The Parisian Codex

23 - The Demon in Stiletto

As soon as I woke up, I went out to run some errands. It had stopped raining, but heavy clouds hid the moon, and the sidewalk was still soaked.

There was a small grocery store a little further down the street, one of those that stay open late into the evening, Sundays included. The clerk, a dark-skinned young man who towered over me by a good head, provided me with three rolls of garbage bags, a box of cat litter and a can of "luxury salmon pâtée" for the fussy feline. Unfortunately for me, he didn't sell locks.

I spent the next hour sorting through the papers but eventually decided to throw everything out. I kept only a few official documents, such as the title deed to the basement and the most recent customer files. The rest filled about fifteen bags, which I piled at the foot of the stairs. I straightened the shelves and put the books back in place. Just as I was about to give a final sweep, there was a thump on the back of the cupboard that served as a door.

"You've put everything away!" said Romane cheerfully.

She glanced around the office, and from the look on her face, you'd have thought that tidying up was quite a feat. Admittedly, I'd come a long way, but still...

"They handle work in the building," she said.

I looked at her like an idiot, wondering what she was talking about, when I noticed the paper she was handing me. She had written down the name of a company and a telephone number. I pocketed the paper, determined not to call the company in question. The '60s had taught me to be wary of intrusive neighbors.

Romane started chatting to me about the building renovations, and I was wondering how to get rid of her when footsteps echoed down the stairs. Romane eventually heard them, too, and turned around. I felt her tense up from head to toe as she discovered Zagan, still in Olga's perfect body, still wearing his turquoise faux-fur jacket, his too-short skirt, and perched on his too-high heels.

"We haven't finished our conversation," Zagan whispered.

"I've got nothing more to say to you," I said.

"You haven't answered my questions," he countered.

Romane took a step towards the demon:

"Listen, Miss, if Germain doesn't want to see you, I'll ask you to leave the building as soon as possible. And don't hang around on our sidewalk. You're not the neighborhood type."

Zagan seemed to discover Romane's existence. He examined her for a moment in silence, and a smile spread across his face. The smile soon changed to a deep, joyous laugh.

Romane straightened up, and I thought she was going to growl like Kitten. I stepped in:

"Romane, I'll take care of it. Thanks for everything."

I gently pushed her towards the stairs, and Zagan obligingly stepped aside to let her through. Romane tried to protest, but anger made her lose her faculties, which rather suited me. She stomped her feet up the stairs, and I could hear the sound of her heels all the way to the upper floors. When I turned back to Zagan, his eyes were still sparkling with amusement.

"Very funny, your little witch."

"What's on your mind?"

"I've already told you: your help in destroying the codex."

"You killed my master, you cursed me, and you want me to help you? Your time in this embroidery has damaged your mind."

"By the way, am I wrong if I say that it was you who made this chain-stitched prison? Isn't embroidery a girl's job?"

"My chain stitch has held you for seven centuries," I say. "And there's no such thing as 'girl's work' in the 21st century. Get with the times."

"My point is, we're even. I killed your master to avert a catastrophe, and spent seven centuries in prison. I've served my time."