Seduction

by Molly Cochran

  All? Who did she mean by all? My eyes slid toward Jacques, who was groping his way toward Joelle’s face again.

  “We shall show you the sights of Paris!” she exclaimed. “You can see Belmondo again, yes?”

  “Belmondo’s going to come?”

  “Of course!” she chirped. “Belmondo, others . . .” She looked over her shoulder at Jacques. “You will make many friends, okay? I will arrange everything.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said just as Belmondo finished playing. So I’d missed the end of his gig.

  It was all downhill after that. Jacques kept groping Joelle, Joelle flirted with Belmondo, and I was getting really tired. When I checked the time, it was nearly two in the morning, and I was tired from cooking all day.

  “I think I’d better take you home,” Belmondo said. I nodded. Joelle wanted to come with us, but he put her off.

  “You were really good,” I told him in the car, which was, by the way, a sea-green Jaguar.

  He smiled like it didn’t matter that he was a brilliant guitarist and a world-class singer.

  “How long have you been playing?”

  “A long time,” he said.

  “Belmondo?”

  “Yes, Katarine?”

  I liked how that sounded. “Are you . . . are you our landlord?”

  He laughed out loud. “I suppose,” he said, pulling up on the street in front of the house. “My family has owned this building for the past several hundred years.”

  “Several hundred?”

  He shrugged. “Europe is ancient,” he said, his voice drawing me closer. “Our culture is ancient. Our souls are ancient.”

  “Er . . . okay.” I cleared my throat. It was very hard to be so close to him. “But there was one other thing—” I began.

  “Yes,” he said, taking my hand. “Always for you, my answer is yes.”

  I was going to ask him what his first (or last) name was, but at that moment I saw Peter climbing the front steps to the house. “I’d better go,” I said, suddenly nervous. Belmondo and I weren’t doing anything wrong, but I still felt as if I were betraying Peter.

  “I’ll drive you to the door,” he said.

  “No!” I looked back at Peter. “That is, I’ll walk.”

  Belmondo knew what was going on. He sighed. “Do you love him?”

  I swallowed. “Yes,” I said hoarsely. “I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t.” He started to get out of the car, but I stopped him. “Just let me go,” I said.

  He nodded reluctantly as I sprang open the door and ran after Peter. Halfway across the courtyard, though, I turned around and looked back at Belmondo. He was standing outside the car, his head bowed.

  I forced myself to turn away. Tonight didn’t mean anything, I told myself.

  Over and over.

  CHAPTER

  •

  THIRTEEN

  “Peter!” I shouted as I sprinted up the marble steps. “Wait up!”

  He turned around in time to see Belmondo’s Jag speed down the street. “Who’s that?”

  I ignored him. “Where’ve you been?” I demanded.

  He smiled crookedly. “Brussels,” he said. “Can you believe it?” He stuck his key in the door. “There’s a trucking company—”

  “Why didn’t you come to my dinner?”

  “What? What dinner?”

  “Sophie said you’d be there,” I said as he pushed the heavy door open. Brazilian samba music was playing, nearly drowned out by the voices of people who’d had too much to drink.

  Peter closed the door again so the two of us were alone outside. “She didn’t tell me anything,” he said. “Not that I could have come anyway.”

  “Right,” I said abstractedly. I tried to remember exactly what Sophie had said. Peter should see your talent. Yes, that was it. She hadn’t said he’d attend the dinner; only that he should. Very clever.

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “Did you cook?”

  I nodded, trying not to show how humiliated I felt.

  “Was it good?” he asked softly.

  I nodded again.

  He pulled me close to him and held me. At first I just stood there with my hands hanging at my sides, but after a couple of minutes I put my arms around him, too.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Not your fault.”

  The moon was young and thin as a fingernail paring. I could feel Peter’s heart beating.

  “We’re good, then?”

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  “Who was that guy?”

  I felt as if a jolt of electricity shot through me. My throat suddenly went so dry that I couldn’t speak, so I just shrugged.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asked. There was an edge to his voice.

  I pushed open the door again and went inside, my heart thumping with guilt.

  Jeremiah and Sophie and some others were standing in the foyer. “Peter, darling!” Sophie called, brushing past me to kiss Peter on both cheeks.

  He was blushing fiercely. I didn’t know if that was because of Sophie’s attentions or his anger with me.

  “I’m glad the two of you were able to get together,” she said, smiling at me. “Jeremiah told me that he and Peter would be out of town until late tonight, but I forgot all about it, silly goose that I am.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You did it on purpose,” I seethed between clenched teeth.

  Sophie batted her eyelashes at me. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said sweetly. “You certainly didn’t seem very distressed when you left with Belmondo.”

  I felt Peter’s gaze locking onto me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Are you feeling well, dear?” Sophie asked, digging her barb in even deeper. “Perhaps it’s past your bedtime.”

  Without another word, I pushed past her and headed toward the stairs leading to my bedroom.

  “Oh, Katy!” Joelle had just come in. “Don’t forget about tomorrow!” she called after me.

  CHAPTER

  •

  FOURTEEN

  “Shall we go?” Joelle asked the next afternoon. The others she’d invited on our outing murmured and rose. Annabelle, dressed in a sky-blue silk blouse and red polka-dot shorts, stretched languorously, unfolding her lanky frame from the antique chair where she was sitting. Her boyfriend, Rémy, and Jacques, hovering protectively over Joelle, headed for the door. “Well, come on.” She was talking to me.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. Talk about awkward. After the confusing events of yesterday, the last thing I felt like doing was trolling around the streets of Paris with Joelle and her friends. Belmondo hadn’t even shown up, which I supposed was a good thing, after the uncomfortable rift his presence had caused between Peter and me. I didn’t know why I’d agreed to this sightseeing tour in the first place. Now here I was, tagging along with two couples I barely knew and didn’t much like. “I think I’ll just—”

  “Of course you’ll come,” she said, showing me feral teeth. “We’re doing this for you, Katarine,” she said, using Belmondo’s name for me.

  The four of them practically dragged me to Joelle’s Peugeot, which she drove as if it were a ride in an amusement park. “You must see our beautiful city!” she shouted as the Peugeot screeched around a corner on two wheels. “At least the most interesting part.”

  “Which . . .” I swallowed. “Which part is that?” I asked, hoping with all my heart that her answer would be here.

  To my amazement, it was. In another second, she pulled the car over near one of the ancient bridges that cross the Seine, and everyone climbed out.

  “Why, the sewers, of course.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “You’re going to . . . the sewers?”

  “Yes!” Annabelle shouted as she ran toward the street. “Come on, it’s wonderful fun!”

  I’d read about the tour through the Paris sewers and, frankly, it didn’t seem that fascinating to me, especially since the guide books all
warned about the long lines to get in. I looked around. There was no one. “Are you sure this is the place?” I asked.

  “The tourist entrance is in the fourteenth arrondisement,” Joelle said knowledgeably. “But we’re going another way. It’ll be fun.”

  The four of them ran giggling like schoolchildren through the streets until they came to an old bridge. Beside it were steps leading down to a wide sidewalk running parallel to the river.

  “Hurry up!” Joelle called, waving us forward like a general commanding her troops. She leaped over the guardrail, high heels and all, and raced down the embankment into some dusty weeds. Whooping and shouting, the others followed her as she ran toward the underside of the bridge and, presumably, the secret entrance to the sought-after sewers.

  I had my doubts—walking though the bowels of a thousand-year-old city hadn’t exactly been on my bucket list—but if Jacques wasn’t worried about his eight-hundred-dollar loafers, I guessed my Converse high tops were safe.

  Once we were under the bridge, Joelle looked around furtively before summoning the rest of us to the far corner where, after our eyes got used to the darkness, we were able to see a door of sorts. That is, it was a slab of stone covered in vines that resembled a door, except there was no knob or knocker.

  “Well, go on, move it!” Joelle hissed. The two men jumped to comply, grunting as they slowly slid the slab of ancient stone far enough to reveal an opening.

  “How do you know about this place?” Annabelle asked, waving her long fingernails in front of her in case of spiderwebs.

  “Belmondo showed me.” Joelle turned toward me. “He’s full of surprises.” She batted her eyelashes.

  I was glad it was dark in there, so she didn’t see me blushing. To tell the truth, though, I wasn’t thinking about Belmondo at all at that point. I just had a creepy feeling about this place, and couldn’t wait for Joelle and her friends to get their fill of it.

  “The sewers are that way,” she whispered in my ear. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Twenty feet in, it was impossible to see anything. I wished I had someone to hold on to, but I wasn’t about to show these people how afraid I was.

  “I think we turn right here.” Her voice was farther away now.

  “Where?” I asked, nearly shouting.

  “Right about where you are,” Joelle said helpfully. “Put your hand on the wall and follow it.”

  That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I guessed she had a point. My hand might encounter something disgusting, but at least I wouldn’t get lost.

  Or I thought I wouldn’t, until I reached a crease in the wall. It wasn’t an angle, exactly, but a turn of some kind. I followed it for a time before realizing that I wasn’t hearing the others any longer.

  “Joelle?” I called experimentally. “Joelle? Hello, anyone?”

  There was no answer.

  Breathing hard, trying not to panic, I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the house key Marie-Therèse had given me the day after I’d moved in. Attached to it was a little rubber pig I’d bought at a junk store on the way home from school. On top of the pig’s head was a metal button that turned on a light when pressed. Unfortunately, it also made a loud oinking sound, which filled the cavernous stone tunnel where I was walking.

  The thin beam of light didn’t show me much—only that I was standing in a virtual spiderweb of intersecting passageways. God only knew how many times I’d turned without knowing it. And where I’d become separated from the others.

  “Joelle?” I called again, hearing the note of fear in my voice. There was no response. “If this is some kind of joke, please stop,” I pleaded.

  But I had to face it. They’d left me. I was all alone.

  “Okay,” I breathed, trying to pull myself together. “You got here by following the right wall, so you can get back by following the left wall, right?” I aimed my beam at the other side of the walkway. It oinked as I crossed a swampy, wet stream to make my way there. Despite the silly noise, I kept the beam trained ahead of me as the tunnel bent and twisted and then headed downhill. Before I knew it, I’d wandered into a section where there was no light at all except for the feeble glow of my pig light with its accompanying grunting.

  “Oh, man,” I moaned. None of this looked familiar. Granted, there hadn’t been enough light to really look at the tunnel since I’d entered it, but I knew it never went in the strange directions I was headed now. Still, I didn’t know what else to do, so I kept walking, allowing the oinking of the rubber pig to soothe me into a state of optimistic denial.

  And then three things happened. One was that it occurred to me—duh—that I should have followed the right wall back, since that was the wall that had led me into the sewers. Instead, I’d stupidly crossed to the other side and gone down a whole series of new passageways. I couldn’t have found my way back now if I’d had a map.

  Oink, oink, oink. The second thing was that the light from my keychain was getting dimmer by the second. I guess the flashlight built into a two-inch rubber pig hadn’t been meant for long-term use. Dimmer . . . dim . . . out.

  Oink.

  And then the third thing: Just before the faint light oinked out into total blackness, I saw a gaping hole in the ground right in front of my feet. A second later, I was falling into it, screaming.

  • • •

  I landed hard on my rear, but, aside from having the breath knocked out of me, I didn’t seem any the worse for wear. The problem was the darkness. If I’d thought it had been dark before, this was a whole new dimension of darkness. I tried holding my hand in front of my face. I couldn’t see it.

  “Oh, boy,” I said out loud.

  I didn’t know how far I’d fallen, but I knew I was at a whole different level from where I’d been before. And where had that been? The sewer? Could I somehow have fallen into a place beneath the sewer?

  Keep it together, I told myself. It wasn’t all bad. I was still in one piece.

  That was the only thing that wasn’t bad. I’d lost my keys, along with the pig flashlight.

  But you’re a telekinetic, I told myself. Yes. Yes. I could summon my keys back to me.

  “Pig!” I shouted, and I heard a whizzing sound and a single loud oink! as the light illuminated the keys that had struck the sound button as they flew. I reached up and grabbed them before they sailed past. There are relatively few times in life when my particular talent comes in handy, but this was one of them.

  I pressed the button on the pig’s head. Nothing happened. I’d been lucky. Without the tiny amount of reserve power in the pig, the keys would have zinged past me in the dark and been lost forever.

  On all fours, I swept the ground around me. Since I had no idea which direction I should go, I just started crawling, hoping that sooner or later I’d run into a wall that I could follow.

  I’d traveled about four feet when I encountered something that felt like sticks. One dug painfully into the heel of my hand; another was under my knee. They were suddenly everywhere, as if I’d crawled into some underground forest. I explored one of the sticks with my fingers: it was smooth and dry, with knobs on both ends. Another was flat and curved; yet another was spiny. Finally I picked up one that wasn’t a stick at all, but sort of globe-shaped, and I started to get nervous. Flicking obsessively at the light on my keychain, I finally elicited a faint sound from the pig that sounded more like a moan than an oink, accompanied by a very brief beam of light, which I aimed at the object in my hand.

  It was a skull. And the sticks all around me were bones. Human bones.

  With a shriek, I dropped it and scrambled away. That is, I thought I was moving away until I crashed into a mountain of bones that cascaded over my body until I was buried neck-deep in them.

  I’d read about—and even seen photographs of—the catacombs, the big underground ossuary on the outskirts of the city that had been a tourist attraction since the late 1800s, but that was more or less an art exhibit, well lit, organized, and ove
rseen by a staff of docents and historians. It wasn’t anything like this random pile of decomposed dead people.

  Whimpering, I waded through them, squeezing my pig light for all I was worth, hoping it had one or two more seconds of battery life left. Occasionally it emitted a tiny grunt and an increasingly feeble light showed me that I was slowly moving away from the weird repository of bones, until finally I had to admit defeat. The light was gone for good. And I was in the middle of a pitch-black tunnel somewhere in the bowels of Paris, with no idea how to get out.

  Sitting down, I picked a bone out of my hair and sobbed, even though a part of my brain was rolling its brain-eyes and telling me to grow up. Enjoying our tantrum, are we? Katy Brain asked.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I yelled.

  How about . . . anything, suggested Katy Brain with her usual sarcasm. Like maybe try to find your way out of here, if I may be so bold.

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered.

  Actually, you could follow that light.

  “Light?” I craned my neck in all directions. “I don’t see . . .” But wait, I did see. When I moved my head to the extreme left and squinted, the darkness wasn’t quite as dark. Carefully, I began to move toward that place, wherever it was, more on instinct than vision, feeling the air around me lighten.

  And I was right. After a few minutes I could actually see something like a curving wall overhead. I was in a tunnel, a second tunnel below the tunnel of the sewers. My ears popped. I was heading down still farther. And yet the tunnel continued to get infinitesimally brighter.

  I stood up to my full height and saw my breath steaming in the cold air. I felt the skin of my legs stand up in gooseflesh. The tunnel veered off to the right, and the walls grew brighter. Light. There was definitely light ahead. I began to run.

  And then I stopped in my tracks, feeling my heart jump into my throat.

  There was something in the light. Something that stood on two feet like a man, but was bent over and covered with hair and making sounds like a wild beast.