Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“I know you are, sweetheart.” She was a relatively new addition to my life, but it felt like she’d always been there, the person I trusted most. The person I loved most.
Her eyes dropped down for a second before she looked at me again. “I saw you speaking to that woman…” Her eyes flicked away again, like she was uncomfortable pursuing this conversation. “Seemed like you knew each other well.”
Not well enough, because I didn’t remember her name. “What’s your question?”
“Just wanted to know if she was a friend or an acquaintance?”
It was an odd question, and it seemed like she was testing me. She’d probably overheard our conversation when she’d come after me and wanted to know if I would admit I fucked what’s-her-name before. Fleur was the last person who should feel jealous or insecure, especially sexy as hell in that little black dress. If only she saw what I saw, she would never feel intimidated by another woman that I’d been with. “Neither. I slept with her a while back.” I passed the test, but I would have passed it even if I hadn’t known it was a test.
She gave no distinct reaction, like that was exactly what she’d gathered herself.
“Let’s head back. Probably going to serve dinner soon.”
9
BASTIEN
I went to Basilique Sainte-Clotilde, a church that had been standing since the seventeen hundreds. But I didn’t walk through the front door. Instead, I took the back entrance, all the way next to the Seine, and took the underground passage, past the homeless and the amateur drug dealers pushing low-grade products idiots were stupid enough or broke enough to buy.
I walked down the dark tunnel and made my way to the church, based solely on memory, sidestepping the rats that scurried from their corners. Sometimes I spotted human bones down here, but I walked right past.
I took a set of stairs deeper underground and then a couple of tunnels before I reached a large room with double doors that were twenty feet in height. They’d clearly been installed from above because there was no way to get something so large into these caverns. Given the color of the stones and how it was dimly lit by the sconces high on the wall at the top of the stairs, they obviously marked the entrance to something important.
There were no guards on patrol, probably not to draw attention to what was on the other side. The caverns from the Seine and the Catacombs that stretched underneath the streets were practically a city of their own, with their own laws and regulations for those who lived there. The police didn’t follow criminals into the depths, so it was essentially a lawless land. Only those who were brave—or stupid—came down here.
At the bottom of the stairs, I grabbed the copper knocker and clapped it against the door, a knock that reverberated on the other side. I stepped back and waited for the doors to open or a panel to slide apart.
A section of the door came away, and a pair of eyes looked into mine.
“The Butcher.”
He verified my identity instantly and then opened one of the doors to let me pass. He was dressed in all black and held a rifle, security armed at the perimeter.
When I stepped inside, I saw the other guard. They didn’t normally pat me down and check for weapons, but this time, they did. But they didn’t find anything because I’d come unarmed. They didn’t say a word to me, but hostility was present.
They escorted me across the room to another set of double doors. They opened one and let me pass into the underground cathedral that the Aristocrats had claimed for themselves. It looked like the church up above, rows of seats on a red rug that faced a large organ and a dais, like they offered sacrifices. In the next room was their grand storage of collectibles, ancient paintings, and sculptures that they deemed belonged to the French Republic and no one else. It was safer underground, where it couldn’t be touched by fire or the sun. As long as the Seine didn’t have an apocalyptic flood, everything would remain untouched.
I found it ironic that they hoarded all these cultural masterpieces to themselves, when they weren’t even on display because they had so much shit to store. It looked more like a treasure room in an enormous vault. The French Republic couldn’t enjoy it because it was stashed underground in a place no one knew existed.
I stepped inside and looked at the paintings leaned against one another, the golden goblets, and the old coins. Centuries of art and artifacts all packed together without rhyme or reason.
Now that Oscar was gone, another had replaced him, and he stepped toward me in his gold robe and matching hat, looking like a goddamn idiot. I recognized him as Marcus, one of the other members of the Aristocrats and clearly Oscar’s replacement. I was unarmed, so he didn’t seem concerned about arming himself. They claimed to be a peaceful religious group, but they killed anyone who didn’t give them the answer they wanted and didn’t worship any god, so they didn’t seem religious to me.