Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Giovanni: Part Two

They'd only just left the mob behind when they ran into Giovanni, heading determinedly up the street.

"I told you to stay there," Edmond snapped.

Giovanni gave him a hard look. "Yes, I know, you're the vampire and I'm only human, but I'm not going to stand around while the woman I love is in danger."

"Very noble, I'm sure."

"Enough," Ysanne said, shooting Edmond a hard look. "Let's go."

They didn't get far.

As they rounded a corner, they almost ran into two women in ragged dresses, reaffixing their tricolour cockades.

Ysanne never knew if the women recognised her as one of the nobility, or if they recognised Edmond as having escaped the guillotine earlier, or if something else betrayed them, but as they stood there, temporarily frozen, the taller woman let out a piercing howl, summoning the mob to her.

Ysanne seized Giovanni's hand and fled.

It never occurred to her that they wouldn't make it out of the city.

All those times she'd reminded Giovanni that being a vampire wouldn't necessarily save her from the mob if they ever did come for her, and yet when it finally happened, she didn't really imagine they'd be caught. She had become used to her strength and speed, relying on them to get her out of potential trouble.

But the mob that had burned Ysanne's house wasn't the only one stalking the streets that night.

They were forced to veer off course when they saw people approaching, and race down a narrow alley before emerging onto a wide thoroughfare. Ysanne knew this city like the back of her hand, but somehow, in the confusion and fear, they took a wrong turn and ended up by the Palais-Royal.

Once this had been a bright hub of activity and entertainment – painted whores and acrobats and jugglers and snake-charmers and puppeteers, where anyone could buy anything. Now it was a home to a very different kind of entertainment. A huge bonfire blazed in the grounds, while men and women decked out in the colours of the revolution danced around it, cheering. Every now and then, they would throw something into the fire.

Bodies, Ysanne realised.

A stack of bodies lay nearby, bloodied and brutalised. Some of them were too small to be adults.

"Mon Dieu," Edmond breathed.

They should have kept running. Neither Edmond or Ysanne were new to the atrocities that human beings could inflict upon each other, but Paris was dear to them both and the sight of it plunged into this hell, the sight of all those stacked bodies, the vile stench of rotten blood that they could not ever get away from, it rooted them to the spot for those few fatal moments.

That was when the mob caught up.

A club glanced off Ysanne's shoulder, and she swung around, punching with the motion and broke her attacker's jaw. But ten more took his place, armed with clubs and cudgels and knives and hate. Ysanne didn't think she had ever seen such hate.

It took ordinary people and twisted them, into something beyond logic, beyond reason, and far beyond mercy. They were here to kill.

Hands twisted into claws tore at her skin, her hair, her clothes, and though none of them could match her in strength, there were just so many of them. And she had Giovanni to consider – dear Giovanni who didn't have vampire strength and couldn't defend himself against this attack.