The Parisian Codex

39 - Germain doesn't sparkle

The pain woke me up.

Someone was sticking a glowing blade between my arm and shoulder. I had been reincarnated as a Christmas turkey.

Something clicked in my bones, then something else clanged, and I screamed for good measure.

"That's enough," said Zagan, "let's move on to the next one."

My eyes felt cemented shut, but I managed to lift an eyelid.

We were still in the mine's main gallery. I lay on my back, with Zagan standing next to me. In the background, Romane hid behind her hands: only her wide eyes gleamed in the half-light.

"Other what?" I mumbled.

"Other shoulder," said Zagan. "Go back to sleep, and let me do this."

The demon grabbed my hand and put one foot under my armpit. He pulled so hard on my arm that I thought he was going to rip it off. My scream echoed through the tunnels. But just as my muscles were about to tear, Zagan nudged my shoulder with the tip of his foot. I felt the bone return to its place, and it was no less painful than when it had left. Zagan released his grip, and I closed my eyes. Vomiting seemed like a good idea, but I'd already metabolized the blood I'd stolen earlier. My stomach contracted frantically on empty air, and I turned on my side to puke bile. Bad idea: my shoulder was just waiting for that to pop out again. I screamed in pain. Romane gave an empathetic squeak.

Zagan swore through his teeth. "Beelzebub's balls! Are you enjoying this or what? Romane, come and give me a hand."

He sat me down. Romane acted as my backrest while the demon put my shoulder back in place. I think it hurt less that time.

"Go back to sleep, Princess," said Zagan. "We'll take care of everything."

I must have been suicidal because I trusted him and plunged back into nothingness.

***

I awoke all trussed up.

I still lay on the ground where the fight between fanatics and mobsters had taken place. How much time had passed? I started to thrash about, but Romane's voice sounded behind me.

"Don't move, you'll hurt yourself!" She stepped into my field of vision.

With my usual brilliance, I asked the question that nagged at me: "What?"

"I've strapped your arms with balls of cloth under each elbow to immobilize them. Normally you have to stay like that for days, but for a vampire, I don't know..."

Ah. Yes. My airhead neighbor knew my true nature. And she hadn't run away. Worse, she didn't seem fazed. Bullshit fantasy novels! If the kid expected to find a vegan vampire shining in the sunlight, she was in for disappointment.

"I found this in your bag," she said. "I thought it might do you good."

She held one of the blood bags I'd brought with me for our three-day camping trip.

"Can you sit up?" she added.

She helped me sit up and lean against the wall, then, like a goddamn Florence Nightingale, she held the blood bag for me as I emptied it.

"Where's Zagan?" I asked, avoiding Romane's gaze.

"Gone to check on Mathieu's men. I don't think he really trusts them."

"He left you alone with me," I growled.

"You've seen that I can handle a gun," she said. "Besides, the Brotherhood is no longer a threat."

"The Brotherhood, maybe not. But a wounded vampire is. Even with my arms tied, I could slit your throat and bleed you dry."

With a sad little smile, Romane slid a strap over her shoulder. It was attached to the vile hypodermic gun.