figure out what she did wrong. Now, Kate . . . go.
“First tell me what we can do to help you . . .”
Now!
“Kate, come on!” Georgia urged from a few yards ahead. “What are you doing just standing there?” It took all of my strength to tear myself away from the door—away from the possibility of being near Vincent’s spirit—but once I had made up my mind, I sprinted to catch up with my sister and Bran.
“I can’t see a thing,” I said after a few seconds.
“Me either,” Georgia responded. “Here, take him.” I propped myself under Bran’s right shoulder, draping my arm securely around his waist and helping him move forward. He was so light that, if it weren’t for my own injury, I probably could have carried him.
From behind us, a strong light switched on, illuminating the space around us. I glanced back at the glowing rectangle Georgia held aloft. “iPhone flashlight app,” she said proudly.
“Quick,” Bran urged, and directed us around a corner and down another passageway.
As we struggled forward in the glow of the cell phone flashlight, I took in our surroundings. We were heading down a large tunnel with vaulted ceilings lined with brick. A river ran down the middle, and on either side was a sidewalk wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. Though I’d never been here before, I knew exactly where we were: the Paris sewers. A network of over a thousand miles of tunnels carrying rainwater, drain water, and . . . yes . . . the sewage of Paris.
“If I see floating poo, I’m gouging my eyes out with this box cutter,” Georgia called from behind me.
I ignored her, and shifting my hold on Bran, I got a better grip on him so that we were almost running. Finally, I allowed myself to think about Vincent.
The power transfer hadn’t worked. A very good thing , I reassured myself. She hasn’t figured out how to drain Vincent of the Champion’s power . But my bubble of hope burst when I remembered that she had still succeeded with the binding ceremony. Vincent’s spirit was trapped, unable to leave her side.
And here I was running away from them. I felt like screaming from frustration and rage. Knowing that Vincent was powerless in the evil revenant’s hands made me more determined than ever to figure out how to free him.
But first, we had to get Bran to safety. He could hold the key to helping Vincent. It would be hard for the numa to break down a metal door blocked by an iron bar. But almost every building in Paris held an access to the sewers. Once Violette figured out how Bran had escaped, she could be after us in the time it took her to break into the basement of a nearby building.
Bran directed us through the corridors around multiple twists and turns. It obviously wasn’t his first time in the sewers—he knew exactly where he was going.
After thirty minutes of half-running half-hobbling beside the fetid water, squeezing through tight openings, and shuffling through low connecting passages, we arrived in front of another locked door. Bran removed a brick to the right of the door frame and pulled out a massive skeleton key. I opened the door with it, and Georgia led him through.
“Lock it from the inside,” Bran called. Georgia helped him settle him into a chair, where he sat panting.
I found a lighter and a glass lantern holding a candle. Georgia turned off her phone light after I lit the lamp and the space around us flickered into view. We were in a small room furnished with two cots, a couple of old ratty armchairs and shelves stocked with first aid supplies and canned food. “What is this place?” I asked.
“Old Resistance hideout, made by my grandfather,” Bran replied breathlessly. “Since the war, my family has kept it as a safe place. But we never needed to use it as such until last week when my mother hid from the ancient one and her numa. We can’t stay long, though. If they know we’re down here and come back with reinforcements, they could
“First tell me what we can do to help you . . .”
Now!
“Kate, come on!” Georgia urged from a few yards ahead. “What are you doing just standing there?” It took all of my strength to tear myself away from the door—away from the possibility of being near Vincent’s spirit—but once I had made up my mind, I sprinted to catch up with my sister and Bran.
“I can’t see a thing,” I said after a few seconds.
“Me either,” Georgia responded. “Here, take him.” I propped myself under Bran’s right shoulder, draping my arm securely around his waist and helping him move forward. He was so light that, if it weren’t for my own injury, I probably could have carried him.
From behind us, a strong light switched on, illuminating the space around us. I glanced back at the glowing rectangle Georgia held aloft. “iPhone flashlight app,” she said proudly.
“Quick,” Bran urged, and directed us around a corner and down another passageway.
As we struggled forward in the glow of the cell phone flashlight, I took in our surroundings. We were heading down a large tunnel with vaulted ceilings lined with brick. A river ran down the middle, and on either side was a sidewalk wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. Though I’d never been here before, I knew exactly where we were: the Paris sewers. A network of over a thousand miles of tunnels carrying rainwater, drain water, and . . . yes . . . the sewage of Paris.
“If I see floating poo, I’m gouging my eyes out with this box cutter,” Georgia called from behind me.
I ignored her, and shifting my hold on Bran, I got a better grip on him so that we were almost running. Finally, I allowed myself to think about Vincent.
The power transfer hadn’t worked. A very good thing , I reassured myself. She hasn’t figured out how to drain Vincent of the Champion’s power . But my bubble of hope burst when I remembered that she had still succeeded with the binding ceremony. Vincent’s spirit was trapped, unable to leave her side.
And here I was running away from them. I felt like screaming from frustration and rage. Knowing that Vincent was powerless in the evil revenant’s hands made me more determined than ever to figure out how to free him.
But first, we had to get Bran to safety. He could hold the key to helping Vincent. It would be hard for the numa to break down a metal door blocked by an iron bar. But almost every building in Paris held an access to the sewers. Once Violette figured out how Bran had escaped, she could be after us in the time it took her to break into the basement of a nearby building.
Bran directed us through the corridors around multiple twists and turns. It obviously wasn’t his first time in the sewers—he knew exactly where he was going.
After thirty minutes of half-running half-hobbling beside the fetid water, squeezing through tight openings, and shuffling through low connecting passages, we arrived in front of another locked door. Bran removed a brick to the right of the door frame and pulled out a massive skeleton key. I opened the door with it, and Georgia led him through.
“Lock it from the inside,” Bran called. Georgia helped him settle him into a chair, where he sat panting.
I found a lighter and a glass lantern holding a candle. Georgia turned off her phone light after I lit the lamp and the space around us flickered into view. We were in a small room furnished with two cots, a couple of old ratty armchairs and shelves stocked with first aid supplies and canned food. “What is this place?” I asked.
“Old Resistance hideout, made by my grandfather,” Bran replied breathlessly. “Since the war, my family has kept it as a safe place. But we never needed to use it as such until last week when my mother hid from the ancient one and her numa. We can’t stay long, though. If they know we’re down here and come back with reinforcements, they could
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