hear him since his voice came out in a breathless wheeze.
“Numa. They’re holding me until the small ancient one arrives to question me.”
The small ancient one? I thought, and then shouted, “Wait, Violette is coming here?”
“Yes.” Bran was trying not to panic, but the urgency in his voice gave his fear away. “Do you think you might . . .” He held up his taped wrists.
“Quick, Georgia. Find something sharp,” I yelled.
“Already did,” she said from just behind me. I turned to see her wielding a plastic box cutter. She flicked the blade out and handed it to me.
Within minutes Bran was standing up, feebly shaking his legs and windmilling his thin arms to get the circulation back. “My glasses,” he croaked. “They fell.”
I found his bottle-thick glasses a few feet away from the chair, twisted and cracked. I did my best to bend them back into place and handed them to him. Even though he barely had a slit of an eye to see through, once he had slipped them on, he seemed to transform from a beaten pulp back into his weird, magnified self. He took one step toward me and then collapsed back into the chair.
I rushed to help him. “Are you going to be able to walk?”
“I’m afraid my attackers beat me badly,” he responded. “I might need your assistance.”
“We should get you to La Maison,” I said, draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling him up to a standing position. Georgia held the cage door open for us, and I hobbled with him into the room. “You’d be safe there, at least . . . ,” I began. But before I could finish the thought, the sound of the shop’s front door opening and closing and the creaking of footsteps on the wooden floor came from above our heads.
“You aren’t expecting any customers, are you?” Georgia squeaked, eyes like saucers.
“Quickly, over there!” Bran whispered, nodding across the room to where a child-size metal door sat at the bottom of a flight of ancient stone stairs. Georgia moved to his other side and we speed-dragged him to the door. He fished a key out of a niche in the wall and stuck it in the old lock.
From above us came a voice I immediately recognized. The voice of a young girl. “Where is he?” Violette demanded. There was a bang as the back door slammed and footsteps pounded down the stairway.
“For the love of God, get that friggin’ door open!” Georgia hissed, as Bran wiggled the key in the lock. The door popped forward, and we stooped to scramble through the low frame into the dark, cavernous space beyond. I had enough time to see the reflection of a river running beside us before Bran swung the door closed and locked it. We were instantly enveloped by the odor of something sour and rank and the sound of rushing water.
“Take the bar and block the door with it,” Bran told me, and shifted his full weight onto Georgia, who staggered a little before recovering her balance. There was enough light spilling through the cracks between the door and its frame for me to see a heavy iron bar above the lintel. I grabbed it and wedged it into brackets on either side of the door frame.
“This way!” Bran said, and Georgia teetered off with him into the dark. Cries of surprise and anger came from the other side of the door.
And then a voice appeared in my head—the one I had been listening for since it disappeared over the river. Kate, run!
Vincent was here! He had survived being burned—at least his spirit had. Relief hit me like a tsunami, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. “Vincent, it’s you!” I whispered.
I’m bound to Violette, and she’s just a few feet away from you on the other side of this door. They don’t know which way Bran’s gone yet. You better get out of there before they figure it out and break the door down.
Ignoring his warning, I asked, “Are you okay?” My mouth was so dry I could barely get the words out.
The power transfer didn’t work, so Violette kept me with her. She needs Bran to
“Numa. They’re holding me until the small ancient one arrives to question me.”
The small ancient one? I thought, and then shouted, “Wait, Violette is coming here?”
“Yes.” Bran was trying not to panic, but the urgency in his voice gave his fear away. “Do you think you might . . .” He held up his taped wrists.
“Quick, Georgia. Find something sharp,” I yelled.
“Already did,” she said from just behind me. I turned to see her wielding a plastic box cutter. She flicked the blade out and handed it to me.
Within minutes Bran was standing up, feebly shaking his legs and windmilling his thin arms to get the circulation back. “My glasses,” he croaked. “They fell.”
I found his bottle-thick glasses a few feet away from the chair, twisted and cracked. I did my best to bend them back into place and handed them to him. Even though he barely had a slit of an eye to see through, once he had slipped them on, he seemed to transform from a beaten pulp back into his weird, magnified self. He took one step toward me and then collapsed back into the chair.
I rushed to help him. “Are you going to be able to walk?”
“I’m afraid my attackers beat me badly,” he responded. “I might need your assistance.”
“We should get you to La Maison,” I said, draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling him up to a standing position. Georgia held the cage door open for us, and I hobbled with him into the room. “You’d be safe there, at least . . . ,” I began. But before I could finish the thought, the sound of the shop’s front door opening and closing and the creaking of footsteps on the wooden floor came from above our heads.
“You aren’t expecting any customers, are you?” Georgia squeaked, eyes like saucers.
“Quickly, over there!” Bran whispered, nodding across the room to where a child-size metal door sat at the bottom of a flight of ancient stone stairs. Georgia moved to his other side and we speed-dragged him to the door. He fished a key out of a niche in the wall and stuck it in the old lock.
From above us came a voice I immediately recognized. The voice of a young girl. “Where is he?” Violette demanded. There was a bang as the back door slammed and footsteps pounded down the stairway.
“For the love of God, get that friggin’ door open!” Georgia hissed, as Bran wiggled the key in the lock. The door popped forward, and we stooped to scramble through the low frame into the dark, cavernous space beyond. I had enough time to see the reflection of a river running beside us before Bran swung the door closed and locked it. We were instantly enveloped by the odor of something sour and rank and the sound of rushing water.
“Take the bar and block the door with it,” Bran told me, and shifted his full weight onto Georgia, who staggered a little before recovering her balance. There was enough light spilling through the cracks between the door and its frame for me to see a heavy iron bar above the lintel. I grabbed it and wedged it into brackets on either side of the door frame.
“This way!” Bran said, and Georgia teetered off with him into the dark. Cries of surprise and anger came from the other side of the door.
And then a voice appeared in my head—the one I had been listening for since it disappeared over the river. Kate, run!
Vincent was here! He had survived being burned—at least his spirit had. Relief hit me like a tsunami, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. “Vincent, it’s you!” I whispered.
I’m bound to Violette, and she’s just a few feet away from you on the other side of this door. They don’t know which way Bran’s gone yet. You better get out of there before they figure it out and break the door down.
Ignoring his warning, I asked, “Are you okay?” My mouth was so dry I could barely get the words out.
The power transfer didn’t work, so Violette kept me with her. She needs Bran to
Similar Books
Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3)
CASEY HILL
The Florentine Deception
Carey Nachenberg
Room for Love
Andrea Meyer
Brie Learns Restraint (After Graduation, #5)
Red Phoenix
Saving Max
Antoinette van Heugten
The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief
Martha Freeman
The Shoemaker's Wife
Adriana Trigiani
His Young Queen: (Steel Jackals MC #1)
Tiff P. Raine