I jumped up. I had to find some private place to chant the only spell I knew: the dream ward.
I darted toward the nearest porter, folding my arms over my shining chest. “Excuse me,” I squeaked, “wh-where is a water closet?”
But he shook his head. “Je ne parle pas l’anglais. ”
“Toilet?” I squeaked, grasping for some other word. “Les toilettes?”
He grimaced and pointed across the room to a white door. I scurried over and pushed inside, grateful to find the beige-tile room empty. After locking the door behind me, I looked down at my chest and flinched. It was very, very bright, but worse, it was starting to burn like a breath held too long.
When I tried to inhale more, the pain only grew—as if someone had my heart clamped between two bricks.
I squeezed my skirts in my fingers and rasped, “Hac nocte non somniabo. ” A tiny, familiar trickle buzzed through me, but it wasn’t enough—not even close.
I tried inhaling again, but my chest was so full, I could barely wedge in more air. The well of power in my chest hadn’t shrunk enough.
“Hac nocte non somniabo,” I repeated. Nothing happened. I tried again, panic rising in my throat.
But still nothing happened.
I frantically scanned the room for something—anything—to inspire me, but my vision was turning spotty. I couldn’t breathe!
I slumped onto the ground as the room spun around me. Oliver, help! Someone, please, help!
Elijah . . .
And with that thought, power burst from my hands. Blue light was everywhere. It seared into my eyes and into my brain. I squinted, watching as the dingy bathroom transformed into . . .
It can’t be.
I gulped in a ragged breath and dug the heels of my hands to my eyes. I couldn’t be seeing right—
except when I lowered my hands, the velvet sparkle was still there.
I was staring at the curtain between realms, and I could just make out the dock on the other side.
Someone was on it—someone walking toward me.
“Elijah?” I threw out my hands, reaching for the starry world. “Elijah, is that you?” But I knew it was. I had just called him, hadn’t I? Now all I had to do was cross, and then we could talk.
“Eleanor! Are you in there?” Oliver banged at the bathroom door. I blinked rapidly as the world around me dissolved back into the water closet.
“Please let me in!” His voice sounded panicked. “I can feel something isn’t right.”
I lurched to the door, but my body was like pudding. I fumbled over and over with the lock.
Finally, I managed to get the door open, only to find Oliver with his arms up, ready to pummel it.
He froze. “Blessed Eternity,” he swore. “What have you done?” He slid an arm behind me. “Come on—everyone’s staring.”
I glanced into his young face. He was wearing a new brown top hat. “That is a lovely hat. Wherever did you get it?”
His forehead wrinkled. “You’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not.” I rolled my eyes skyward . . . though I was feeling oddly fuzzy. And good—very good. “I can’t be drunk. I haven’t been drinking.”
“Off magic, I mean.” He glared at me accusingly. “What did you do?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I found the curtain, Ollie! And the dock.”
His eyes grew huge. “Oh no. Oh no. Come on.” He tugged me toward the nearest window and patch of sunlight.
“Stand here,” he muttered, “and maybe no one will notice how much you’re shining. Foolish girl!”
“I’m shining?” I asked, glancing at my body. My sleeves seemed to twinkle, and my skin was as luminous as starlight. “Why?”
“It’s an effect from whatever spell you just cast. What spell was that, by the way?”
“None. It was all an accident. I was simply breathing, and somehow I made a well of power.
Then . . .” I waved vaguely in the air.
“Then,” he said, “you realized you can’t collect your body’s power like that without expelling it.
Foolish, foolish girl!”
“Stop saying that. You should have warned me.” I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. “Can we sit?”
“No—not until this spell wears off. And I would have warned you had I known you’d be stupid enough to try necromancy by yourself. Next time you decide to do it without me, don’t. ”
“And I told you, I wasn’t trying. It simply happened.”
“Meaning you’re a lit fuse, El. Don’t you see? You’re too bloody powerful. Now that you’ve started learning necromancy, your body is using its magic on its own.” He gave a low moan. “You’re sure you saw the curtain?”
“And the dock—and Elijah was standing on it. I called for help from you and Elijah.” I grinned, utterly pleased with myself. “You both came.”
“Or else Marcus has some other finding spell on you. He could’ve been trying to lure you over.
You were this close”—he held his thumb and pointer finger to his eye—“to walking over and right into the Hell Hounds’ maws.”
“Oh.” I frowned.
“You need training or that lit fuse is going to go too far. An explosion of foolish girl.”
I sniffed. “Or foolish man. Don’t leave me to go buy new top hats.” I set a hand on my hip. “If you have enough money to buy that, then why did I buy our train tickets?”
He turned away, his cheeks reddening. “Because I don’t have the money.”
“You stole it! Just like your boat ticket and all that alcohol.”
“Shhh!” He leaned close, his eyes scanning everyone around. “Yes, I might have borrowed it, but I was attracting too much attention without something covering my head. We’re in France now. If you think the rules of society mattered in Philadelphia, they are nothing compared to what awaits us in
Paris.”
“Oh, pshaw. The Spirit-Hunters aren’t concerned with society, so I don’t see why we should be.”
Oliver rolled his eyes as if I was the most naive creature in the universe. “All thoughts on the morality of stealing hats aside, we have to work extra hard at keeping ourselves anonymous. You have a team of Hell Hounds and a powerful necromancer after you. The last thing we need are stories about us in the Galignani’s Messenger.”
“The what?”
“It’s a newspaper for English-speaking visitors in France. It details what everyone is doing, thereby fulfilling the gossip needs of society—and you can be certain that a glowing girl with a handsome lad such as myself is the sort of story people talk about.”
“You’re changing the subject.” I puffed out my lips. “If I really am a lit fuse, then I suppose you’ll have to teach me necromancy.”
“Are you joking?” He folded his arms over his chest. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the last week?”
“Well, I was scared. I am scared. It is scary, don’t you think?”
He grimaced. “Remind me never to drink with you. You babble like an idiot.”
“Humbug.” I snorted. “But I do want to learn it now. It feels so good! And I don’t want to cast any more accidental spells. Plus . . . oh! Just imagine what I could do to Marcus with necromancy. Boom! ”
I wiggled my fingers like an explosion. “Fight fire with fire, you know.”
“Or you could simply talk him to death. I feel on the verge of suicide myself—”