Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

DAPHNE

October 20, 1765

Rue des Oubliés

"That was… impressive . You could have killed him!" étienne remarked as we followed the drunk's directions.

"Well, I should hope so, otherwise I'd be a poor excuse for an agent. You said The Order had tried to kill you before. Hasn't everyone you've met with fought with the same skill?" I clutched his arm to avoid stumbling over the uneven cobblestones.

"No," he said. "The way you fought was…well, Daphne, you were magnificent."

A blush warmed my cheeks and I was grateful he could not see my face beneath my hood. His appraisal gave me immense pleasure, but I feared dwelling on it.

"Thank you."

"How many—ah— assignments have you had?"

I sighed. "In the beginning, The Order used me for intel. I sent them reports on the happenings at Versailles. Nothing treasonous, mind you. They just wanted to know what people were saying; the state of the war, who was sleeping with whose wife or husband, who was spending what on clothes, jewels, properties, that sort of thing. The whole time I had tutors coming to my home to teach me various fighting arts. My first few assassinations were newly infected vampires who preyed on young women—draining them and leaving their bodies in the streets, or making them disappear altogether. Housemaids and other servants, prostitutes, tavern maids, and the like. Women too lowly to attract much notice."

I had to pause to calm my rising ire. étienne's arm rose as if he were going to reach out and touch me. Right now I wouldn't be able to withstand his touch, so I went on.

"Those women deserved justice. The parasites I killed would've continued to murder and feed indiscriminately. Tell me, étienne, how do you justify your fight for vampire rights when those you protect are, by their very nature, predators? How many young girls should die so that your vampires may live free?"

"I won't deny that some of the infected are corrupt," he said. "But to lay the blame at the blood plague itself is irresponsible. Murderers existed before vampires and will continue to exist after we've all been extinguished. I seek to bring education to the infected. If so many have been turned and are continuing to turn, they should know how to manage their supernatural state. Right now, the desperate feel they have no alternative and are forced into a choice that they're not prepared to make."

"Education. That's what you're after?" I said with surprise. "Not the total eradication of the nobility at the expense of your vampire majority?"

He laughed again, warm and genuine. "If that's what The Order has told you, I'm afraid I have far less respect for your sources of intel. I don't want to eradicate anyone. I have already seen more death than I care to. My efforts have been to prevent a revolution, not incite one."

I was quiet in the wake of this revelation, realizing again that I'd once again misjudged him.

"Why did you join in the first place?" he asked suddenly.

The cold seeped in through my clothes and I huddled against him. I thought we were getting close—the air had changed. I considered his question. He'd been so exposed by our trip to Josephine's, I felt like I owed him some of my own truth.

"Michel's death devastated me, and I did want revenge," I admitted. "But I suppose that's not the whole reason. I wanted to be… useful. I wanted to have purpose. I wanted to be able to defend myself from men like Henri. I only learned about The Order a couple of years ago—whispered rumors at court about an old religious sect that had been revived to combat the blood plague and save the city, and perhaps the world. They did not want me to join at first. They said they had no need of women. Ha! With Philippe's help, I convinced them to let me prove my usefulness."

"Did the duc know?"

"No, he was gone by then," I said. "Not that he would have known when he was here. We did not enjoy the same leisure pursuits and thus spent very little time together." Cold sliced through me at the thought of Henri. The wind picked up, and I bent against the frigid breeze, then pulled up short with a cry of pain. The damn drunk vampire had probably cracked one of my ribs. Before I could react, étienne's strong arms encircled my waist and hauled me upright. I grunted in pain when he squeezed the tender spot on my abdomen.

He dropped his hands like he'd been scalded.

"Did I hurt you?" The concern in his voice startled me.

"No," I huffed. "That damned drunk landed a kick in my side. It's fine. I'll have to forgo stays for the next couple of days, but it'll heal well enough."

"Are you certain nothing is broken?" He ran his hands along my ribs, feeling for swelling. My heart hammered in my chest.

"Oh, mon Dieu ! Don't fuss, étienne. I've had worse before, I assure you." I batted his hands away and straightened my cloak.

"So you've said," he retorted, his voice dark and vaguely threatening.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "We can continue."

Suddenly, he turned me until my back was pressed against the wall of the alley. I gasped in surprise. I could feel the hardness of his muscles beneath the velvet of his clothes and my desire ignited instinctively. Gently, he tipped my chin up and I could just see the outline of his face in the moonlight.

"You are not indestructible, Duchesse," he whispered, his mouth inches from mine.

"Neither are you," I breathed. Conscious thought fled. The chill of the night air, the low temperature of his body, his clean, fresh smell—if I closed my eyes, it was like I was standing in a snow-blanketed forest. I didn't feel cold, though. My body blazed with heat.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was setting my lips to his. Beneath my kiss, I felt him smile. Unlike the assertive ardor from earlier, his touch was tender and languid. His tongue played slowly against my lips until I parted for him. I stroked against him, tasting the metallic tang of blood. I pulled back, my breath coming in ragged pants.

"You're bleeding."

He traced delicate kisses across my cheek and my jaw, lingering at my ear. He tugged at my earlobe, sucking at it gingerly. My nipples tightened and desire spiraled through me to my core. I whimpered at the delicious torment.

"Shall I stop?" His words were punctuated with little licks along the outer edge of my ear.

"Bleeding? Yes, if you have the power to command that sort of thing."

A throaty chuckle escaped him, and he leaned his forehead against mine. Perhaps it was the waning aggression from the fight, but I realized with a jolt that I wanted him rather badly. I found myself cursing my earlier reluctance in my chamber. He was naked before you, and you cruelly rejected him. Why? What are you so afraid of, Daphne?

Losing him, came the reply. I pushed it aside.

"Should we continue?"

"Yes," I moaned, tilting up to meet him again. His breath caught and his tone became pleading.

"No, Daphne, I meant we should continue to the Rue des Oubliés ."

I froze.

"… Ah. Yes, of course."

I tried to pull away, stung by his words and embarrassed by my own behavior. Idiot!

"Damn it, Daphne, wait. Stop. This is not a rejection. You must know that. You must know how desperately I want you. I cannot even think without wanting you." He pressed his hips into me, and I felt the hard length of his arousal. I stifled a groan at the thought of him sliding into me.

"You see? I would give anything to have you. But not here—not like this. We are running out of time." He reached up to stroke my cheek and I looked up.

Merde. He was right. The pitch blackness of the sky had already begun to lighten to a deep sapphire. Dawn was coming. We needed to hurry.

I offered him a chagrinned smile.

" Allons-y! "

We took off at a rapid clip, closing the distance to the street we sought. Nearing it, a chill ran up my spine. The drunk had been right. There was something off about this part of the neighborhood. Our steps slowed as we approached.

"This is it," I said. "How far down is the address?"

"Not far," he replied, gripping his walking stick more tightly.

A thick silence blanketed us as we walked down the street. We saw no light from beyond and heard nothing but the sounds of our footsteps and our anxious breaths. Even the air seemed stagnant—like it, too, waited for something malevolent.

étienne stopped before a storefront with a boarded-up door and broken windows. I squinted up at the sign above the door but couldn't make it out in the gloom.

"It's a bookshop," he offered. He lifted his nose in the air and inhaled.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"It smells of the murderer. Stay close and keep your pistol cocked."

He wrenched the boards from the doorframe, and they came away easily. He beckoned me to him, and we entered the shop together.

"What do you see?" I whispered. We stepped over broken glass and a few discarded books. Most of the shop's contents had been looted, it seemed. I picked up one of the remaining books from the floor and held it up to the moonlight to read the title.

"étienne," I said, fear building in my gut. "This is a book of dark magic. I don't think this is a normal bookshop."

He sniffed the air again and tugged me to the back of the store. An open door—probably a storage room—gaped like a tall, dark mouth.

"There's something in there. I can't see it, but the smell is getting stronger from that direction."

"Should we light a candle? I won't be any help to you if I can't see what I'm fighting," I hissed. In that moment, I wished for supernatural abilities of my own.

"I don't want to give us away," he whispered back. "Just hold onto me."

I didn't need to be told twice. I held onto his coat and willed myself calm. I was trained for this, after all.

We crept forward to the doorway and étienne paused, listening. I couldn't hear anything, but I was beginning to detect the smell étienne had tried to describe to me. A stinking, burning, rotting smell, like a tannery on fire. It made my insides twist with nausea.

"Well?" I pressed. "What is inside?"

"A stairwell going down. I can't see all the way, though. The drunk was right. There is something unnatural about this darkness," étienne said.

Navigating the stairs proved to be incredibly difficult. We were forced to move slowly. After an interminable amount of time, we finally reached the floor below. It felt like hard-packed earth beneath my feet. Is it some kind of cellar?

"étienne, what do you see?"

He was quiet while he surveyed our surroundings.

"I can't be sure," he began. I sensed an undercurrent of unease from him and started to grow nervous. He pulled away from my grip momentarily and bent down, then straightened again. He struck a flint, lit a small stub of a candle, and handed it to me.

I held it aloft and looked around. I'd been right on one count—we appeared to be in some kind of root cellar beneath the bookstore. It was strangely empty, except for a few wooden crates stashed to one side. In front of us, drawn on the floor in something suspiciously blood-like, was a circle filled with a pentagram and numerous symbols. At each point of the pentagram sat a glass jar containing a different object. I picked up the jar closest to me and gasped.

"étienne! It's Jeanne's ring!"

He stooped to look in the jar opposite and growled an oath. The jar contained a pink ribbon garter stained with fresh blood.

"It's Brigitte's," he said. "She was wearing it when we…her initials are stitched onto the side."

"Check the other jars," I ordered, trying to stem the tide of panic. "I'll see what else I can find."

I ran to the crates along the wall. At the bottom of one was a large, leather-bound book with the words Pseudomonarchia Daemonum written in black. Dread gathered inside me. I picked up the book and flipped it open to the middle, where a gold ribbon marked a page titled The Demon Asmoday . What did it all mean?

"Two of the jars are empty," étienne said. "One of them contains a gaming piece from a casino in Venice. It, too, is bloody. I recognize it, but?—"

Without warning, the door upstairs slammed shut. A dry, hot gust of wind rushed in, blowing the book closed and extinguishing the candle. The rotten, sulfuric smell grew worse until I could barely breathe. étienne leaped for me across the room, but as soon as he stepped over the markings on the floor, an invisible force hurled him back against the wall. He slammed into it with a violence that would have killed any human.

"étienne!" I screamed. He moaned shakily.

"Daphne," he coughed. "Run!"

From all around us—yet nowhere at all—a dry laugh echoed through the room.

"Run? Before introductions? How…impolite," the voice rasped, whispering like sand across stones.

"Who are you?" I yelled. Anger warred with my fear.

That bone-chilling laugh came again. I scanned the room frantically, but couldn't find the source of the voice.

"What do you want?" I shrieked, louder this time. The demonic wind was picking up in the cellar, lashing my hair against my face and whipping my skirts around. I edged along the wall toward étienne, who was still slumped on the floor. When I reached him, I covered his body with mine protectively.

"Daphne, go! I'll be fine!" he mumbled.

"In the name of God, what are you?" I whispered, more to myself than to our invisible attacker. Abruptly, the wind ceased, and the foul odor disappeared. A heavy stillness pressed in upon us. I helped étienne to his feet and just as we turned to the stairs, a familiar cloying perfume floated through the room. It was a scent I knew intimately, and it frightened me a thousand times more than any supernatural entity.

No longer rasping, the disembodied voice drawled in a frigid baritone.

"Oh, ma petite Daphne ! Don't you recognize the voice of your own husband?"