Demons in Disguise: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book Three

by A and E Kirk

  He looked at his hands on my shoulders, fingers digging in hard with his heightened emotions. His eyes lost their wild look, and he released me abruptly, stepping away.

  “My deepest apologies for such unwarranted behavior. It gains us nothing.” He smoothed his hands through his hair then over his blazer. He glanced down for a moment, then caught my gaze again, his expression grim. “You think this is one of my episodes?” He laughed sadly. “If you only knew.”

  That's when, perhaps to prove his point, Cristiano turned away and walked directly into oncoming traffic.

  CHAPTER 101

  We were rocketing at breakneck speed on a manmade missile commonly known as a motorcycle. Or as Doctor Lahey liked to call it, an Organ Donor. Daddy dearest was not a fan of motorcycles. In fact, I was forbidden to ride them.

  My arms latched around Cristiano’s waist like superglue, my cheek pressed hard between his shoulders, and I pinned my thighs up against the backs of his thighs with every leg muscle I owned, and then some.

  This particularly lethal variety of motor machine was one of those sleek, low slung things made for shattering the sound barrier on empty racetracks, not perilously weaving with reckless disregard for safety through the insanely traffic-congested streets of Paris.

  At night.

  I wasn’t even wearing a helmet. Heck, I’m not sure I’d have felt safe wearing steel-plated body armor!

  When Cristiano had calmly walked into traffic, I’d screamed and turned away, so I still didn’t know how he’d commandeered this deathtrap. I just heard horns blare, the screech of metal and tires, and smelled burnt rubber. When I turned around, some poor guy wearing a helmet and appropriate leather attire—lucky—was spinning out on the sidewalk cursing up a storm, while Cristiano was already straddling the bike, revving the engine, and telling me to hop on behind him.

  Which I did. I must have been insane. He certainly was.

  The City of Light was beautiful, especially at night, although that assessment was more of an impression because at this speed details were hard to lock onto. Old buildings with amazing architecture blurred past us. I knew I recognized some of them as famous, but we went by too fast for my terror-rattled brain to put a name to any of them. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower kept flashing with white sparkly lights. So pretty.

  I peeked over his shoulder as he swung into the wrong lane, again, playing chicken with a semi-truck and nearly giving me another heart attack before swinging back into the correct lane.

  Whew.

  But then we approached a bridge where traffic was bumper-to-bumper. He hit the brakes and jerked the handlebars. I held on tighter, felt his muscles clench and twist. The back wheel spun out and burned smoke-intense rubber before we raced forward and launched blindly into the air, seemingly forever.

  I didn’t think I could hold him any tighter, but I tried.

  Eyes closed, I braced for a crash landing. We landed, but didn’t crash, although it was a painful jolt, and then we continued down a set of stairs, a bone-rattling bumpy trip until we made it to the bottom and were riding smoothly along the banks of the River Seine.

  Good Lord.

  At least it was quieter down here, except for the roar of the engine and the people out for an evening stroll who yelped and jumped out of our way, then behind us screamed what I imagined were rather unpleasant remarks.

  SacrP bleu!

  A brightly lit boat glided along the river’s smooth surface. It was one of those long ones used for dinner cruises. Lively Parisian music drifted across the water. On the decks, some people sat at tables while others danced. Yes, that was how one was supposed to enjoy Paris. I was just hoping to survive it.

  Current prognosis? Less than iffy.

  We raced up a ramp and were back weaving in and out of traffic when I heard the first sirens. Shortly after that, blue lights flashed behind us. I snuck a look and sure enough, we were now the focus of a highspeed chase by the Paris police. More and more squad cars joined in the fun until we had quite the entourage of law enforcement.

  “Cristiano?” I said fearfully.

  “I am on it,” he said, and a moment later was talking on his cell phone.

  Steering with only one hand? Like this wasn’t dangerous enough!

  “Give me that!” I yelled. “And keep driving!” I grabbed the phone from him and held it to his ear.

  I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but in less than a minute, the sirens and lights behind us turned off, and one by one the police vehicles peeled away until there were none in sight. Cristiano took the phone from my hand and put it away.

  “You did that?” I said.

  He just shrugged.

  We shot through some iron gates and into a park. Foliage, flowers, and fountains zipped by in a dark haze. More pedestrians yelled at us, a mime shook his fist in our direction, but only seconds ticked by before we were racing down a narrow lane, high walls on both sides, no people, no lights. But our headlamp, for which I was greatly thankful, now shone brightly on a fast approaching dead end.

  Cristiano reached back and wrapped one arm around me, down-shifted with a sudden jerk, then stepped off, taking me with him, and let the motorcycle keep going. It barreled upright for several seconds before swaying drunkenly, then skidded, flipped, and crashed into the dense hedge lining the wall ahead of us amid a flurry of shredded shrubbery and broken metal. Then, for good measure, the bike exploded, the blast lighting the night sky.

  “Aurora?” Cristiano said after standing for a quiet moment. “It will be easier to proceed to our destination if you release me.”

  I was latched onto his back like a baby koala. My arms still had a deathgrip on his torso and now my legs were completely wrapped around his waist. I was shaking violently and finding it hard to let go. When I did, I wobbled, and when he tried to offer support, I thumped him with my fists. Hard.

  “What the heck was that?!” I nearly fell over again, but he refrained from offering further assistance.

  He glanced at his watch, looking pleased. “A new record.”

  The burning motorcycle crackled amid a strong smell of smoke. Surrounding greenery caught fire, flaming bits floating down to the ground.

  I gazed around at the disastrous scene flickering in angry orange light. “What is happening?”

  “The headquarters is on emergency lockdown,” he said, sounding like he was in tutor-mode. “But I know of a back way in.”

  “Through here?” My arms swung around. “There’s nothing here! It’s a dead end!”

  Cristiano inhaled deeply, then took my hands in his and looked me in the eyes. Speaking softly, with patience and confidence, he said, “Aurora, through your incredible powers you have made the impossible happen and delivered us here in time. But now we are on my turf. This is what I do. Let me work. Let me help you save the Hex Boys.”

  It took a moment.

  Or two.

  But my shaking finally subsided. My breathing returned to normal. I huffed out a long breath, then took my hands away from his comforting touch to smooth my palms over my skull and let them cradle the back of my head.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re right. So what do we do now?”

  His smile was more than a little scary. “Now we join the dead.”

  CHAPTER 102

  Of course Cristiano didn’t explain further. He just started moving and expected me to follow.

  I did. We had so little time.

  Hidden behind a hedge was an old wooden door built into the wall. It was locked, but Cristiano busted it open with one kick, and after crossing a busy street, we found ourselves in a massive courtyard surrounded on three sides by a magnificent palace. In the center, lit up bright, was a glass pyramid.

  “The Louvre Museum?” I said with a mixture of awe and skepticism. “That’s where the Mandatum Headquarters is?”

  “No,” he said. “At least not the main one where we are going.”

  Oh, not the main one.

  Then
we were running again, through crowds of people, into the entrance at the glass pyramid and down a spiral staircase. Cristiano flashed some sort of badge to a security guard and said a few words in French. The guard nodded then spoke into his radio, and off we went again, across shiny floors, down more stairs, passing incredible and ancient art, but having no time to appreciate it.

  Another security guard was waiting for us and opened a door with a big red sign on it that read, “Danger! Ne Pas Entrer!” which even I could translate into, “Don’t come in here, you idiots!” So, of course, we went in, entering a barren corridor. A moment later, Cristiano lifted up a large, round piece of the floor, similar to a manhole cover.

  “The dead await,” he said, then leapt down into the darkness and lit an actual torch.

  The firelight allowed me to see a set of metal rungs, which I scurried down. When my feet touched dirt, Cristiano handed me my own torch.

  I lifted it high and saw dead people. Lots and lots of dead people.

  CHAPTER 103

  As I followed Cristiano racing ahead of me, the flickering light flowed over the millions and zillions of bones lining the walls. I shivered.

  “You sure you know where you’re going?” I said. “I’ve heard people get lost down here.”

  “Do not worry,” he said. “As I child, I spent many hours here exploring my way through the dark in the Empire of the Dead, learning the different paths.”

  “As a kid?” I said. “You scamp. Your mama must have been furious when she found out.”

  “No. She is the one who sent me in here on training exercises.”

  Another crazy Mandatum parent.

  The Paris Catacombs run for miles under the city, housing the skeletal remains of centuries of the dead. The place smelled earthy and felt clammy, and it was creepy, especially since I’d so recently seen the bodies come to life in the Waiting World, but this place had a quiet beauty to it as well.

  These dead people were long dead people. There was no skin or grossness of any kind, a big improvement for me. The zillions of bones and skulls in the walls were placed in artfully rendered ways.

  Illuminated by our firelight, the human bones glowed with golden warmth rather than cold, stark white. They were positioned in straight lines and curves, various geometric shapes, hearts, crosses. There was order and care taken to position so many dead in their final resting place.

  “There are many now who comb the tunnels for entertainment,” Cristiano said. “An entire sub-culture of individuals, cataphiles as they are called, devoted to exploring the vast underground pathways. It is quite the phenomenon, and something you should feel a kinship with.”

  “How so?”

  “Does it not remind you of Flint’s tunnels at the high school?”

  “No, not a lot of bones for walls there.”

  “Perhaps, but before his assignment to Gossamer Falls, Flint spent much time in Paris visiting his sister. They were rumored to be very close.”

  “Lizzy,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “There is never ‘nothing’ with you, but I will let it pass. As for Flint, the catacombs were his…pet project, I believe is the term.”

  “But Flint couldn’t have built the catacombs.”

  “No, however he did assist in securing their stronger construction. Additionally, he built new tunnels which connected the catacombs to important sites around Paris, as well as to key Mandatum facilities.”

  Just like the tunnels he later built under Gossamer Falls. Son of a gun.

  “The city is now reinforcing many areas of the catacombs as they are proving unstable.”

  We came to a gate made of metal bars that were as thick as my fist and crisscrossed in a weave so tight it was hard to see through. It was closed, padlocked with a heavy chain. Cristiano kept his back to me. The chains rattled as he pulled the gate open. Then, Armani gestured me through, and seconds later he continued down the tunnel. The chain was once again padlocked. I hadn’t seen him use a key. He did the same thing with two more similar gates.

  “How are you doing that?” I finally asked.

  “With the utmost care,” he said. We turned a corner and headed down a corridor where Cristiano pointed out the walls which were only stone, but had a multitude of art and symbols carved into them. “This is one of Flint’s newer tunnels. We are nearing the entrance to the headquarters.”

  And getting closer to the Hex Boys. Finally.

  We came to a door. Cristiano put his hand up for silence, then did some intricate movements with his fingers over several symbols carved on the wall. A piece of the stone opened and Cristiano laid his hand on the glass panel inside.

  Nothing happened. He frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “I am not sure. Please give me a minute.”

  “In the words of Horus, we don’t have a minute.”

  He gave me a look, then studied the panel closer. “A minute, please. I will find a way.”

  I knew my staring wouldn’t help, so I used my raw, nervous energy to pace up and down the hall. The fact that I’d spent hours upon hours in the Gossamer Falls tunnels actively searching for the double-spirals probably explained why when the light from my torch caught the same familiar shape subtly carved in the stone, I recognized it immediately. And gasped.

  “What is wrong?” Cristiano asked sharply.

  “Nothing. Can you open it? We need to open it!”

  “The emergency lockdown has closed off all entrances, even to those with clearance or an override code. It will not open for me willingly so—”

  “So break it down like you break everything else!”

  He took a breath. “I will do that, but there is a chance it may sound an alarm and then our presence will be announced. So once I get us through this door we will have to move quickly and decisively, and hope that it does not spur Renard to do something rash.”

  “You mean like kill the Hex Boys immediately. Great, just great.” I was back to pacing the hallway.

  “Are you ready?”

  I gritted my teeth. I so didn’t like this, but… “Yeah. Do it.”

  “We will go on three.” He gave me a solemn nod and turned to the panel.

  We had to take the risk, right?

  “One…”

  If we didn’t, they were dead anyway.

  “…two…”

  So much for being the great Divinicus Nex. Whoop-de-freaking-doo. What was the point of having amazing powers when those amazing powers couldn’t do diddly to save your friends? The firelight shone on the wall and highlighted the double-spiral, that stupid symbol for the, in reality, not-so-great Divinicus Nex. The stupid symbol which—

  Cristiano glanced over his shoulder. “…th—”

  “Wait!” I screamed. “Hold this!”

  Cristiano turned and easily caught the torch I threw. I knew he would, but it also kept his eyes averted from me and put me in the dark as I slapped my hand over the double-spiral. The tunnel shook and rumbled with a tremendous noise.

  For an instant I felt brilliant, empowered, confident. I'd just solved a puzzle that had thwarted the great and powerful Cristiano Cacciatori.

  But things didn’t go quite as I'd hoped.

  CHAPTER 104

  I'd hoped that my touching the spiral would open the door Cristiano was going to break through, thereby not setting off the alarms. What happened was that on the wall opposite me a tall, rectangular slab of stone slid away revealing an open doorway.

  Cristiano walked over and stood next to me. Shoulder-to-shoulder, he glanced down at me then at the opening. “What did you do?”

  “Who said it was me?”

  “Please. Do not insult my intelligence.”

  “Did the alarms go off?”

  “No.”

  “Then I found us a way in. Let’s go.” I jumped forward and slammed into Cristiano’s arm which had dropped in front of me like a cinder block.


  “Not until I determine that it is safe.” Cristiano stepped forward and leaned his head into the dark opening.

  As soon as he did, I heard a familiar ca-chunking and the space inside glowed with a warm yellow light as Flint’s lamps sprang to life. I ducked past Cristiano and took off down the newly-opened tunnel.

  He followed with an aggravated sigh. “You do not even know which way to go.”

  “Yes I do,” I said. “Because this is my turf.”

  I followed the lights as they turned on through a path that took us up several flights of stairs. We finally came to a door. I reached to turn the knob, but Cristiano nudged me aside and went in first. It was a small room lined with old wooden shelves. The place was empty. On this side, the entry we had come through looked like a wall. No sign of a door. When we went out another regular door, we were at the end of a sterile looking hallway.

  “Are we in?” I asked.

  “We are in.” Cristiano checked his watch. “And we still retain almost fifteen minutes before the ceremony. Would you like to still lead the way or—”

  “No, no. My turf ended as soon as we came through that door.”

  Cristiano led us to an elevator—thank goodness, because I was beat—and we began our ascent. Some light jazz droned softly. My panting slowed to normal breathing while I tapped my toe in a nervous rhythm. Cristiano held out his arms, looking at his clothing

  “Something wrong?” I said, chewing on a fingernail.

  He sighed. “I rather miss the costume.”

  I stopped chewing and tapping and ran a hand over my waist, frowning. “Me too.” It’d be nice to have a few daggers at the ready.

  “I will leave you someplace safe to rest while I find the Hex Boys and convey them to you.”

  I crossed my arms, toe tapping a frantic rhythm again. “No way. Have you being paying attention?”

  Cristiano pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was worth an attempt,” he said tiredly. “So, as an alternative strategy, we will employ the nearest computer to pinpoint the Hex Boys’ location using the Mandatum trackers they wear. Speak to no one. We must remain invisible and not tip off Renard.”