"So far, they've struck at night," said Raven. "We can have the Paris police covering the streets, working in teams. Renaud can head the task force. We can tell them that they're dealing with a dangerous psychopath and give them orders to shoot first and ask questions later, but that still presents some problems. They're not trained to shoot perpetrators on sight, thank God, but in this case, that could work against them. And there's always the possibility that innocent people might be killed."
"Innocent people are being killed," said Kira.
"But we can't have them killed by the police," said Piccard. "Raven's right. There has to be a hostile act before the police can shoot. There isn't any way around that. But without the advantage of surprise, a necromancer could easily get the advantage over them."
"Perhaps," said Merlin, "but we still have one thing working in our favor. It's not enough for the Dark Ones to simply send out their acolytes to kill. In order to acquire the life energy of a victim, they must be present to cast a spell that would allow them to absorb it. That's the reason for the mutilations, the thaumaturgic runes carved or burned into the victims' bodies. Originally, the process was part of an elaborate sacrificial ritual. Obviously, they have discarded most of the ritualistic aspects of the killings in order to save time, but it still takes at least a few moments to effect the process. The victim cannot simply be killed outright. The runes must be carved into the body while the victim is still living and the spell must be cast. That could give the police the time they need if they happen upon a killing in progress."
"But what about the shapechanger?" Raven asked. "The acolyte they've turned into a werewolf? How can we brief the police about that without admitting that thaumaturgy is involved, which would immediately take it out of their jurisdiction?"
"Yes, I can see where that would be a problem," Merlin said, frowning.
"Why not tell them that evidence suggests the murders might be the work of some kind of satanic cult?" said Wyrdrune. "That would explain the runes, without admitting the possibility of necromancy, and it would also explain why there could be more than one killer. And since we already know that one of the victims had her throat torn out and there were claw marks on her body, the police could be told that at least one of the killers apparently has a trained attack dog that should be shot on sight."
"Yes, that could work," Piccard said, nodding, "but what do we tell them when the so-called attack dog reverts to mortal form after it's been killed?"
"Well, we can cross that bridge when we get to it," said Wyrdrune. "You could always 'belatedly realize' that thaumaturgy was involved after all, that one of the members of the cult was an advanced-level adept, perhaps their leader, but since he would be dead at that point, there would be no reason for the I.T.C. to officially step in to round up his non-adept followers. Would it be that difficult to arrange some sort of cover-up?"
"No, probably not," Piccard replied. He nodded. "It sounds workable. What do you think?" he asked his partner.
Raven nodded. "I think it's an excellent suggestion," she said. "We could say that we're investigating a satanic cult that does not actually use thaumaturgy, but only employs thaumaturgic trappings in its killings. But to be certain, we'd have to remain on the scene to assist in the investigation. And in the meantime, increased police presence on the streets at night would make it more difficult for the killers to claim their victims. It could force the Dark Ones out into the open. It's a good plan. We certainly don't have any better alternatives at the moment."
"Just remember that the Dark Ones need a few moments to work undisturbed in order to absorb the life energies of their victims," Wyrdrune said. "That's why the killings usually take place at night, in secluded places and dark corners. Tell the police to watch the alleys. They like dark places."
"Dark places," Modred said thoughtfully. "Like the Paris sewers."
The others all looked at him intently.
"The sewers," Piccard said. "Of course! They run throughout the entire city. A perfect way for the killers to move about unobserved."
"Pascal fled down into the sewers after Jacqueline shot him," Modred said. "At first, I thought he merely took the first convenient avenue of escape, but the more I think about it, the more it seems as if he was heading for a specific destination. When we finally came upon him, he was calling the name 'Leila' with his dying breath. Apparently, at least one of the Dark Ones here in Paris is a female. And Pascal wasn't merely trying to escape. He wasn't simply running away from us. He was running to her."
"You think the Dark Ones are hiding in the sewer system?" Merlin said, frowning. "It hardly seems like a very hospitable place to seek shelter."
"He's right," said Raven. "They're basically old, decrepit tunnels with sewage running through them. They would certainly afford the killers a way of moving about the city unobserved, coming up through access shafts, but I can't imagine how anyone would actually stay down there for any length of time. Some derelicts, perhaps, who don't mind sleeping on the cold and damp stone walkways, but why would the Dark Ones want to establish a headquarters down there?"
"You don't think it's possible?" said Modred.
Raven shrugged. "Anything is possible, but of all the places in the city they could pick to hide in, why would they want to choose the sewers?"
"They've been underground for centuries," said Modred. "Wyrdrune's right. They have an affinity for dark places. In Los Angeles, one of the acolytes sought shelter in a hidden chamber excavated beneath a mission and the Dark Ones themselves hid in the service tunnels beneath an amusement park. In London, one of them had established his headquarters in the passageways of an ancient dungeon beneath a castle, inhabiting chambers connected by a maze of underground passageways—"
"A maze of underground passageways," Piccard said, interrupting him suddenly. "The Catacombs!"
"The Catacombs?" said Wyrdrune.
"A vast network of underground corridors and chambers beneath the city, dating back centuries," Piccard said. "They grew out of old, abandoned Roman quarries and were used during the Revolution as a storage place for those slain in the Reign of Terror and for bones disinterred from overcrowded cemeteries. Until recently, a small, mapped-out section of the Catacombs near the Place Denfert-Rochereau was used as a tourist attraction. They were closed when the city's engineers declared them unsafe and the entrance to them was sealed, but the corridors still exist beneath large sections of the city and its outskirts, most of them completely unexplored. No one has set foot in them for centuries."
Modred leaned forward, alertly. "Is it possible that access to them could be gained through the sewer system?" he asked Piccard.
"I shouldn't think so," Piccard replied. "The sewers only date back to the nineteenth century and, to my knowledge, they were never connected with the Catacombs. If the excavation for the sewer system ever revealed any of the passageways, they were long since eliminated by the construction of the sewer tunnels."
"Then it is possible the sewers could have been constructed in places where a portion of the Catacombs had been," said Modred. "Which would mean that some of the old corridors could run behind the sewer walls."
"Yes, I suppose it's possible," said Piccard.
"Is there any plan of the corridors underneath the city?" Wyrdrune asked.
Piccard shook his head. "There is a plan of the city's sewer system, but no plan of the Catacombs is known to exist. Quite probably, no such plan ever existed. I don't even know of any existing entrance to the Catacombs, since the one used for conducting guided tours was sealed years ago, and we could not get in through there in any case. There was extensive excavation and new construction in that district. I have no idea how we could even get down there, much less explore the hidden corridors."
"Through the sewers," Modred said. "There has to be a way to get into the Catacombs by way of one of the sewer tunnels. Pascal was trying to get back to his dark mistress. And that giant rat we encountered was meant not so much to kill us as
to delay us, so that we could not follow Pascal to the access point from the sewers to the Catacombs!"
"But we don't know for certain that they're down there," Raven said.
"They're down there," Modred insisted. "It would be the perfect place for them. A hiding place sealed off from the city above it, with access to a system of tunnels through which they could gain access to any part of Paris. It fits. They could hide down there for years and never be discovered."
"But even if we could find the point where access to the Catacombs could be gained from the sewers, how could we ever hope to explore the Catacombs themselves?" Piccard asked. "It could take years."
"For you, perhaps," said Modred, "but not for us. Once we were down there, the runestones would show us the way. They would lead us to the Dark Ones."
"But what if you're wrong?" asked Raven. "What if they're not down there? You could get lost inside those corridors and never find your way out again."
"The runestones would lead us out," said Modred.
"Only what if the tunnels should collapse while you're down there?" asked Piccard. "The recent construction above the corridors could well have weakened them. No one has been in the Catacombs for years. For centuries. Your passage through them could well be enough to trigger off a cave-in. You would be buried alive."
"It's a chance we'll simply have to take," said Modred. "We're going to have to go back down into the sewers and find the place Pascal was heading for. Somewhere down there, there has to be an entrance to the Catacombs and we must find it."
Wyrdrune sighed. "I knew he was going to say that. I just got finished washing all that slime off me and now we're going back down there again. Broom gets to go out and enjoy the Paris nightlife while I get to tour the sewers. Some fun this trip is turning out to be."
"You want us to go with you?" asked Piccard.
"No," said Modred. "There's no reason for you to take that risk. You'd be of more value coordinating the police task force with Renaud. The acolytes must be stopped before the Dark Ones can gain enough power to attempt a spell that would bring about mass murder. Get as many people on the streets as you can. Get a map of the city's sewer system, mark off all the access shafts and have patrols keeping an eye on them. Above all, you must stress to the members of the task force the possibility that at least one of the killers could be an adept and they must exercise extreme caution. Have them keep in touch with each other and with the task force headquarters at regular intervals. At the first report of anything suspicious, you must teleport to that location at once. And be prepared for anything."
"But what about you three?" asked Raven. "You'll be down there completely on your own. There's no way that we'll be able to keep in touch with you. Isn't there anything else that we can do to help?"
"Yeah," said Wyrdrune sourly. "You think you could come up with a few wet suits?"
Chapter
NINE
Colette awoke late in the day to a brand-new world, full of possibilities she had never dreamed of in her wildest imagination. She reached across the bed and touched the spot beside her where the sheets were slightly damp and rumpled and there was an indentation in the pillow, as if to reassure herself that it wasn't just a dream. Then she sat up in bed and saw Michel, curled up on the floor with his head on his forepaws. He raised his head and those feral, yellow eyes looked at her with a knowing gaze. He belonged to her now. And she belonged to him. They were kindred spirits. Predators. And together, they both belonged to Leila.
It had been the most incredible night of Colette's life. As usual, it had started off with her being in control. They arrived at her apartment and she helped Leila off with her cloak, then poured them both some wine from a freshly opened bottle of Reisling. They sat together on the couch, making small talk, all the while having a conversation with their eyes and bodies that had nothing to do with what was being said out loud. Colette had done most of the talking. Leila seemed fascinated when she found out what Colette did for a living and she wanted to know what it was like, how it felt to dance naked on a stage in front of men, what she did and how she orchestrated their reactions. She seemed to understand it all instinctively, the sense of power that it gave her, the assurance of being in control, and she wanted to hear all of the details. She asked her which moves the customers found sexiest and Colette wound up putting on some music, changing into one of her revealing dancing outfits and giving her a demonstration, slowly stripping down by stages in time to the music, all the while wondering what Leila looked like with her clothes off. The eye contact between them was electric.
Leila watched her with a smile as she demonstrated the moves she used up on the stage, clapping her hands and laughing with delight at her most blatant and effective poses, giggling throatily when Colette stood with her back to her, as she did with the male patrons at the club, and then bent over to look at her between her legs, slowly running her fingers up her calves and the inside of her thighs. She flirted with Leila the way she did with the patrons in the club, giving her smoldering "come hither" looks and gently running her fingers through her hair, with her erect nipples mere inches from her face. And when Colette took Leila's hand and guided it to the cleft between her breasts, Leila had not resisted, as Colette had known she wouldn't, and when she led her to the bedroom, Leila had followed silently, allowing her to take control, standing still, her eyes half shut while Colette slowly undressed her and eased her down onto the bed.
She had marveled at Leila's golden, copper-hued skin, at her silky, bright red hair, at the firm tautness of her lissome body, more beautiful even than her own, and at some point while they were making love, she suddenly became aware of the wolf standing at the foot of the bed, its forepaws up on the footboard, watching them intently with its unblinking yellow eyes.
Then, as Colette gasped with disbelief, the wolf sprang up onto the bed and suddenly it was a wolf no longer, but a beautiful, slim and muscular young boy with an expression just as feral as the beast's had been. And Colette, too stunned to react, watched as the two of them coupled with a shocking, fierce brutality, as if they were attacking one another, and then they turned to her and she discovered what it was like to be completely out of control. It was at the same time both terrifying and exciting. Throughout it all, Michel had not said a single word and when it was over, he climbed down out of the bed, curled up on the floor and Colette watched the transformation with a mixture of horror and fascination as he once more became a wolf and went to sleep. And she had felt Leila's lips softly brush her ear and heard her whisper, "He's yours, now. And you are mine."
And then Leila had gently turned Colette's face toward hers and kissed her deeply, her hand cupping the back of Colette's head, pressing her close, and Colette suddenly felt herself receding, as if she were falling, spinning crazily down into some bottomless abyss. She felt herself filled with Leila's presence, like cold fire seeping through her bones, forming burning ice crystals deep inside her mind.
Vivid images came flooding into her, filling her with sights, sounds and sensations unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. The tableau of Leila's life enveloped her, becoming part of her experience as if she had lived it all herself.
She stood dressed in flowing robes atop a Mayan pyramid, a heavy, feathered golden crown upon her head, gold rings with precious stones upon her fingers, enchanted amulets around her neck, a dark, obsidian dagger with a golden hilt clutched in her hand as she gazed down at the chanting multitudes below. And then her gaze shifted to the altar she stood over, with the sacrificial victim bound to heavy rings set deep into the stone, a sheen of sweat gleaming brightly on his body, muscles tense and knotted, eyes staring up at her in fear as she slowly brought the knife down and incised the sacred symbols deep into his flesh, intoning the ancient life-absorbing spell that would fill her with his power, then raising the obsidian dagger high in both hands and plunging it down into his heaving chest. . . .
Centuries of death and bloodletting passed before her,
visions of incredible carnage and incalculable power. Spells of astral flight and transformation unfolded in her mind as she hurled her spirit out across vast distances and stalked the jungle in the form of a sleek jaguar, hunting and running down her prey, feeling the warm, sweet taste of blood coursing down her throat. She fell and fell, down through the eons, buffeted by the rushing winds of time, and as she cried out and felt her demon lover slip away from her, she felt rather than heard the whispered promise that all this would now be hers, an eternity of unimagined power, a limitless vista of fulfillment, hers for the taking, hers to share with Leila and to hold forever in the darkness of her soul. And she awoke alone to the harsh glare of daylight streaming through her bedroom window, the enticing smell of Leila on the rumpled sheets and the wolf staring up at her with its knowing, yellow eyes.
"Michel," she said, "come here."
The wolf stood up on human legs and walked over to the bed, his lean and youthful body pale in the morning light, his boyish skin soft and almost hairless, his teeth flashing in a predatory grin, his eyes still with that knowing look. A look that knew no weakness. A look that recognized a fellow beast in human form.
She took his hand and pulled him down onto the bed.
"I still say the risk is now too great." The voice was deep and mellifluent. It spoke softly, but still reverberated slightly in the subterranean stone chamber. "The avatars are here and we have already lost one of our acolytes. What is the point in taking unnecessary chances? The time has come for us to move on."
"I will decide when the times comes for us to leave," said Leila. "If that time should come."
"You have grown far too reckless, Leila."
"And you have grown far too cautious, Azreal. I have already found a replacement for Pascal, one who will not suffer from the pangs of conscience he was given to. One who will be even more bloodthirsty than Michel. Colette will serve us well and bring us all the power we require to move on to the next stage of our plan."
[Wizard of 4th Street 04] - The Wizard of Rue Morgue Page 15