Stone's Throe, page 12
That, perhaps, and being spurred by the greater fear of returning to le Monstre a failure. I sighed, and Josephine took it as her cue to lead us. "Let's go to my apartment. I don't think Amelia's had any sleep in the past two days, and she should be at her best for the race tomorrow."
I groaned. "Josephine, we should go to—to my mother's, or my hotel. Not your own home, where he may be lurking in wait..."
"Amelia," Josephine said with strange gentleness, "do you really believe that if your monstre wanted to find me, going anywhere with you would hide me well enough? Let's at least be comfortable and eat a little something. After that you can argue about where we all should sleep."
My gaze sharpened on her expression, which altered from pure innocence to sparkling wickedness inside a blink before she slipped her arms through mine and Kiera's both. "Come along, girls. Entertain me as we walk. We all know what he is to me; tell me what he is to you."
I was not, at first, certain to which of us she spoke, but Kiera's helpless gaze peered around Josephine to plead with me, and so, reluctantly at first and then with the relief of confession, I answered, for I knew that the brief response I had given her in Khan's offices was insufficient.
The length of my tale took us from the opera house to Josephine's apartment, though the word did a disservice to the premises. I did not believe any other flat occupied the top floor in the building she had taken; it was all hers, and as sumptuous as one might imagine. Furs, not carpets, sprawled across floors; splashes of color in art and fabric; warm lights making deep shadows of doors opening onto unlit rooms.
From one of the darkened rooms came a cheetah, padding silently across the soft floors, its golden, round-eyed gaze intent upon Kiera and myself, not as though we were welcome, but as if we were likely meals. Its pointed, shifting shoulders were higher than my knee and its casually lashing tail the length of its body. My heartbeat slowed, a curious and deadly calm taking me: for all that she was Josephine's pet, the cheetah had been known to attack, and I would have only one chance to defeat her should she pounce. I was not afraid, but my hand went to the knife at my thigh in a prudent, preparatory gesture, and I tucked Kiera, whose whole body trembled, behind me for safety.
The beast paused, one foot lifted, and met my gaze squarely. We stood, two predators, waiting on one another, until the cheetah yawned suddenly, its mouth peeled back from its lips to show deadly fangs and a curling pink tongue. Then as if it had never intended anything else, it changed course and slunk to Josephine, its diamond collar visible and glittering against spotted yellow fur as it turned aside. She sat and it joined her on the couch, one massive, clawed paw resting possessively on her thigh. It yawned again, and settled its chin on one leg, and though its eyes slitted shut, I could not shake the feeling that it watched me with dubious intent.
"Chiquita," Josephine said fondly, and scratched the great beast's head as if it was nothing more than a house cat. "She likes you," she said, primarily, I felt, to me, as Kiera was scuttling to a chair at a safe distance and drawing her feet up from the floor. "Most people are afraid of her and she pushes them around, but she respects you."
"As I respect her." My voice, while it did not shake, was somewhat deeper with emotion than was usual. I restrained myself from clearing my throat as I, too, took a seat and tried to look as composed as Josephine was.
The sofa I'd chosen was softer than I'd expected. I sank in, suddenly aware of a certain weariness, and chuckled as I righted myself. "Your home is beautiful, Josephine."
"Merci. I can see all of Paris from these windows." She gestured, and though most of the windows were gauzily curtained, the glimmering outline of the city still shone through, faint lights turning hazy with a mist that threatened rain. "But go on. Finish your stories of le Monstre," she said to Kiera, who, nervously watching Chiquita, crept from her chair to the other end of my sofa, as if my nearness gave her strength to speak.
"I'm less than Amelia was to him," she began. "Only a stray found on the street. I was his project, to see if he could train an eloquent voice from out of an urchin. I adored him," she said bitterly, "until I realized he was testing his elixirs on me too. But by then my loyalty..." She laughed, though it was a sound closer to tears. "My loyalty was his. He had taught me to fight and said I was so young no one would see me as a threat. The perfect femme fatale. I thought we were as one, he and I, until... The Führer has a fascination for the occult, you know. Monsieur Laval and I were searching for the crown, but so was he. We reached it first, but only just, and we didn't have enough elixirs with us to turn all of the soldiers' loyalty. Laval took the crown and gave them me as a promise he would exchange the crown for me when he was done with—with you, Madame Baker."
"Exchange the crown?" I asked incredulously. "Le Monstre intended to give it up to the Third Reich?"
All at once a fierce hope came into Kiera's eyes and she extended her hands toward me. "You see? You don't believe it either! Neither did I. So I made my own bargain, Amelia. I had to, you see? To make certain the Führer believed I was loyal to him, so that if le Monstre betrayed me, as I feared he would, I would still have a place somewhere, with someone. So I told them where to find the crown, the one time and place I was certain it would be."
"Opening night of La Reine du Nil," said Josephine dryly. "Because you couldn't know where he would hide it, but you would certainly know where I was performing."
Stalwart and unashamed, Kiera replied, "It was a good plan," before slumping as she glanced toward me. "I didn't expect you, though. When I realized I no longer had the pschent, I crawled back to him, claiming I had evaded Nazi clutches while they fought for the crown. They already knew its power, of course, so it wasn't difficult to persuade him they had deduced when and where it would be used without my assistance."
"But why return to him?" Josephine asked in astonishment. "You might have been free of him forever."
Kiera looked upon Josephine as if the singer was an innocent, then turned a bleak gaze upon me. "Have you escaped him?"
I could not help but look away. I had escaped, yes; I had thought him dead and I had left to explore the world, but even rumor of him drew me back to Paris, and now that I knew he still lived—"Oui," I replied quietly, "and yet, non. In a way I never have, and perhaps I never shall."
"You see?" Kiera asked Josephine. "So I saw no point in trying. Not until the Opéra, when I met Amelia and for the first time thought beyond the depths of his betrayal, and my fear. Alone, I knew I could never be free of him, but if I joined with you, Amelia, if we worked together—!" Kiera seized my hand in hers, holding on as though I had become the sole lifeline tethering her to a world she dearly desired.
It could not be said that Josephine lacked sympathy for either tale, but neither could she hide amusement as Kiera clung to me. "Such stories call for a drink," she announced, and, with Chiquita trailing after her, she rose and called for servants to bring refreshments. She paused, though, as she returned to her divan, and bent to murmur in my ear. Her teasing tone as she whispered, "You two would make a charming couple, Amelia," caused me to suspect the entire activity of calling for drinks had merely been a ploy to allow her to speak to me in so intimate a fashion, and en vérité, it was all I could do to not redden.
She chuckled at my discomfiture and trailed a fingertip across my shoulders as she returned to her seat. I did blush then, seeking anything of safety to feast my eyes upon; I found Chiquita, whose round golden gaze was intent on mine, as if she could read my mind—or, perhaps, simply as if she still thought I might be a suitable snack. My lip curled in response and Chiquita yawned extravagantly, then found somewhere else to look herself.
Josephine watched this entire exchange with a poorly hidden smile, though Kiera, still clinging to me, seemed not to notice it at all. I could not think that the girl's intense bond with me was in any fashion romantic, no matter how secretly pleased Madame Baker was by my distress at the notion. Had I not been so taken by her, sans doute, I would not have been so uncomfortable, but as I could not look upon Josephine without heart-palpitating admiration and an intensity of emotion unusual to me, I found the entire situation disquieting.
As if quite satisfied she held the whole scenario well in hand, Josephine accepted a drink and edible tidbits from servants who appeared to think no more of visitors in the midnight hour than they did of the languid cheetah sprawled across the full length of a couch. Once the servants had left us all with sustenance and libations, Josephine pushed Chiquita aside and sat again; the cheetah thumped to the floor with the gracelessness and expression of a much smaller cat upon whom such indignities had been heaped, and began to wash herself with offended ferocity.
It broke whatever tension had built, even Kiera biting back giggles, and for some little while we were old friends, exchanging stories that had nothing to do with green-eyed monsters or Opéra, but were only tales of past absurdities and embarrassing moments, each trying to top the other, as might happen on any late and rainy night. At one point, well into her cups, Josephine stood on the couch and sang us an aria of conquest with such bravado that we wept tears of laughter; Kiera, wiping her eyes, wheezed, "No wonder he wants you, Madame Baker. I heard you sing tonight—last night—whenever it was!—with the power of that crown, and wanted to fight for you then. An aria like this, calling us to arms. It's as well you don't wear the crown now, or we might well rise and fight even Chiquita for you!"
"Nonsense," Josephine said with smug pleasure as she sat again. "It's my voice that swayed you both now and then; the crown I wore last night was only a costume piece. The real one has been secreted away by Amelia and her friends. I need no such props, Kiera. I am the voice of this age."
Kiera clapped both hands against her mouth, an action of pure childish surprise. Above her fingers, green eyes widened; through her fingers, a whisper emerged: "You fooled him? You fooled le Monstre with your performance tonight? Oh!" She turned to me, seizing my hands again as tears of relief sprang from her eyes. "Oh, Amelia, I admit, I've still been afraid, tonight. He knows so much and always seems to be ahead of everyone else. I've felt like this is only a respite, like it's going to end at any moment, but, oh, if he can be fooled, then maybe I really am safe! Maybe everything really will be all right!"
"I promise it, Kiera." I drew the girl against my side to kiss her forehead in reassurance, as if she was indeed the child she struck me as. As if she was the girl I had once been, but graced with escaping a dire fate moments before it closed around her forever. I knew such sentiment was a folly, but it was too easy to see myself in her, and I wished to be her protector.
It was not, however, as simple as that. With a deep inhalation, I said, "But there is something I must ask of you, Kiera. You have been his companion these last years, have you not? You know his plans and you know where he now hides."
She lifted her head, eyebrows furrowed in surprise. "Yes, of course. Why—oh," she said much more softly, and a shudder coursed through her. "Oh, yes, of course. I'll bring you there."
"Where is there?" I demanded with quiet urgency. "You are tired, and I should make haste. If I can go myself, I will."
The address she named sent a thrill of disbelief through my bones. "Non," I said almost before the number, much less the street name, had passed her lips. "Non, Kiera, I know that house. It lies abandoned, decaying. He cannot be there, hidden in plain sight."
"But he is," she protested in surprise. "Why can he not be?"
"Because it was his home with me," I whispered. "I know that house, Kiera. I have searched it every time I have visited." Except this time: I had not yet been there, in the few days since I had come to Paris. "There has never been any sign of him."
Sympathy and a sudden understanding lined her young face. "Now I understand. Now I know why we only ever approached from below, and almost never entered the house itself. There are rooms beneath, Amelia, a safe space while the building above goes to rot. He has lived there as long as I've known him."
A curse escaped me as my fists clenched. "Is there a way in from the house itself?"
"Through the wall behind the cooker," she replied. "I'll show you."
"Non. If I know where to look I can find my own way. There's no need for you to risk yourself again, Kiera. The intelligence is all I need."
"Thank you." Kiera's gratitude might have broken my heart, had she not relaxed suddenly, as if all tension had finally been taken from her. With its disappearance, welcome sleep could finally claim her. Her head tipped over and a small snore escaped her; I looked up, struggling not to laugh, to see Josephine with just the same struggle written over her own face. The singer touched a finger to her lips and, silently, stood to collect Kiera's legs while I gently hoisted her torso. Together we carried the girl to one of the bedrooms and tucked her under the warmth of a duvet before tiptoeing out again.
"Well." Josephine met my eyes directly as we closed the door on Kiera's sleeping form. "I believe that settles the matter of sleeping arrangements for the evening."
Regretting it with every fiber of my being, I whispered, "I believe it does," and left her to sleep alone in her own bed while I stole into the night to catch a monster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Even in the desolate ruin of Paul-Gabriel's old home, stepping through its front doors carried the scents and sights of memory. It did not matter that cobwebs danced in the breeze as I pushed the door open, nor that the magnificent curtains were tattered and fell in ruins toward the sitting room floors; to me, the dust and muck were hardly there at all, and the curtains held in warmth and love, only allowing the outside world glimpses of it as they swept by.
Stained glass windows, covered in filth, now let only the faintest glimmer of streetlights glow across the once-handsome parquet floors that were dull and caked with dirt. To my mind's eye those colors were still rich enough to dip my fingers in, and so deep that I thought I might savor a taste should I then touch my fingers to my lips. The light no longer reached the broken stairs that I had once girlishly run up and leapt on the bannister to slide down; now I would not dare to risk even the stairs, far less the shattered spines of the bannister. I lingered in the doorway, seeing and not seeing, and my feet took me toward the stairs and the pathways I had most often travelled when I lived here. This had happened before, on the other occasions I had come searching this house for signs that Paul-Gabriel had lived, or had not; it meant a slow wend across failing floorboards, cautious investigation of dust-filled rooms.
But never before had I entered with the knowledge of where to look. Kiera's words guided me away from the familiar spaces I was inclined to. Instead I followed halls I knew but had rarely visited: the washroom, the scullery, the kitchen, and there, though it seemed to me that the dust had gone undisturbed since my last exploration here, years ago, I found the secret door that I had missed.
It was not, as I might have suspected, part of the servants' halls, but the entirety of the cooker wall that swung away: a passageway so vast it must have been built with the house, and used at great risk when what now held the dilapidated stove had instead been a hearth with roaring fire and heavy pots sloshing from iron yokes. Today, with those fires long since cooled, there was no such risk at all. I stole through dark passageways, unwilling to kindle a light for fear of warning le Monstre, should he still be within these hidden walls. I did not expect him to be: only a fool would sit and wait when his second-in-command had sided with his enemy, and my angel had never been a fool. That appellation was mine alone. But still, I moved silently through the dark, using my fingertips to guide me, and did not risk a light.
The walls were of smoother stone than I expected. They had been carefully hewn and cared for, and when I found a doorway, it was framed by polished wood, as any doorway in a house might be. I tested the knob and found that it turned both easily and quietly. I slipped inside, pressing it closed behind me, and stood for long moments in the darkness, listening for the sound of breathing other than my own.
There was none to be heard. With exploratory fingers, I searched out lights, and was astonished to find the room fitted with electric ones. Their illumination showed me a bedroom, well kept but ordinary, its interior decorated in such a way as to suggest it had been Kiera's room rather than Paul-Gabriel's. I turned the lights off and moved on, discovering another bedroom, a kitchen, and—finally, in the largest room of all—a laboratory that appeared to have been hastily emptied.
Scraps remained: notes pinned to corkboard on the walls, pieces of metal that I fingered absently whilst rifling through the notes, familiar glass vials that lay broken and empty on the floor. The floor itself was of soft, untreated wood; there were worn paths in it around tables that contained stains and scars from whatever experiments had been done upon them. I treaded the paths as if they might somehow show me le Monstre's daily behaviors, or explain to me the inner workings of his mind. Instead, twice they led me to a wall, which I, bemused, turned away from as I continued my search of the laboratory. The third time a worn path led me to the same spot, however, a spark of wit awakened in me and I realized I was, in fact, being shown something of my adversary's daily activities. Suddenly eager, I searched the empty wall, hoping for some brick or bulge that would allow me egress to another secret tunnel, as the one in the kitchen had offered me. I pressed each inch of the broad surface, my fingers flying over it delicately but swiftly, and when the telltale click finally sounded, I leapt back with pleased anticipation.
The wall did not swing away, though: it dropped downward smoothly to reveal a shallow curved space behind it, into which numerous shelves were set. These shelves contained stacks of paper, many of them weighted by pieces of metal or large empty glass vials. For a few seconds I merely stared in astonishment, but a smile of understanding pushed surprise away. Le Monstre had emptied his laboratory and made his escape, but he had left this alcove untouched, trusting that it would not be found. Indeed, had he not visited this space so often that the tender wood had been marked by it, I would not have. Hardly aware I spoke aloud, I murmured, "Merci, mon ange," and withdrew several stacks of paper to spread on the tables.
