A Darkness Strange and Lovely ssad-2

by Susan Dennard

Her lips pursed into a smug smile. She waited.

  “Oliver, remove my hand. Take it back.”

  “Oliver?” Her eyes thinned. “To whom do you speak?”

  With my own wicked grin, I screamed in her face, “Sum veritas!”

  Instantly she released me, rearing back. “Another demon?” She twirled around, her nostrils sniffing the air wildly.

  Then she spotted the Spirit-Hunters, standing on the opposite side of the cavern with the crystal clamp and pulse pistols trained on her. I saw no sign of Oliver.

  A scream ripped from Madame Marineaux’s mouth, inhuman and ear shattering. “Veni! Veni!”

  She bolted for the Spirit-Hunters, her skirts and feet barely skimming the ground.

  Daniel fired his reloaded pistols. Madame Marineaux slowed but didn’t stop. Two more shots cracked out, and this time Madame Marineaux did halt.

  But it was not because she was hurt. It was because, crawling out of the dark tunnel behind the

  Spirit-Hunters, was an army of corpses. The skeletons from before.

  “Behind you,” I shrieked just as Daniel twisted around, his next pistols firing.

  I dove forward, desperate to help, but all at once pain sliced up my arm. Phantom pain. I glanced down. My hand was gone. It was just a stump once more. Instantly, Marcus’s spell took effect.

  First came the wind—so fierce and so cold. It blasted through the cavern, winking out half the torches. Then the stench of grave dirt assaulted me.

  Madame Marineaux whirled toward me, disbelief—and betrayal—in her eyes. She knew what was coming. Knew there was no escape from the Hell Hounds.

  Crack! Electricity lashed through the air as Joseph blasted skeletons away. He and Daniel were holding off the Dead, but only barely.

  A howl tore through the cavern, and the pain in my missing hand screamed. Stars blurred across my vision. The Hell Hounds were close—so close—and all I had to do was keep Madame Marineaux here.

  I staggered toward her, reaching frantically for any piece of her I could grab. But my right hand flared blue, blinding in its agony. Madame Marineaux’s eyes locked on it.

  A grin swept over her face, and I knew she understood that the Hell Hounds were here for me, not her . Her grin shifted into a frown. “I am sad,” she said. “This is no way for a girl with your talent to die. Yet, you made your choice—and it was not me. Too bad, too bad. If you had only seen things my way, then they could have lived too.” She waved disinterestedly toward the Spirit-Hunters. Their backs were to the wall, and an ocean of skulls and groping fingers surrounded them. But they weren’t defeated—not yet.

  “But c’est la vie, Mademoiselle. The bad choices— c’est la vie. And now I must wish you adieu. ”

  She surged for the gaping black tunnel in the right corner. It was the only way out now that the left tunnel was swarming with Dead. Before I could even try to lunge into her path, she swept around me, soaring for the exit.

  “Ollie!” I screamed. “Hold her! Sum veritas!” Then I launched after Madame Marineaux, sucking in all my power. Every ounce of soul in my body I drew into my chest, and in a wave of heat that scorched through me, I let all my magic loose.

  “Stay! ”

  Madame Marineaux froze only feet away from the exit. I could feel her pulling, pumping her own magic into a counterspell.

  “Stay, stay, stay!” I shouted, and from the other side of the room, Oliver bellowed, “Mane, stay!”

  A thunderous roar filled the cavern. All the torches whipped out, leaving only the electric blue of my magic and Joseph’s crackling attacks to see by. Not that I could see—not now. The agony in my hand was too much. I toppled forward, my arms windmilling and all focus on my spell lost.

  The Hell Hounds had arrived.

  Time seemed to slow. I heard the Hounds’ monstrous jaws snapping behind me, coming closer each fraction of a heartbeat. I felt each throb in my hand and each tiny gust of unnatural wind.

  “Bring back my hand, Oliver,” I whispered, still falling forward, still trying to regain my balance.

  “Sum veritas.”

  A body hurled into me, screaming in Latin. I crashed down, and the squalling Hounds boomed over us. In that instant the pain in my hand ceased. It was its usual phantom limb—flesh and blood—once more.

  Yet the Hounds did not stop their frenzied chase. They blasted straight into Madame Marineaux.

  Her body rose up and up, and the Hounds swirled around her in a tornado of blue flames. Her shrieks pierced the cavern, shaking my soul.

  I am not ready. Not ready . The thoughts cleaved into my brain. Her thoughts—her fears. Claire! she yelled into my mind. Claire! Help me—save me! I am not ready. . . .

  And then finally, a thought that nestled so deeply into my heart, I knew it was meant only for me:I was wrong about you. You will topple him. An image flashed next—the cane . . . no, only the ivory fist. Then the vision shifted to a gray Oriental fan on a low shelf in Madame Marineaux’s sitting room.

  The image vanished.

  Her agonized screams crescendoed, dominating every thought. I watched as she spun . . . as the

  Hell Hounds’ roars shook through everything.

  Then her body bent backward, snapping in half like a stick, and in a final rage of howling, the Hell

  Hounds swirled Madame Marineaux from this world and into thin air.

  Into oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Vibrations from the Hell Hounds shimmered in the air, and I waited for the sounds to vanish. My stomach pressed to the cold ground. Oliver’s heartbeat stuttered against my back.

  One breath, two breaths—the sounds of struggle were not lessening. If anything, they were growing worse. Bones clattered and lightning blasted from the back corner. A pistol cracked and

  Daniel bellowed, “Empress —help! ”

  Oliver rolled off me. I scrambled to my feet and surged for the flashes of blue. Toward the horrors of the Dead.

  No, not Dead. Hungry. For these corpses were no longer under Madame Marineaux’s control. They were free now, and rabid.

  Skeletons crawled over their brethren, tatters of clothes loose on their bodies and chunks of brittle hair on their gleaming skulls. Hundreds poured from the mouth of the tunnel, crawling and climbing and scuttling for the nearest life: the Spirit-Hunters—their backs still to the wall and surrounded on all sides.

  A corpse, its ragged shirt falling off its bone shoulders, twisted around and lurched at me. Without thinking, I latched onto my spiritual energy and flung. Magic flared from my fingertips and raced out, blasting into a skeletal rib cage.

  And for half a moment I was bound to the ball of soul that animated the body. I did the only thing I could think to do. “Sleep,” I said. “Sleep.” The soul flared once and winked out like a match.

  The corpse fell—one single corpse out of hundreds. Panic and frustration boiled through me . . . yet this was the best I could do, so I had no choice but to keep going.

  “Oliver!” My vocal cords snapped as I screamed for the demon. “Stop as many Dead as you can!

  Sum veritas!”

  His eyes flashed beside me, and then his voice took up with my own. “Dormi!”

  “Sleep!” Blue light shot from my hand, and more Hungry toppled over. If I could only make a path and get the Spirit-Hunters out, then we could run.

  Over and over, Oliver and I took aim one after the other and chanted, “Dormi, sleep , dormi!” And all the while, Joseph’s electricity never stopped blazing and Daniel’s pistols never stopped cracking.

  But my magic was getting weaker—Oliver’s too. The light whipping from our hands was paler and our chanting fainter. Would he keep going until he was so drained he collapsed? “Stop,” I ordered him.

  He didn’t stop. “They’re almost free! Dormi!” His eyes shone blue, and a final flicker of power pierced the nearest corpse.

  And he was right: the Spirit-Hunters could get out.

  “Come on!” I bel
lowed at them. “Come!” Then, grabbing Oliver’s arm, I wrenched him toward the tunnel in the right corner. If Madame Marineaux wanted to take it, it had to be the best way out. It was also our only choice.

  I spared one glance back to check that the Spirit-Hunters followed. They did.

  And so did the Hungry.

  I could barely see—only the flash of Joseph’s electricity gave me any light—but Oliver held fast to my hand, and he seemed to know where to go.

  And behind us, the corpses’ jaws did not stop chomping. The sound—that clattering and snapping of long-dead teeth—covered everything. Louder than my rasping breaths, than my thrashing pulse, than Daniel’s screams for me to run faster . . .

  Then we reached the tunnel and were barreling through. Ahead was the faintest flicker of orange—

  torchlight. But I could not spare a moment for relief. For the grating sound of the Hungry Dead had reached the tunnel too. The sound echoed, and at every bend in the passage, I expected to see a fresh army of corpses. But forward was the only way to go—one foot in front of the other—so forward we went.

  Abruptly, the tunnel veered into a white archway, and before I could even process, we had run onto a tightly winding staircase with steep steps and no space. We were rising back up to the city. Though where we might come out, I had no idea.

  Oliver rocketed up and out of sight. But I was tired. I could not seem to draw in enough breath, and my legs—they were as weak as pudding. I pumped all I could into each step, but . . . the stairs, and so much spinning . . .

  “Don’t stop!” Daniel roared. He shoved me against the rounded wall, skittering in front, and then his hand was crushing mine. He wrenched me up the stairs. “Come on, Empress!”

  Electricity flared behind me, thundering over the skeletal feet. How was Joseph still going? How could he battle so many Hungry and for so long?

  I should help, I thought vaguely, instinctively pulling in the dregs of my magic.

  And with the magic came a fresh spurt of energy. I straightened, pulled free from Daniel, and let

  Joseph catch up. His bloodied head rounded the stairs. “Go!”

  “Duck!” I threw out my hands and screamed, “Sleep!” The power lashed out like a whip . . . but I only connected with a single corpse—not even the closest.

  Joseph heaved into me, forcing me up the stairs. “Run!”

  “But I can help.”

  “They are too close. Just run!”

  So I did, because Joseph was right. The Hungry were so close, I could hear individual toes clattering on the stairs. Hear their fingers scraping the walls. They were just around the spiral, almost on us . . . almost on us. . . .

  Then Oliver’s voice burst through the stairwell: “You’re at the top! Run!”

  And that was all Joseph and I needed. With a final burst of power, we flew up the steps—two, three at a time—around and around . . . and then we tumbled through a doorway and into a dark cellar.

  A heavy door slammed shut behind us. I fell to my knees, breath scalding my lungs and my bladder burning. I needed to vomit. Needed to catch my breath . . . but there was no time. Blinking, I lifted my head and tried to gauge where we were. . . . The tunnels had led us to a random entrance in someone’s wine cellar—Oliver had been right about the honeycomb of quarries.

  Nearby, the demon held on to a wooden shelf, his head hanging and chest heaving. Beside him stood Daniel, a pulse pistol aimed at—

  Bang!

  I jerked around. The door shook dangerously, while the rasp of bone on bone vibrated through the stone floor. Joseph, who was somehow still on his feet, had his crystal clamp in hand and his eyes locked on the door. The hole where his ear had been still oozed blood, but most of it had crusted and scabbed down the side of his head.

  Another dangerous slam against the door, and this time the wood groaned.

  Oliver stalked to me. “Let’s go!” He yanked me to my feet. “That door’s going to break.”

  “He’s right.” Daniel said. “We’re out of time.”

  “I cannot leave.” Joseph’s voice was weak, but his words were fierce. “If we go, this door will break, and these Hungry will overrun the city. I cannot let that happen.” He turned to us. “You all must leave while there’s still time.”

  “Hell if I’m leavin’.” Daniel spat on the floor and, fingers flying, began to reload each of his pistols. “I can fire four shots, then you attack.”

  Hinges squealed, filling the room with their high-pitched keening. The door was coming free.

  “I’m staying too,” I said hoarsely. “But I cannot stop more than one corpse at a time—”

  “And you’re exhausted,” Oliver cut in, glaring at Joseph. “There’s no way the four of us can stop all those Hungry.”

  “I can.” Joseph fixed his gaze on me. “I can magnify your power. Remember the library in

  Philadelphia? I stopped Marcus because I used your magic. We can do that again.”

  I nodded slowly. “Will it be enough?”

  “I do not know, but I must try.” His jaw clenched, and a fresh trail of blood slid down his neck. If

  Joseph could still fight, then so could I.

  “I’ll squeeze the crystal clamp, then.” I hurried to him and took the gleaming device from his hand. Wrapping my fingers around the clamp, I shot a glance at Oliver. “You could also magnify—”

  “No.”

  “Please.” I had to yell to be heard over the pummeling corpses.

  “No.” Oliver’s eyes thinned to slits. “I can fight the Dead on my own.”

  “Please.” I grabbed his hands. “We can stop these Hungry—”

  “Yes, we can. You use your magic, and I use mine. I will not let that electricity touch me. We can fight these Dead without it. Or, better yet, we can leave before that damned door breaks!”

  “I will not leave! Joseph can lay all the Dead to rest—at once—so if you—”

  “No!”

  A hinge broke free and pinged across the cellar.

  “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 in
to 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.