The Parisian Codex

38 - Priorities

Two guys pulled my arms behind my back, and I let out a grunt of pain. For my trouble, the guys pulled harder. Assholes. If I survived my captivity, I'd make them pay. In the meantime, they tied my arms behind my back again and kicked me in the ribs for good measure. I didn't protest. Better the kicks than the hypodermic gun.

Next to me, Romane let them truss her up without a word.

An older guy stepped forward, and I recognized Bel. He didn't give me a glance. He stood in front of Romane and took a flask out of his pocket. He sprayed Romane's face with the contents of the flask. She shook her head like a dog under Bel's scrutinizing gaze.

The water was holy (a few drops had splashed on me, so I knew), and Bel waited for Romane to betray her true nature. His lack of results seemed to frustrate him.

I, for one, was astonished.

When a human sells his soul to a demon, they become sensitive to religious signs: crucifixes, communion wafers and, of course, holy water.

If Romane wasn't showing any symptoms, was it because she hadn't sold her soul? Was Zagan telling the truth? Even if he had, it didn't make much difference: the demon had abandoned us to the Brotherhood. It was only a matter of time before these guys followed the gallery to the end, discovered our bags and retrieved the codex from its box.

Well done, Zagan.

"What's a human doing here with this abomination?" asked Bel.

"He promised to show me the catacombs," said Romane.

The slap sent her head reeling, and blood beaded at the corner of her lips.

"Where's the codex?" thundered Bel.

"The what?" said Romane.

Another slap.

"We know you've got the codex," continued Bel. "We followed the whore."

"Don't talk about... Olga like that!" cried Romane.

A third slap silenced her.

"Tell us where the codex is, or you'll be sorry," interjected the curly-haired man.

"Believe me, I already am," replied Romane.

The fourth slap never came.

A detonation rolled under the stone archway, and François Bel was shot through the head. The spray of blood splashed onto the curly-haired young man, who stood still long enough to catch the next bullet. Romane rolled onto her side and huddled between the two corpses. Good girl.

The Brotherhood members reacted in different ways, depending on whether or not they had their heads on their shoulders. The smart ones turned off their headlamps and moved. Some crouched near a pillar and drew their weapon. Those who took too long to imitate the smart ones caught the next bullets, and the beam of their headlamp came to rest far away on the ceiling.

The newcomers didn't use electric lights—they didn't need them as long as the Brotherhood lit up the place like Christmas lights.

Even in the dark, I could see enough to recognize a few silhouettes: Laurel, Hardy, Jerome and a good handful of their colleagues. At their head, the one they still assumed was their boss: Zagan in Mathieu's body.

The demon had returned.

I joined Romane on the ground and left the fanatics and mobsters to kill each other.

I'd planned to eliminate Bel, but Zagan had just saved me the trouble. Just as well. My karma was heavy enough as it was. And I was about to add to my debt.

Far above the mine, the sun was climbing into the sky, and even though dozens of yards of rock, I could feel its influence. I closed my eyes and drifted into a half-sleep.

The gunshots grew sparser and quieter. Voices echoed through the vaulted ceiling. Masculine, some of them familiar. Mathieu was giving orders to his men.

No, I thought through my sleep, not Mathieu: Zagan.

Zagan was talking about taking prisoners and making bodies disappear. "Prisoners?" Hadn't the demon had everyone shot? He must have been planning to interrogate the survivors.

I was shaken by the shoulder and grunted my pain.

"I think both his shoulders are dislocated," said Romane. "And they've cut his throat. Is he going to die?"

Hands felt me up. "He's not," declared Zagan. "But it's daylight up there: he'll sleep for a few hours. Where's the codex?"

"I put our things in the little cave. The animals woke up, so I took them out of their bags. The codex is still in its iron box."

"Perfect. Give me two minutes, and I'll come and take care of him."

Zagan's voice echoed further into the cavern.

Romane leaned towards me and breathed: "I knew he'd come back. He wouldn't abandon us like that."

I'd have bet the opposite. But Zagan hadn't come back for us. He was only interested in the codex. The codex, and the Apocalypse.

"Perhaps he has better priorities than I do," I thought, "placing my revenge before the end of the world."

Then, at last, I fell into a dreamless sleep.