by A W Hartoin
Dad left the room in the direction that Mom went and Bentha marched over to take his place. He helped me to my feet. I lurched to the side when my injured foot touched the ground. I had a huge bandage on it. That had to come off. It weighed more than my entire leg.
“My lady is revealed,” said Bentha as he steadied me.
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“Were you not? You told them all about the battle with the horen in the mall then?”
I slipped my hand in his. The long fingers wrapped around and touched my wrist. “I miss Daiki. He would know what to say to them.”
“Daiki is a warrior like me. I doubt his opinion would be any more comforting than mine.”
“You talked to Dad about me?” I asked.
“He asked. I answered.”
“What did you say?”
“That your nature cannot be restrained. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”
“Why is it so hard? I’m just me.”
“They did not know what my lady is capable of. Time will soothe the shock. And now we must go,” said Bentha.
I nodded, but said, “Mom will freak out if I leave before she thinks it over or whatever.”
“No doubt she will, but greatness cannot be contained. I should know. To breakfast and the catacombs and more greatness.”
“I have to get my foot out of this wrap. It weighs a ton.”
Bentha sat me down and helped unwrap the bulky bandage. Whoever did it used twice the linen needed. I pulled away the last layer and found my foot up to my knee encased in a thick brown linseed poultice, except it hadn’t stayed moist even under all those bandages. It was hard and dry, like a cast for a broken leg.
“Odd,” said Bentha as he knocked on my hard leg. It made a hollow sound.
“We’ll have to break it,” I said.
“Indeed.” Bentha unsheathed his sword and struck my leg with the pommel with a sharp blow. It made the smallest of dents.
“Wow. That is pretty hard,” I said.
“I shall try again.” Bentha raised his sword, but Lrag rolled over and raised his hand.
“No, you don’t,” the teufel rumbled.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You’re alright.”
“I’m pink. Alright isn’t the word for it.”
“You’re more a dusty rose. It’s not so bad,” I said.
“Would you want to be a pink devil troll? I’ll never live it down,” said Lrag, poking at the foam on his chest.
“I was yellow after the horen got me. At least you aren’t the color of mucus.”
Lrag laughed, a rumbling sound that shook the sill. It was the only fairy laugh I’d ever truly heard and I loved it.
Bentha shook Lrag’s hand. “Welcome back, my friend. You have been sorely missed.”
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Very tired.” He poked the pink again. “Please tell me what this stuff is.”
“Matilda’s rejuvenation spell. She’s shockingly good at making it,” said Bentha.
He told Lrag about the phalanx spell that nearly caused him to bleed out and then my spell gone wrong, complete with a very descriptive section on Mom brushing Lucrece’s teeth. Lrag laughed again and yawned so wide I thought his jaw would crack.
“Lay back,” I said. “You need to rest.”
He took my hand in his big rosy one and kissed it. “Thank you, Matilda. You’ve saved me twice.”
“You saved me and Iris with that yelling thing you did at Notre Dame. That was something.”
“I hate to use that weapon. It doesn’t discriminate.” He took my casted leg and wrapped his fingers around it. “Let me help you get this off.”
Lrag squeezed and I felt a snapping crack. He yawned again and Bentha pushed him back onto his pallet. I think he was asleep before his horns hit the pillow. Bentha stuck his skinny fingers in the crack down the center of the brown linseed cast and pried it open. I yelped as it pulled on my skin.
“It’s stuck,” said Bentha.
“See if you can crumble it,” I said.
Bentha put his weight on the remains of the cast that he couldn’t get off my ankle. It crumbled and a glowing yellow crust was left behind.
“An unexpected development,” said Bentha.
“The brown linseed didn’t do that,” I said.
Bentha sniffed the crust; his painted nose nearly touched the sickly looking stuff. “Horen poison. The venom still resides within my lady.”
“I don’t see how. I was nearly healed before we got here.”
“The evidence says different. We will ask Lucien how this happened. How does it feel?”
“Really good. The best it’s felt since we got to Paris.”
“There could be a connection,” said Bentha.
“You think Paris made my leg worse? That seems unlikely.”
“There is much to learn, perhaps the vermillion can tell you.”
Bentha got some water and we washed away the crust. The holes in my ankle that opened up when we came to Paris had closed, leaving only angry red welts. I wrapped it in a light bandage and checked Miss Penrose. Mom had done a good job and she was as good as she was going to get without the cure. I packed a bag for the trip to the catacombs and flew to the kitchen.
Evan sat at the table hunched over a tiny espresso cup. He wore a new blue suit and tie. He would’ve looked great if it weren’t for the pouches under his eyes that were bigger than tea bags.
“I can’t believe I have to go to work feeling like this. First impressions count,” he said.
Marie bustled in and replaced his cup with a fresh one. “Other things are equally important.”
“Like what?”
“Who you know, for instance.” Marie winked at me.
“I don’t know anyone here. I don’t even know how I got this job,” said Evan.
Judd ran in and skidded to a halt in front of his father. “I checked every hole. It’s all gone.”
“What’s gone?” said Evan, blinking extremely red eyes.
“The poison we put in the rat holes. Totally gone.”
Evan dropped his head to the tabletop and started banging it. “I’ll never sleep again. We have to move.”
Marie grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him back. “Stop that. I’ll call an exterminator and we’ll have this taken care of today. Eat your brioche.”
Judd took a brioche and said through mouthfuls, “I’m going to check the bedrooms with a little mirror. Maybe I can see inside the holes.”
Evan nodded and bit a pastry and so did I. The brioche was delicious, especially the apricot filling. Bentha climbed onto the table and ate his fill, which wasn’t much. When we finished, I wrapped up some to take with us to the catacombs. Bentha packed nothing except his sword. He never did. He practiced his moves around the sugar bowl and I watched for signs his third heart wasn’t up to the trip.
“You watch me, my lady. Impressed by my gallantry, superior technique, general awesomeness?”
“Always, but are you sure you’re up to this? You just had an arrow in the heart.”
“My third heart has recovered fully. Did you detect any signs of weakness?”
“No, but I had to ask,” I said.
“And so you have. To the vermillion and the answer to our quest.”
I flew up and hovered. “How will we stay together?”
“Leave that to me. I’m an expert at moving among humans.”
Iris darted in front of me. “Where are you going? Mom’s crying. Is she crying because you’re going somewhere? I want to go.”
I blinked at the rush of words. Iris must’ve been storing them up while her ears were out of commission. “I don’t think so. Mom said you have to stay here.”
“She always says that. My ears are almost one hundred percent. You need me.”
I did need her, but the picture of Mom’s face came to me. She couldn’t handle it. I had already done so much to upset her. If
I took Iris, there was a real possibility she’d never forgive me. Normally, I would’ve chanced it, but Paris wasn’t the antique mall. There was no Soren Maple waiting in the catacombs to help us. If something happened, Mom couldn’t lose the both of us.
“Not today, Iris,” I said.
She crossed her chubby arms and stuck out her lip. “Why not? You think I’m injured, don’t you?”
“It’s not that.”
“You think I’m fat and slow then.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “I never think that and I do need you, but this time you can help me by staying.”
She tilted her head and her curls bounced around like springs. “How?”
“Mom found out about me.”
“She already knows about your fire. What’s to know?”
“Dad told her I killed people in the Louvre.”
Her cheeks went pink. “He did? What did she say?”
“Not much, but she’s pretty upset. You said she was crying. I need you to stay with her and tell her I’m not evil or whatever.”
“She knows that. Everyone knows that,” said Iris.
“What I can do, what I’ve done is news to her. She doesn’t know the whole story. I want you to tell her everything starting with the first battle with the spriggans.”
“What about the stuff with Horc’s uncle? She won’t like that you almost fried him.”
“Tell her everything. Tell her I did it to get Easy back before they sold him. She can’t understand until she knows everything. Will you stay?”
My sister looked at Bentha. “You’ll hear for her, won’t you?”
Bentha bowed.
“I’ll do it. Please be safe,” said Iris.
I hugged her. “I won’t go looking for trouble.”
“You don’t have to. Remember, disaster’s your middle name.”
“I prefer Grace.”
Iris giggled. “You don’t get to choose.” And she flew through the archway toward the bedrooms in search of Mom.
Judd escorted us out of the apartment and building with Bentha riding on his shoulder. He walked us to the metro stop, but stopped short of buying a ticket. “I wish I was going.”
Bentha leapt from Judd’s shoulder to a passing human’s and went through the turnstile. I hovered near Judd’s ear and without looking at him said, “We can’t risk it. You’re too precious.”
I darted away to catch up with Bentha as he rode into a metro car on the human’s shoulder. The doors closed and I caught a glimpse of Judd running up the stairs to the street above. It was such an empty feeling watching him go. I had grown attached to my humans. I only hoped my love would never hurt them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WE FOUND THE entrance to the catacombs easy enough. A long line of humans waited in front of a small dark green building next to a larger stone house. The green building had no windows, just arches where windows should’ve been and a door covered in wire mesh.
Bentha danced around on the latest human he was hitching a ride with. “A mausoleum for an entrance. I like it.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what catacombs were, other than underground tunnels. Judd said people hid in them during World War Two, but we hadn’t had a chance to look up more than the location what with my being knocked out for two days. I didn’t like the mausoleum entrance. It didn’t seem like it would lead to anything good.
Bentha had no such reservations. He hopped from shoulder to shoulder until he reached an American couple at the door. He waved me over. “This is the one.”
I flew over and entered the fruity cloud of cologne that surrounded the couple. I landed on the man’s shoulder and sneezed. “Why here?”
“Cushy. Travelers to the depths should be comfortable,” said Bentha bouncing up and down.
The American was pretty porky with a nice layer of fat for us to rest on.
“It’s a good thing he can’t hear you.”
“You think he’d be surprised? He must know.”
Given my recent parental conversations, I had a new point of view. There’s knowing and then really knowing. I sat down and let my wings drape over the man’s shoulder. Bentha sat next to me with his sword in his lap, always ready. The man followed his wife inside and the temperature dropped ten degrees. I should’ve brought a sweater. They looked briefly at a map of the catacombs.
“Do you see the Cemetery of the Innocents sign?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” said Bentha. “The tour is only forty-five minutes. We shall prevail and quickly.”
The couple started down a spiral staircase, jolting Bentha and I with every step. I grabbed hold of the man’s pink polo shirt and held my breath. With every step the feeling of dread pressed heavier and heavier on me. Tingles of fear went down my arms and my palms threatened to erupt.
Bentha touched my hand. “They can’t hurt you or anyone however they might like.”
“Who?” I asked, wincing before he even had a chance to answer.
“The dead. We enter their realm.”
Of course. Cemetery of the Innocents. What an idiot!
“I guess now we know why the vermillion chose to hide here,” I said.
“No place better.”
The couple reached the bottom of the stairs and entered a room with stone walls, a low ceiling, and square columns painted in black and white diamonds. It did not make me feel better and I wasn’t the only one.
“Tell me again why we wanted to take this tour,” said the woman.
“Because it’s cool. How often do you get the chance to see millions of dead people in one place?” said the man.
Millions.
“You think that’s persuasive, but it’s not,” said the woman.
He laughed and pointed at a stone rectangle above a doorway. “There’s the entrance. Do you know what it says?”
“Do I want to?”
“Stop. This is the empire of the dead.”
“Thanks. I needed that,” she said as they walked under the sign.
Like most things in Paris, the catacombs were much worse than I expected. Bones were stacked in neat rows with skulls leering at us side-by-side. They had no jawbones, which somehow made them creepier. My pounding heart calmed in my chest as I got used to the feeling of dread and of not being alone. Tremendously not alone. Bentha seemed to be unaffected. His eyes darted around, looking for our sign, and I wondered how it would feel to have three hearts pounding at once.
“Do you think ghosts could see us, if they exist?” I asked.
“Yes, my lady. I’m certain of it,” said Bentha.
We passed a Cemetery of the Innocents sign, but it was dated 1809.
Like the woman, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know, but I asked, “How are you certain?”
“Because I can see them.”
I used to think I was smart, but that proved the opposite. Only a stupid person would ask for an answer so disturbing.
“When you say see…”
“I mean that I see them. It isn’t unusual for ponderosa and quite well-known. I believe there’s a section on the trait in Gerald’s Speciesapedia.”
“You’ve been seeing ghosts all this time and you never mentioned it. Thanks a lot, Bentha. Now I’m totally freaked.”
“No reason to mention it. I thought you knew. Iris has the book.”
I need to read more.
“And,” said Bentha, “they’re not very interesting.”
“Ghosts aren’t interesting?” I asked.
“They have nothing new to say after a conversation or two. And they truly believe they’re fascinating.”
“This is so disturbing,” I said.
“I can’t see why. You can feel them here. Why is it frightening that I can see them?”
Like my mother, I rather pretend than know for certain, I guess.
We rode along in silence. I had so many questions. Like how many ghosts was he seeing at the moment? Surely not millions. How could he see the signs? When I
couldn’t hold myself back anymore, I asked, “If ghosts are boring and not frightening, why do I feel so awful?”
“Ahhh. Excellent question, my lady. It is because you are a wood fairy and sensitive to danger. It’s one of your better instincts, I must say. Those people who had bad intentions in life retain that aura in death.”
“So there are ghosts here that would like to beat the crap out of us.”
Bentha laughed. “Yes, my lady. But they can’t. You must remember that, and, ccasionally, they can be useful.”
He stood up and waved his sword. “You there. How far to the Cemetery of the Innocents April 1786?” He waited. “Because I asked you.” Another pause. “No, I don’t know Mirabeau and I don’t care to hear about your bedroom activities. April 1786, please.”
Bentha patted my shoulder, oblivious to my look of horror. “It’s around the next bend. Not long now.”
“Great,” I squeaked.
Bentha threw up his hands. “Fine. If you must tell me, go ahead.”
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“A maid from the house of the Comte de Mirabeau. Apparently, he liked her quite a lot.”
The man went around the bend and I saw the sign.
Ossements du
Cimetiere des
Innocents
Deposes en
Avril 1786
“There it is,” I said.
Bentha jumped to his feet and touched his forehead. To the ghost, I presumed.
“Thank you for that colorful description, madam,” said Bentha. “No, I wouldn’t like your recipe for rat soup.”
“Rat soup?” I asked.
“It was lean times during the human revolution.”
“Yuck.”
“At least you didn’t have to hear the rest of what she had to say. Let us attend to business.” Bentha leapt off the man’s shoulder, did a couple of somersaults and landed like he was in the Olympics. I flew over to the wall of bones and hovered as Bentha climbed over the knobby ends of human femurs. He reached the bottom corner of the sign and hung off a bone to look at me.
“Do you see a symbol anywhere?” he asked.
I didn’t, but I was avoiding getting too close.
“My lady, fear not. We are at the end of our search. Your courage must not fail you.”