Maybe if Emily used that burgeoning telekinetic power and threw a rock or two at her friend then Ingrid would probably jazz up. Or maybe that jezebel had already spent the day’s energy that morning with her pretty sheriff. Emily was starting to love Gabe like a brother, but even she could admit the man was pretty damn cute.
Abel finally stopped blathering on and led them down the street from the entrance. What in the world? Gabe seemed as confused by their route, but Ingrid wasn’t paying attention at all. In fact, Emily was pretty sure her friend was window shopping. Nope. That hooker was taking a picture of her toes next to that purple flower. When people asked to see Ingrid’s pics of her trip, they were going to see high-end pedicures next to random crap.
Abel glanced around and then began gesturing everyone into a little alley. A brunette with long dark hair was standing next to another who had knelt on the ground and was pulling a manhole cover off.
“What in the world?” Emily asked, staring down the hole into the darkness. There were rungs leading down into…was that the sewer?
“We’re going in a different way to see…off the grid stuff.” Gabe glanced over his shoulder, and Emily could almost see the sheriff in him coming out.
“What? Is it illegal?” She was mocking him, and she could see him scowl at her. She grinned. Being a sister could be fun, she thought wickedly.
“Yes,” he said clearly, a tightness to his mouth and eyes.
Emily glanced at Ingrid, but she was too busy staring at the entrance in horror. They could bail, clearly. But shiz, if they did, Emily would have to explain to Hazel. Emily had promised their coven leader that they’d see witch stuff. And, there were a million things Ingrid and Em wanted to do in Paris.
“Let’s just do it. You’re not a cop in France,” Emily told Gabe. “Don’t make me regret letting you in this morning.”
Gabe’s scowl deepened, and Emily grinned at him. She raised a brow in dare and waggled her brows. Sure, she was acting like a 9-year-old, but she had to find her fun somewhere when her guy was working and she was traveling without him.
“That looks nasty,” Ingrid said. “And cold.”
“Well yeah,” Emily replied. She didn’t really mind having Gabe tag along on their vacation, but she had to get her vengeance where she could, so they would appreciate how cool she was being. “We’re going. It’ll be over and we won’t have to do witch stuff again until maybe ever.”
Before they could stop her, she followed a couple of Scandinavian types down the hole and through the ladder. What was she doing? The moment her bare hands touched the filthy metal ladder, she wanted to climb back up and run away. It was only Hazel’s voice in her head, asking why Emily and Ingrid hadn’t seen the witch stuff that kept Emily going. She’d made a promise to her auntie who was all too prone to hex people who irritated her. And Auntie Hazel was creative.
Emily waved away an imaginary spider web from her damp face, hoping Gabe and Ingrid didn’t catch her at it. At the bottom of the ladder, she was handed a mining hat with a light on it. Were they serious? That was going to ruin her hair. A couple of people carried lanterns, but the mining hat was too much.
"How can it be hot down here, Ingrid? Hot and cold at the same time. It's unnatural.”
“Why are we down here?” Ingrid demanded as she looked around in horror. “These aren't paintings. Did you say it was going to be cool?”
“We should go,” Gabe said.
The two friends looked at each other and then at him. They laughed as one and Ingrid snorted, “Wuss.”
But her shiver gave her away. Given their tendency to find murder everywhere they went, including a horrifying experience in Prague on a tour not dissimilar from this one, they both knew that unnatural occurrences were entirely too real a possibility. That was being paranoid, Emily thought, but it didn’t change the worry that they were being stupid. Stop it, she told herself, they were going on a witch tour, gonna get some shoes, and then have some amazing French food.
Abel, the hipster tour guide, seemed to be trying really hard to be extra French and was droning on too softly to be heard from their position at the back of the group. Ingrid insisted on hanging back, claiming claustrophobia. It wasn’t helping. These tunnels were narrow, and Emily felt as though a ghost were blowing on her spine.
"I don't think his accent is real, do you, Em?"
"Not even close to real. He sounds like a Scottish boy trying to speak with a southern twang. It's horrible. But his oiled mustache isn't real either. I'm pretty sure it's glued to his face. And who carries around a baguette in their back pocket?” Emily said and Ingrid shifted a bit. Emily’s eyes narrowed upon the bag but the two long haired French girls were giggling. Emily had a burning desire to flick both of them. Or punch them in their giggling throats.
“I can’t hear over those girls,” Gabe said. “We should have just gone on a regular tour.”
“That would have interfered with making it to the shoe store in time,” Emily said, adjusting her miner’s hat and deliberately shining its light in Gabe’s eyes. “And Abel’s beret. For the love of all that is holy on the earth, he should try to be less obvious."
Ingrid nodded her head and laughed, but Emily could see the tightening around the eyes that had been present all too often lately. Ingrid wasn't feeling herself. Emily knew Ingrid too well for her to completely hide that something was up. Emily knew she had a tendency for the dramatic and tried to talk herself out of the immediate conclusion she'd come to about Ingrid's obvious tumor.
What else could cause constant stomachaches, headaches, endless desire for food, but getting sick drinking coffee and then even more headaches? Plus she'd been super witchy lately. And not the good kind of witch. It wasn't like she'd suddenly started casting spells. No, Emily and Ingrid were the same terrible witches that they'd always been. Only managing to do the bare minimum of magic to not burn themselves out. And to make good coffee, of course.
Some things were worth learning how to do. Emily reached into her bag and ran her fingers over the small vial of truth serum concentrate that they now always carried with them. Truth serum had saved their bacon too many times. It was sort of their go-to magic talisman, especially after the creeptastic vampire and his spooky psycho ghost wife they'd come across in Prague.
If Emily could find a way to learn how to use magic to restrain someone, she would feel much better about her safety. She made a mental note to remember to ask Hazel how to do that unless she could find some sort of Witch Life Coach to hire while she was in Europe. Oh, especially if it was a super cute guy. Or just Dean. Where was Dean?
When Ingrid felt better, Emily would definitely bring that up because Ingrid had to do it too. Emily couldn’t go to class alone. She might be the more violent of the two, but Ingrid had a definite blood-thirsty skew, and they had to be mean at the back of the class together.
"Ingrid, we are in Paris. We should be drinking wine and eating frogs, making out with real French boys, not inspecting dead skulls with a fake French boy who is barely out of high school."
“Hey!” Gabe said, “Ingrid doesn’t do those things.”
"Emily, the catacombs were your idea, remember? Something about Hazel and hexes? The walls are closing in, FYI. We’re going to die like in that scary Indiana Jones movie.”
“Shut up. That is simply beside the point. Don't you agree that we should be indulging in super awesome French wine and touring King Louie's castle? All of the Indiana Jones movies are not scary.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "That's Versaille. Wrong city, Em. And yes, the one where the creepy guy rips out hearts is scary. My heart is racing right now thinking about it, or it might be the way that guy’s eyes are evil. He’s going to kill us when we aren’t looking.”
“I'll protect you,” Gabe said, wrapping his arm around Ingrid.
“You can’t protect me from the walls closing in, my pretty. You’re eye candy for Paris. Don’t forget it.”
“Don’t,” Emily
snapped, “Make me slap you two. There will be zero overt displays of affection and no tongue. Now. Let’s be serious. After we are done with this underground tour of death, let’s find some cozy cafe and eat ourselves silly. I want bread and brie and wine and…”
“Don’t talk about food,” Ingrid said. “I feel sick and starving. My body has turned on me since Prague. I think its rebelling because we left all of those dumpling things and the berry sauce behind. I need those. My body is holding me hostage. We have to go back.”
Emily’s pending rant was cut short when she walked right into the back of the person in front of her.
“Why did you stop?” she snapped.
But everyone was stopped and the person she’d rammed into was cursing at her and checking for his wallet. Please. Her wallet was the one worth stealing. She had several hundred in cash in there. The tour guide was mumbling fake-French under his breath while being chewed out by someone who closely resembled Betty White, in appearance if not in demeanor.
She’d positioned herself in front of Abel, blocking the way for the tour to continue.
“Now, you listen here, Abel.” Doppelgänger Betty, Emily thought of her as Betty 2, screeched a very high-pitched, nasally voice through vocal chords that were obviously the victims of a lifetime of smoking. The combination of high-pitched and gravelly was confusing. “I flew all the way here to this French city to learn something about the history of these catacombs. Do you know how long the flight is from Texas to London and then to Paris? Well, it’s long. And I didn’t sleep well and I don’t like your mustache. So make yourself useful and tell me more about the bones. Take us to them. This looks like the sewer. Where are the stacks of them? They’re arranged by bone? I want to see them and I want to know what perverted person would think it was a good idea to play with human bones like they were Lincoln Logs. Educate me, Abel. If that’s even your real name.”
Betty 2 stopped talking abruptly, apparently out of breath. Emily watched as the old woman’s chest heaved in and out from the effort of her monologue. The look on Abel’s face was priceless. His expression was something in between amused by the odd sound of this woman’s voice and nervous about her request. The result was snottiness settling into his eyes as he looked down his nose at her.
“Madame,” he said in his painfully phony accent, “if you would please allow me to continue with the tour, I will certainly address your questions. The Catacombs are indeed a fascinating place. I would love to humor your fascination with them. If you please?”
While Abel was answering Betty 2, Emily noticed the little old man that seemed to be with Betty 2, maybe her husband, sidle up next to her. He rubbed his hand down her back and Betty 2 seemed to calm down.
Emily leaned in closer to listen to what Grandpa was saying to Betty 2. “Now, dear. You must stay calm. You shouldn’t even be in these tunnels. They are too damp and dank. It’s not good for you. You promised me that if I brought you here, you would keep your temper under control. Remember?”
Betty 2 looked exasperated. But her voice was kind, “Bernard, I suppose you are right, but we should have just taken the regular tour. We will have to do it tomorrow. I did promise and I’ll keep it. Okay, I’ll try to relax.”
“Thank you, dear,” Bernard said. He might have sounded sweet when he talked to his wife, but he had a crotchety old man face that seemed to declare everything in his body hurt and he wasn’t afraid to yank the ear off anyone here.
Betty 2 turned her attention back to Abel and the softness left her voice. “You are on very thin ice, young man. I had better know more about these Catacombs when I leave then I did before I got here. You feel me?”
Emily chuckled softly. “You feel me? She sounds like a millennial. What the hell is up with that?”
“She’s scary,” Gabe said. “She's the type of woman who chews you out for giving her a ticket when she ran a red light.”
Emily smiled. “I don’t know what it is about older women. They get cranky. And loud. And lose all sense of decorum. I love how she calmed down when he rubbed her back.”
Ingrid raised her eyebrow. “Well, what’s your excuse? You are all those things and you aren’t even in the neighborhood of 40 yet.”
“Very funny, Ingrid. You know that you are by far the crankier one in our friendship. So Grandpa and Betty 2—”
Ingrid snorted in response to Emily’s nicknames for the couple but Emily kept talking.
“—are hilarious.”
Ingrid shook her head, “No. I think Betty 2 is a super-wench and makes Grandpa Bernard do her bidding.”
Emily shrugged and then said, “Probably. It will be interesting to see if they manage to survive these tunnels. I can’t believe they made it down that ladder.”
“Maybe Grandpa has had enough of her nasty ways and has brought her and plans to murder her and dispose of her body.” Ingrid said, giving Gabe a look that told him he needed to watch his step if he was going to stay with her.
“We could definitely help the old guy murder her. Think of it as a humanitarian issue. Poor guy clearly needs foreign aid,” Emily joked. “Plus surely Gabe would know how to do it well enough for us not to get caught.”
Emily watched as Ingrid’s gaze traveled across the others in the group as the tour slowly started moving forward again. Betty 2 seemed to have regained her energy and she was yapping in Abel’s ear. The tour guide couldn’t seem to get a word in. Ingrid’s eyes rested on the two girls that walked just behind Grandpa, who trailed behind Betty 2 and Spineless Abel. She nudged Emily. “What do you think their story is?”
Emily looked the two girls up and down, assessing. “Obviously spoiled little rich kids. Their manicure is even better than your pedicure. And you’re as spoiled as they come.”
“So younger versions of us, then?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Hardly. We weren’t rich until we were older. We had to have husbands die in order to get rich. We earned our fortune. These two are obviously daddy’s girls. Gag.”
“Don’t be a resentful dove, Em. Just because they have money doesn’t mean they have to be awful.”
“You two are incomprehensible,” Gabe said, “And weird. This better be cool. Feels like we should jump ship and head back.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that. I’m calling them Thelma and Louise. The redhead will be Thelma. The too-thin blonde will be Louise.”
“Okay, what about that creepy guy walking behind Thelma and Louise?”
Emily grunted. “Let’s see. He looks like he’s mid-40’s. Probably a college professor. Probably sleeping with his students. Oh, you know what?”
“Shut up, you hooker,” Ingrid said, her gaze promising revenge.
Just because Ingrid had slept with her first husband when he was her professor didn’t make that joke fair play, Emily knew but even if Harrison was off limits, that had been too good a jab to pass up.
Emily tossed Ingrid a wicked look and continued, “I bet Thelma and Louise are his students and he’s stalking them. He probably expects sexual favors somewhere in the depths of this creepy tunnel in exchange for a passing grade.”
“Ew,” Ingrid said. But then again, she had gotten an A in Harrison’s class. Emily avoided pointing that out because they were best friends. And also, Ingrid could usually tell what Emily was thinking.
Fire crackled behind Emily and she spun, pointing at Ingrid and saying, “Don’t even.”
“You don’t even,” Ingrid snapped back.
“Maybe not in here, guys,” Gabe said, pulling Ingrid to his side and giving Emily a behave look.
“Spoilsport,” Emily and Ingrid said together with Emily adding, “Why is he here again?”
“I was gaining too much weight,” Ingrid said instantly. “He’s here to help me burn it off.”
“I hate you,” Emily said, punching Ingrid on the arm. But it didn’t stop the cackle that echoed around the cavern.
The tour group continued to wander into the depths of the catac
ombs. The tunnel was heading at a downward slant, and the becoming narrower and narrower. Emily’s breath might have been coming faster and faster. She tried to focus on something other than the way this felt like a massive death trap. She watched as Abel and Betty 2 disappeared around the corner. The rest of the group followed.
“Ugh, Emily. That’s disgusting.” Ingrid arched her eyebrow as Professor ogled the butts of the Thelma and Louise. “Disgusting. I don’t know how you do it, Emily, but you seem to be able to catch a lot about people from their looks. It’s probably those gifts Hazel says you have.”
“Shut up, cow,” Emily said. “They’re lucky guesses.”
“Maybe,” Ingrid replied, “but maybe you have some sort of latent magic that lets you see into the souls of people. That would be sort of badass.”
“Oh, gimme a break. You and Hazel are determined to assign more ability to me than what I’ve got.”
“It wouldn’t be surprising, really,” Gabe said, and Emily immediately wondered if he was serious or if he was just trying to butter her up. He needed to remember that he was the third wheel, not Emily. “Hazel is amazing. You have the same bloodline.”
The Professor moved out of their view as he rounded the corner and Ingrid pointed to the young couple that walked behind the Professor. “What about them?”
Emily looked them over quickly. “That’s easy. Bonnie and Clyde.”
“What?” Ingrid asked, pausing for a sip from her water bottle. “As in the couple from the 1930’s who robbed banks and went on a killing spree?”
Emily nodded. “Yup. See how happy they are together? She leans into him as they walk. He rests his hand on the small of her back while he whispers in her ear. Then she laughs, blushes, and kisses his cheek as they sway together down this rancid hallway of death? I don’t buy their happy act. It’s too fake. Too happy. Any minute they are going to pull out their Tommy Gun and take us all out.”
Paris Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery Page 2