Paul fought down a rising sense of panic as he walked down the long subterranean corridor. Due to the drab fluorescent lighting overhead everything down here had a dull grey tinge – the concrete floor, cinder block walls, the faces of the men walking to either side of him.
The deputy premier – no: acting premier – had picked him up at his apartment in a limousine and told him curtly that he was needed for a secret assignment. Something in Marius's tone and manner made Paul deeply uneasy, but he had no choice but to obey; Marius was accompanied by two burly bodyguards who looked as though they were more than capable of taking Paul along by force. The ride had been long and uncomfortable, mostly silent, and when they finally arrived at their destination his unease turned to full-blown alarm. The local headquarters for the Sûreté du Quebec! Why was Marius bringing him here? How much did the Cabale know of Paul's actions with regard to Chantal? Would he be thrown into a cell without due process? The Cabale weren't above that kind of thing, he knew, and they had thoroughly infiltrated the Sûreté. He'd voluntarily helped the police as a clairvoyant a few times before and was well known to them; but he doubted anyone here would help him now, or turn a blind eye to his abduction and unlawful confinement.
Ever since his experience in the cavern he had tried to make his own scrying-glasses, using mirrors or bowls filled with water or other liquids; any reflecting surfaces available in his flat. He had redoubled his efforts in recent days as his fears grew. All he had glimpsed, after many attempts, was a dim blurry image of wolves running through a forest. One of the wolves had been pure white, that much he could tell; was it Raoul Dulac? But the vision told him nothing specific, and nothing regarding his own fate.
They stopped before an unmarked metal door. "Fair warning," said Marius, speaking from behind him. "This will be hard to watch."
Paul steeled himself and entered the cell in front of his friend and the guards. He was at first relieved to see Jacques Thibodeau in the cell – so, he himself wasn't the subject of the interrogation after all. Then he saw Ti-Jacques's bruised and swollen face. His lip was cut and bleeding and one eye was swollen shut. The other eye glowered at Marius as he strolled into the room.
"Well, has he said anything, officer?" Marius asked the man guarding Ti-Jacques.
"Nothing useful, sir. Most of what he's said was... unhelpful. And rather rude."
Ti-Jacques smiled sweetly up at him, perfect white teeth flashing in the harsh light of the cell. "Mangez de la merde."
The officer struck him hard.
Ti-Jacques didn't flinch. He turned and spat on the floor at Marius's feet, and the saliva was red. Paul felt a wave of nausea along with a rising horror. It was vile, brutal. And was this show of violence intended as a warning to him, too? Why else would he be here? Marius knew perfectly well that he couldn't read minds, and so was of little use in an interrogation.
"Come now, Monsieur Thibodeau," Marius said. "This really isn't necessary. Just tell us what we want to know and end this."
Ti-Jacques gave him a withering look. "Are all of the cops in this place our own kind? If not, I could always turn wolf and expose our little secret to them. So better not push me."
"Oh, you won't do that. Show your wolf-self to any of the ordinary humans here and we'll have to kill them. Quietly, out of the public eye. But it'd be easy: they're cops after all, we can always say they got killed somewhere in the line of duty. Some of them are married with kids, too. It would be a pity."
