? I would have to press Oliver for more information on this black magic that was even darker than necromancy—as soon as the demon was willing to speak to me again.

And the ivory fist—what was it? My fingers slid into my pocket, where it rested. It was not an amulet, yet Madame Marineaux had claimed it was special, powerful. And for whatever reason, she had wanted me to have it. Oddly enough, its fingers had started to loosen—only slightly, but enough for me to notice that the fist was unfurling. . . .

With a yawn, I withdrew my hand and rubbed at my stinging eyes. I would find answers to my questions soon enough.

Then, my hair whipping in my face, I sent my gaze flying out over the small crowd of airship-

viewers. Over their top hats and feathered bonnets. Over the flowers and maple trees. Over the burned-

out palace and the Rue de Rivoli, with its neat, beige buildings and endless gray rooftops.

I sent my gaze out over Paris.

And I let the faintest smile pull at my lips. Seeing this perfect, perfect morning was exactly what I needed. The reminder to dig deeper until . . . until . . .

Until I found it, hiding within my heart and wrapped beneath layers of anger and grief. It was wound up so tightly in hollow regret that I would never have found it if I had not searched.

But there it was: a tiny flame—only the faintest glimmer, really, yet a flame nonetheless. A hope in the darkness.

“Eleanor?”

I turned and met Daniel’s face, peering at me from the top of the steps. He was clean-shaven, freshly dressed. The wind pulled at his damp hair, and he looked as sharp as ever . . . yet sad. Worried.

But he did not need to be. I knew what I was doing.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I reached into my pocket and slid my fingers around the ivory fist. Then I grinned. “Yes, Daniel. I am ready.”

T his book almost killed me, and the only reason I survived it is because of my best friend, soul sister, frequent sounding board, and fellow author: Sarah J. Maas. You held the megaphone to my ear and shouted at me to keep going. I kept going, and the book wasn’t the death of me.

Huge thanks to Biljana Likic for all her help with the book’s Latin phrasing. If not for you, my characters would be speaking in gibberish, and I am so grateful for all you’ve done.

To my Hero Squad, Erin Bowman and Amie Kaufman—thank you, thank you for listening when I needed it and for reading the book when I needed that.

To my critique partner, Katharine Brauer: your honey badger feedback turned this manuscript from pure drivel into an actual story . I love you for that.

A giant thanks to Meredith Primeau, Erica O’Rourke, and Amity Thompson for being beta readers when I needed criticism and cheerleaders when I needed support.

Endless love and thanks to Sara Kendall and Joanna Volpe for going above and beyond the call of duty over and over again. There is literally not enough space in these acknowledgments to convey just how much I appreciate everything you do.

Karen Chaplin, you (and the wonderful Alyssa Miele) helped me transform this book from a giant tome of “talking heads” into a story that made sense. Circumstance might have brought my book to your desk, but I truly believe it’s where Eleanor and the gang were meant to be.

To the entire Harper team working tirelessly (or I assume tirelessly, but in all likelihood you’re terribly exhausted at this point) behind the scenes to design my dazzling covers, set up events, and keep things running smoothly: a million thanks and a million cookies too.

Finally, to my dear husband, Sébastien, and my family—Mom, Dad, David, and Jennifer—you all believed in me long before I believed in myself. I love you.

SUSAN DENNARDis a writer turned marine biologist turned writer again. A DARKNESS STRANGE AND

LOVELY is the sequel to her debut novel, SOMETHING STRANGE AND DEADLY . Among the traits she shares with her heroine Eleanor are a weakness for Shakespeare quotes, a healthy appetite for baked goods, and an insatiable curiosity. Sadly, Susan does not get to wear a corset or wave a parasol on a daily basis. You can visit her online at www.susandennard.com.

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Also by Susan Dennard

Something Strange and Deadly

A Dawn Most Wicked: A Something Strange and Deadly Novella (available as an ebook only)