The Parisian Codex

6 - Sofia

Sofia's sanctuary was a small, windowless room saturated with the fumes of incense and candles. The walls were hung with so-called Tibetan tapestries, but I knew that behind the mandalas, they were covered with magic sigils and protections of all kinds. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling.

Just before I crossed the threshold, Sofia declared: "Germain Dupré, you are a guest in my sanctuary tonight; come in."

"Wait!" I cried.

I plunged my hand into my coat pocket and felt a dozen claws digging in. I pulled out my hand with the kitten clinging to my skin. Sofia's eyes widened. "You have a familiar now?"

"No," I said, detaching the cat from my hand, one claw at a time. "It's the cat who's got himself a pet."

Sofia laughed. "What's his name?"

"No idea. He hasn't introduced himself. Maybe you'd prefer him to stay in the waiting room?"

"How long have you known him?"

"Since yesterday."

She studied the kitten with a critical eye. "Let's leave him here."

She grabbed my forearm and pulled me inside.

Crossing the threshold gave me a generous jolt of protective magic. If Sofia hadn't formally invited and physically let me in, I didn't dare imagine what would have happened to me.

"You've really invested in your protection system," I said, rubbing my goose-bump-covered arms. "Who are you afraid of?"

"Not you! My old skin's too tough for your tiny teeth."

She twirled her wide, flowery skirts and sat down in front of her round table. I didn't reply. There was no point in reminding her that my "tiny teeth" could tear her carotid artery before she knew what was happening to her. You don't talk like that to your friends, especially when you've come to ask for a favor. So I sat down on the other chair, opposite Sofia.

The clairvoyant cleared the table of the crystal ball and tarot deck, pushed the candles to one side and motioned for me to place the embroidery in front of her. She pointed to the gold-thread motifs.

"These are Celtic knots."

I nodded silently. So far, Sofia taught me nothing.

"Do you know how they work?" she asked, without taking her eyes off the embroidery.

"You know I do. They trap demons."

Sofia let out a little laugh and continued as if I hadn't said anything. As if we hadn't already had this conversation many times over the years. Maybe she'd forgotten. Perhaps age had begun to nibble away at her memories.

"Oh yes!" she said. "The boys downstairs love all that glitters. So when they come across a pretty golden embroidery with all those arabesques, they can't help but take a closer look. They follow the thread's path through the fabric. But as Celtic knots are endless, the demons can spend centuries making the same route over and over again..."

"Until someone destroys the tapestry."

Sofia nodded.

"But why would Robert—he's the missing one—destroy the embroidery? He wanted to restore it for resale."

Sofia raised her index finger and pointed at the needlepoint. There, the fabric was intact, but...

"See this broken thread?" she asked. 'It wasn't cut by the instrument that reduced the rest of the fabric to shreds. It's been worn down by time. I imagine your Robert broke it inadvertently. A tiny stitch of gold thread, easy to repair..."