The Parisian Codex

35 - Better alone than...

The burning pain brought me to my feet before my brain knew what was happening.

A bright light shone in my eyes, blinding me completely. But I could feel the presence of the men, their mixed scents of cologne and sweat, the stench of their fear... And the crunch of their soles on the stone floor.

My body attacked.

I tackled the first assailant. Once the man was down, I began by ripping off his headlamp. I didn't have time to move on: a flash lit up the gallery, a shot rang out, and an agonizing electric pain ripped through my chest. A silver bullet. It must have been close to my heart.

I rolled to the ground despite the pain, anxious not to take another hit. A second shot rang out in the gallery. I gritted my teeth in anticipation of injury, but nothing came.

Opposite me, the man who had been aiming at me toppled forward. The man I'd thrown to the ground jumped to his feet and screamed. Third shot, and the guy's head snapped back as a spray of blood splashed onto the ground behind him. He fell back like a rag doll.

At that moment, my brain finally caught up with the course of events. Zagan was standing a few yards away from me, a pistol trained on the men who'd attacked me. Two were dead. The other two raised their weapons to the demon.

I grabbed the first object I could find—unsurprisingly, a piece of gypsum—and swung it at an attacker's head. The gypsum disintegrated into white gravel, but the guy collapsed like a log.

Meanwhile, Zagan and the other attacker exchanged fire. The assailant dropped his weapon with a grunt and took a knee to the ground. Zagan had hit him in the shoulder.

The demon came striding up. "Who sent you?"

The man pretended not to hear. The demon kicked him in the teeth. The poor fellow sprawled on the ground in a gush of red saliva.

"Who sent you?" repeated Zagan.

"The Brotherhood," the guy lisped.

I crouched down beside the man and rolled up his sleeve. On the inside of his forearm, I found a chi-rho, the same brand worn by Bel's friends who'd broken into my door.

"What brotherhood?" asked Zagan.

"The Lambs..."

"Again?" He turned to me. "Your master's mates," he explained. Then turning back to the wounded man: "How did you find us? Nobody followed us."

The guy tried to smile, then grimaced. His eyes rolled back into his sockets.

I pointed to the rapidly growing pool of blood on the ground. "He's in no condition to talk."

Zagan sheathed his weapon and knelt down. "We'll see about that."

He put his hand on the guy's head, dug his fingers into the skin, and mumbled some guttural words. A wave of energy turned my stomach, and to my surprise, the wounded man spoke again.

"There's a transmitter in the vampire's coat. The others will be here soon. The Lamb will prevail".

Zagan pushed the man's head away with an angry gesture. It hit the ground with a thud, and a bone cracked.

The demon turned to me, anger flashing in his eyes. "What's all this about?"

I shook my head. A transmitter? In my trusty coat?

I reached into my backpack—a thick canvas model from the '30s—and pulled out the coat. I had removed it once underground, as much to protect it as because it was warm enough to do without it. I began to feel the pockets, the lining, the worn hems. I found a suspicious lump at the corner of the lower hem. Someone had made an incision so unobtrusive that I might never have noticed it. I pulled out a ball the size of a cherry pit.

"What's that?" asked Zagan.

I pointed to the tangled micro components. "It sends our position to these guys."

"And you had this on you?"

"I had no idea. They must have broken into my office during the day."

"What do you expect? It's an open house!"

I put the transmitter down and raised my foot.

"Wait!" said Zagan.

I stopped one foot in the air. "What? We've got to destroy that thing to..."

"No. You heard the guy: the others are already on their way. We've got to take this ... 'transmitter' somewhere else, so those idiots can chase it."

"Are you volunteering?"

He shrugged. "My new henchmen have to be good for something." He consulted his watch—a real Rolex, as Mathieu had assured me—and added: "Finish your nap. I'll be quick."

"This place is a labyrinth. You'll never find your way back."

Zagan shook his head. "We can't leave the kid alone."

"I'd rather have her alone than with the wrong guy."

Zagan took a moment to react. "You mean with me? You still think I'm gonna hurt her?"

"You're a demon."

"That doesn't make me a bad guy!"

"Go ahead, both of you," said Romane.

She clung to the wall as if afraid of toppling over. Judging by her pallor, she wasn't wrong. She turned her wide eyes to the bodies lying on the floor. "Are they dead?"

Zagan and I nodded.

"Then they're not dangerous," she said.

I thought back to a certain sword stuck in the wall of her apartment. 'Dead' and 'harmless' were two very different concepts.

But Romane didn't give me time to protest. 'I'm going to move into the little cave full of bones to wait for you. I promise not to start the ritual, but I'll feel safer if I hide. You're going to stash that transmitter somewhere else, and you'll be right back, okay?"

"What about the bodies?"

"I'm taking refuge among three hundred dead. Four more won't change a thing..."

Zagan checked his Rolex. "We'll be back in an hour. Here, take this." He handed Romane his pistol.

"Where did you learn to use a gun?" I asked.

The demon tapped his temple. "Mathieu really liked his gun. Frankly, I don't think that very healthy."

Romane took the weapon.

"Do you know how to use it?" I asked.

"Shall I point it at the bad guys?"

"And never at yourself."

"Yes, Daddy!"

I didn't reply.

Zagan sped off down the gallery, and I followed, the transmitter in my jeans pocket.