Susan Dennard: A Darkness Strange and Lovely

“You will help me,” I shrieked. “Squeeze the clamp, Oliver. Sum veritas .”

Betrayal and fury flashed in his yellow eyes, quickly replaced by blinding blue. He snatched the clamp from me, his face contorted with rage, and his fingers gripped mine with bone-breaking strength.

For a brief flash I connected to Oliver—his anger seethed through my veins; his pain lanced into my chest. He hated me. Elijah would never have done this to him. I would pay for my cruelty.

Abruptly the connection ended, and if not for the roaring groan of the wood, I would have clawed at Oliver and begged his forgiveness.

But I did not. I threw out my free hand and screamed, “Joseph!”

Joseph hesitated—only a breath, but it was a breath too long.

In a deafening explosion of splinters, the door smashed inward. The Hungry toppled in.

Pop! Pop! Daniel’s pistols fired, and the first wave of Dead fell to the floor.

Joseph lunged for me, and the instant he had hold, Oliver squeezed the clamp. Electricity pierced through Oliver’s hand into mine. Up my arm, rippling beneath my skin until I boiled with power.

The pistols rang out again. Again. Yet for each corpse felled, ten scuttled in to replace it. Yellow skulls, shattered teeth, empty eyes.

My muscles twitched uncontrollably, and my heart raced. Why wasn’t Joseph using the power? I wanted to shout for him to attack, but my body was locked in place. I could do nothing but twitch. And watch as the Hungry clambered in. Daniel had to reload, and with each agonizing second, the chomping jaws closed in.

Why didn’t Joseph attack?

My heart galloped faster, pumping the hot oil through me and ballooning into my head. Black closed in on the edges of my vision. I was going to die, going to explode—

Blue light snaked from Joseph’s fingers. Thunder boomed.

Like a wind through grass, the Dead gusted backward. Flattened and lifeless for as far as I could see—all the way into the black tunnel and beyond.

But again the blue lightning struck out. This time it sizzled into the tunnel, a thousand veins of electricity flowing down, down.

Blue power laced through the air and boiled through my body. Then screams filled the air— my screams! Oliver’s screams, Joseph’s screams! Our heads rolled back, our throats burned raw with the inhuman shrieks. . . .

Until, all at once, it stopped. The hot crawling beneath my skin, our screams, the electricity . . . and the Dead. Everything stopped.

And as one, Joseph, Oliver, and I tumbled to the ground.

We stayed in the cellar a long time—too exhausted to do anything else. But eventually Daniel hauled us up and forced us to leave the devastation behind. Rising from the cellar, we came into an empty hallway. I instantly recognized it: Madame Marineaux’s house. Somehow, all that winding through the mines had taken us beneath the river Seine and directly into her basement. Obviously she had chosen this house for precisely that reason.

Joseph hung on to Daniel, his dark face drained white and his ear losing blood in bright red spurts, while Oliver stalked ahead of me, refusing to meet my eyes. Refusing even to acknowledge my existence.

“There’s a sitting room,” I rasped, turning to Daniel. “It has a fireplace. Joseph can rest there until we find a cab.”

Daniel’s eyes flickered over the hallway. “Shouldn’t there be servants?”

“The house is empty,” Oliver growled.

I did not ask how he knew—he did have exceptional hearing. Instead, I simply nodded and beckoned for Daniel and Joseph to follow. We shuffled to the back of the house until I found a familiar door. It was open, and embers burned in the hearth.

But the instant I stepped in, I drew up short. For there was an old man sprawled on the floor between the armchairs and the fireplace.

A squeak broke through my lips. I recognized the man’s elegant clothes—and I recognized the cane lying inches from his open hand. But his chest did not move, so though I knew it was the

Marquis, nothing about him looked as it ought. His skin sagged with age, and his formerly black hair was brittle and white.

Daniel spotted the Marquis next. He shot me a wide-eyed glance before easing Joseph into my arms and darting forward. He crouched beside the body, but it only took him a moment to check for a pulse. He shook his head once.

“Is it LeJeunes?” Joseph asked tiredly. I helped him shuffle toward the closest armchair, and as

Daniel eased the Creole to a seat, I bent down to examine the cane.

The handle was missing, the ivory fist gone, and though something tickled at the back of my mind —something that said it should have been around here somewhere—I could not find the full memory.

Daniel’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Do you think Madame Marineaux killed the Marquis?”

“I don’t know.” I rose, my gaze flicking back to the man’s ancient face. “He looks as if he aged a hundred years since yesterday.”

“Because he has,” Oliver said from the doorway. He stalked toward me, still avoiding my eyes.

“The man’s body was drained of soul. Look at how desiccated the skin is. How fragile the bones.”

Joseph cleared his throat. “How is that possible? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“I’ve only heard of it once,” Oliver admitted, leaning over the Marquis’s corpse. “Your brother”—

he pointed at me without actually looking my way—“mentioned it in passing. He said it was one of the darkest magics there is. Darker even than necromancy.”

I grimaced, my stomach suddenly churning. “Can you sense who did it? Like with the butler’s body?”

He straightened. “No. There is no soul left. Not a drop of spiritual energy, and without that, I cannot tell you anything.”

“What magic is darker than necromancy?” Joseph asked—or tried to ask, but his voice was barely audible. He wilted back in the armchair.

“We can worry about it later.” Daniel knelt beside Joseph’s chair. “You’re losin’ blood too fast.”

“We should clean the wound,” I added. “Before it festers. There must be alcohol in the—” I broke off as Oliver thrust his flask into Daniel’s hand.

“Vodka. It’ll sting like hell, but it’ll clean.” Then he strode to the window, ripped down one of the scarlet curtains in a single move, and threw it over the Marquis’s body.

I gaped at him, surprised.

Oliver scowled. “It’s disgusting. Scares me—not that you care.”

“What do you mean I do not care?”

But he didn’t respond. He had already pivoted toward the door and marched off.

“Where are you going?” I called, hurrying after.

“To find a cab.”

“Are you upset with me?” I knew the answer. I had felt his fury in the wine cellar, yet I had hoped it might have dulled some. “Please, Ollie. Wait. I do care. I’m sorry for what happened in the basement.”

He skittered to a halt, his body tensing. “Not sorry enough, El. Do you have any idea what you did to me? Blasting me with that electricity?”

“It was the only way!” I reached his side, clasping at his sleeve. “We needed all of our magic—”

“That wasn’t magic ,” he spat. “It was filthy. Unnatural—”

“And strong!” I clutched my hands to my chest. “You saw how many Dead Joseph stopped. We can’t do that with our spells.”

“No, perhaps not, but at least my spells won’t kill me.”

I flinched. “Kill you? What do you mean?”

“I told you electricity would kill me slowly—”

“I thought you were being dramatic.”

He gave a scathing laugh. “Being dramatic? Thank you, El. Thank you very much for seeing me as nothing more than a jester.” He pushed up his chin. “Electricity kills demons. It blasts away their soul like the Hell Hounds, but instead of all at once, it’s bit by bit. I hope you got a good look at what happened to that Marquis, because that is exactly what you did to me. You”—he jabbed his finger into my shoulder, pushing me back a step—“just withered away part of my soul. Part of my very being .