That was when my own recognition kicked in. I choked.
Of course I had to run into Daniel Sheridan at that precise moment. He was dressed to the nines in a wheat suit, white tie, and even whiter pair of gloves. As if that wasn’t out of character enough, there was a gleaming gold monocle lodged in his left eye and a book— the book on manners, I realized—in his hand.
Despite looking unusually foppish, he also looked rather spectacular—ridiculous monocle and all.
The wheat of his suit blended into the sandy blond of his hair so that, in the brightly lit hall, he positively glowed.
I cowered. Had Jie talked to him? And what if Oliver decided to come over right now?
“What are you . . . doing here?” Daniel spoke with the same strange pauses he’d used earlier in the day.
I forced my knees into a curtsy. “Mr. Sheridan. I was just, um, taking a peek at the room.” I flourished my letters toward the smoking room. “I thought perhaps . . . Jie . . . was in there?”
“Um, no. It is for men . . . gentlemen only.”
“Oh! So you haven’t seen Jie in there? Or . . . at all?”
“Not since this morning.”
My breath shot out. Daniel didn’t know. “Well,” I said, beginning my retreat, “if you see her, please tell her I was looking for her—”
“Wait!”
I paused, my heel midair. “Yes?”
“Um, how are you?”
“What?” My foot dropped with a thud. “I am fine. And . . . you?”
He tugged at his tie. “Fine, fine. Thank you.”
“All right, then.” I let my gaze flit over his shoulder. Oliver was still focused on his drink—thank the merciful heavens. Now if I could somehow slide my conversation a few feet to the right . . .
Daniel swiveled his head into my line of sight. “Are you looking for someone?”
“No!” I squeaked. “I mean, that is to say, of course not—I don’t know anyone in Paris, do I?” I laughed shrilly. “No, I am merely soaking in every detail of this fine room. Lovely example of
Parisian decor.”
Oh dear, what was I blathering on about? “Well,” I rushed to add, “good day to you, Mr.
Sheridan!” I whirled around to hurry for the street.
But Daniel slung out a long leg and stepped in front of me. “Are you going to the post office?”
“What?” I frowned.
“You’re carrying a stack of letters.”
My gaze dropped to my hand. Sure enough, Elijah’s letters were still grasped tightly in my left fingers. “Ah, right. These do look like documents worth mailing, but no . . . no, I’m not going to the post office today.” I made to scoot around him.
He sidestepped, blocking me once more. “Then where are you going?”
I hesitated and wracked my brains for a good response, but all I could conjure was the truth. “Well, I-I’m going to the library. These letters are from Elijah, and I thought there might be a clue in them.”
“A clue?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Something to explain why Marcus wants them. He came all the way to
Philadelphia—even approached my mother for them.”
“Oh?” Daniel slid his hands into his pockets, waiting for me to go on.
“I believe Marcus wants the Black Pullet, yet no one knows how to raise it—whatever it might actually be. All I know is that it’s some creature from the spirit realm that can grant its master immortality and endless wealth, but there’s some critical step in this whole summoning process that remains unknown. It’s possible Elijah figured out what that step is, and maybe”—I held up the letters
—“there’s an answer in here.”
Daniel nodded once. “Would you . . . would you like some company?”
“No!” The word shot out before I could stop it.
Bright pink exploded on Daniel’s face. “Oh, uh . . . of course. I just thought you might, um, want a companion. And by companion, I meant you might want me to join you . . . to keep you safe, of course.
You did say Marcus might show up at any time, and . . .” He trailed off, dabbing at his hairline.
One would think that seeing Daniel—the young man who’d had his fair share of pleasure in discomfiting me— at a loss for words would be wholly entertaining for me. Instead, it made my insides squirm.
“I-I know where the library is,” he continued, still stammering. “I could keep a lookout while I guide you there. And I have research to do myself, so . . .” His eyes dropped to his shoes. “Never mind. It was rude of me to . . . to intrude. Forgive me.”
He turned to go.
Maybe it was the way his cheeks burned scarlet or the way his shoulders dropped a few inches. Or maybe it was the way he said “forgive me”—the way he actually seemed to mean those two words. Or maybe I was simply desperate to get him away from the hotel before Jie told him the truth. But whatever the reason, the outcome was the same. “Daniel!”
He stopped and looked back.
“I . . . I don’t actually know the way.” I took a step toward him. “So an escort—and bodyguard—
would be welcome.”