As we stepped onto the sidewalk, she slowed to a halt. A fractured replica of Amelie’s face turned to stare at me, one suffering from extreme internal turmoil. “Does all this make me a terrible friend?” Her voice turned soft and shaky.
I knew what she wanted. She wanted the validation that I so desperately sought for myself. That it was okay to long for Caden’s arms around me when Bishop was suffering, when Veronique was being tortured, when the world was about to end. That I shouldn’t feel guilty that I’ve found one shred of happiness in all of this and that I was willing to let it consume my thoughts every second of every day.
I felt my face warm in a gentle smile. “No, Amelie. It doesn’t make you a bad friend. It gives you a reason to live, to fight. It keeps you sane.” I reached out to squeeze her hand. Sanity. Something I’m quickly losing …
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Good. I didn’t want you to think ill of me, Evie. I don’t want anyone to think I’m not suffering over Fiona’s death. I miss her.” Amelie’s lip quivered. “I miss her so much. Every day …” She swallowed as her gaze dropped to the cobblestone. “Sometimes, at night, while I watch Julian sleep, I swear I hear her voice down the halls. That laugh of hers …” She smiled, looking off in the distance, reminiscing. “It makes me want to go back to New York and tear every last one of those witches to pieces.” When she looked at me again, her eyes were glassy with emotion. “I’m just so thankful to have Julian. He’s made it so much easier to deal with losing her.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I know,” I forced out, along with a forged smile.
Grabbing my arm, she dragged me into a store with sharply dressed female mannequins posed in the window. “Julian’s amazing, Evie,” Amelie gushed, her mood lifting. “He’s just so … smart and sweet and … funny! Even with all the awful stuff going on, when I even think of Julian,” her hands closed in to nestle against her chest, “this warm bubble grows inside me. I didn’t think I could feel like this ever again!” Again and again, her ecstasy over Julian pounded on my heart like a concrete hammer, smashing it to a pulp. “He’s been the perfect gentleman. So old-fashioned …” Amelie explained as she pulled a black lacy outfit off a shelf, complete with green ribbons and things dangling from the bottom of it. “Oh, I like!”
I groaned inwardly as my fingers caressed a silk gown absently. Of course Julian’s been the perfect gentleman, Amelie. If you knew what he was hiding, you’d be using that lace to choke the life out of him …
“I’m going to try this on.” Amelie slid into a dressing room, throwing back over her shoulder, “You know, you should pick something out for yourself.”
“For who? Max?” I answered under my breath, not meant for anyone’s ears.
Of course, with her bionic hearing, Amelie picked up on it. “Caden has been acting weird lately, hasn’t he …”
I instantly blushed.
“Not sure what’s gotten into him. I guess with Fiona’s death, Bishop being tied up, you being … toxic … sorry … he must be taking it pretty hard.”
And thinking Julian and I hooked up probably doesn’t help. In the grand scheme of things, that was a tadpole in an ocean’s worth of issues, and yet it seemed to be crippling us.
“When Caden found out you had been in the mountains with a guy … you should have seen him. Paranoia city! But I told him there was no reason to be worried …” The way Amelie’s words trailed off, by the lilt of her voice, I sensed this conversation was going somewhere intentional.
“Uh-huh.” I pretended to flip through racks of clothes while my insides were screaming.
“You know, it’s so hard to read you with that stuff flowing through your veins.”
“So they say.” Alarm bells, ringing loud and clear. What exactly was she trying to read?
“Julian said you’re just friends. I can’t help but think …” There was a long pause. “Did something happen between you two while you were up in the mountains?”
“No!” I didn’t allow a beat to pass, trying to keep my voice sounding as firm as possible. Still, in those two letters, in that tiny one word, my voice shook.
Another long pause. “You two were alone in the mountains for a month after Caden tried to kill you. And Julian … I mean, just look at him! How could you resist that?”
With a trembling hand, I rubbed my forehead. I was no good at this deception stuff. What would she do if I lied to her as I had to Caden? Visions of the innocent maid’s head bashed against the floor had my heart racing. I had no interest in finding out. “Because I never stopped loving Caden.”
I heard her exhale. “I’m so glad. Evie. I mean, I know you’re my best friend and all, but I don’t know how well I’d handle that. I get a little jealous sometimes …”
“You don’t say.”
A latch released and the dressing room door swung open to frame a svelte Amelie in nothing but lace and skin. “What do you think? Will this work on Julian?”
I gasped with surprise. “Good lord, Amelie! I’m not the one you’re trying to impress!”
She giggled, closing the door. “So? You think it’ll work?”
“That would work on a devout priest,” I answered truthfully. “If that doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.” Silently, I promised to warn my dear friend of my other dear friend’s carnal intentions.
“Seriously, Evangeline, why don’t you pick something out?” Amelie pushed. “Whatever’s bugging Caden will work itself out soon and when it does, you’ll want something besides flannel poodle pajamas to catch his attention.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” I flipped through the racks with renewed interest. Most of the items were more reflective of Amelie’s seductive nature, but I did stumble on a subdued black silk gown with delicate white lace along the top and tiny Eiffel towers splashed all over.
“I found something!” I called out, pulling the gown off the rack and whirling to show Amelie … and almost slammed into a stern-looking face. A middle-aged woman with dirty blond hair and a hooked nose stood a foot away from me, well within my personal space.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. But she didn’t move. She didn’t blink. Her blue-gray eyes remained frozen on me, a dangerous glint in them. A flicker of wariness sparked inside me. She was concentrating—I could tell that much—though on what, I had no idea. I watched her eyebrow rise with a flash of surprise. It quickly gave way to a grim scowl of determination and two viselike grips on my biceps.
“Evangeline!” Amelie shrieked from within the stall. “I can’t move my arms or legs! There must be a witch nearby. Run!”
Too late. That’s what she was. That look … I knew that look. It was the look of magic. She had tried to spell me and she couldn’t because of the Tribe’s curse … A brawny hand flew to my jaw and squeezed so tightly that I couldn’t answer Amelie, couldn’t utter a sound. One arm hooked around mine in a painful lock and the woman started dragging me toward the front of the store with surprising strength. Out, away from Amelie, away from safety.
I fought back, twisting and turning my body, swinging my legs out from under me to target her shins. I dug my nails into her flesh, eliciting a howl of pain from her but still she marched on. I leaned in to bite at her hands, managing to grab hold of her index finger with my front teeth, a coppery taste filling my mouth. She let out a yelp but continued. I was like a rabid raccoon and yet I couldn’t break free of her remarkable grasp, no matter what I did. I knew it wasn’t magic that did it and it surely wasn’t her size, given she only had a few inches and about thirty pounds on me. It had to be a combination of raw hatred and grim determination.
It was obvious I wasn’t a willing participant in this excursion and yet, as I passed the two ladies tending to the store and the other shoppers there—all watching the scene unfold—none did anything to help. Even with Amelie’s shrill screaming from the back, they stood like frozen deer caught in headlights, unsure of what to do. For all I knew, they were influenced by magic. Everyone could be. Everyone except me.
Desperate, I allowed my knees to buckle. My body flopped to the ground. The witch responded with a guttural curse. With one hand still on my jaw, she grabbed a fistful of my hair with her other hand and began hauling me out. Pain exploded in my scalp. I knew she’d keep moving, even with chunks of my scalp falling out, and so I was forced to scramble to my feet and follow. She stormed through the glass entrance door with me in tow, into the frigid cold and the busy street.
Dozens of pedestrians stopped to watch, a mixture of alarm and curiosity on their faces. The witch released my jaw as she tugged me forward along the cold, icy ground, moving with purpose. I soon saw that purpose was a large white van with no windows and the back door wide open.
This was an abduction.
If I went into that van, I was as good as dead. Now was my chance. Someone had to help me. Someone had to do something.
I opened my mouth to let loose a blood-curdling scream a second before a giant male hand clamped over my mouth and grabbed hold of my arms. I kicked and thrashed wildly but this man was at least six foot three and two hundred and fifty pounds. It was useless. They had me.
“Not a breeze, but easier than I expected,” the witch mused, pulling out a tissue to stop the trickle of blood from her hand.
Everything was happening so quickly. In seconds we reached the back of the van and a second set of large male hands with a telling tattoo grabbed hold of my wrists. He yanked me into the van and tossed me onto the dirty van floor. Cradling my stitched arm against my chest to protect it, I counted six dark-clothed goons sitting over me. If I could just get out ... Maybe I could break free …
We were thrown into dim light as the back door slammed shut. With a bang on the outside, I heard the woman shout, “Go!” The van lurched forward.
The enemy had me.
Without firm fingers gripping my jaw, I could scream. And scream I did. At the top of my lungs, I screamed. I screamed for Sofie, for Amelie, for Caden, for Max, even for Mortimer. For all of them. But it was no use. None of them would hear me in this moving van, surrounded by these hulking men. If only I had stayed at the chateau. What were we thinking?
I scrambled to my knees, determined to get myself out of this disaster. If I could just get to the driver to stop the van, maybe Amelie could catch up … I leapt forward, clawing at the closest man’s face. My nails connected, raking his cheek and his left eye, drawing blood. He howled in pain as his hand flew to his face. I dove in, intent on pushing past him to reach the driver. I almost made it. Almost. A swift elbow out of nowhere connected with my lower jaw, stopping my momentum. Pain exploded on the entire left side of my head as I crumbled to the floor once again, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.
“Careful. Dead bait’s not useful.” I barely heard the man’s gruff warning over the ringing in my ears.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than tires squealed and an engine roared somewhere outside. The van came to a jarring stop, sending me flying forward, slamming into the back of the passenger seat.
“Holy s—!” the driver shouted, but his words were cut off by a smash of glass and a shriek of terror. My head flew up to see that he was gone, replaced by a smear of crimson on the steering wheel. Guns emerged while men shouted orders, preparing for the attack as the van rocked violently. Suddenly, the grating sound of metal on metal filled the air. Daylight and frigid winter air spilled in. Someone had ripped off the back doors! It had to be Amelie! Amelie promised to keep me safe and she would. She kept her promise. She would save me.
I allowed myself a second of relief in my tiny heap on the floor, despite my throbbing jaw and the shouts and screams and blaring car horns from outside.
Gunfire rang out, mixed with screams and shouts. I buried my head within my arms, face down, afraid of stray bullets. Luckily the gunfire stopped as abruptly as it began. Counting to five, I dared peek out from my cocoon.
“Amelie?” I winced with each syllable. I waited. No answer. “Amelie?” I called out a little louder.
“No.” A lone female figure with short black hair appeared within the doorframe.
Lilly.
Her small hand extended toward me, offering a gentle smile. “Come with me now.” In shock, I crawled to the edge of the van. When those fingers curled over mine, she pulled me out with surprising ease. She threw my arm over her shoulder as if expecting that I would need support, which I did. The ground was wobbly. That, or I was wobbly. Either way, I was thankful for the help.
I had left the danger of the van, and stepped into utter chaos on Paris’s city streets. A large crowd of horrified spectators stood at a distance, staring at the carnage laying before them—a mangled van and heaps of broken Sentinel bodies. From the looks of it, a few bystanders had been victims of the hail of bullets. Kait stood over two of the Sentinel bodies, her red leather outfit swapped for a black one. Her hands were covered in blood and she was grinning viciously, her eyes throbbing with crimson lines. A flash caught the corner of my eye. I turned in time to see a young man with a phone camera snapping a picture.