The Darkness Dwellers

by Kirsten Miller

  “If you tell me what you hope to find, perhaps I can be of assistance,” Phlegyas said.

  “We’re looking for a body,” Marcel said.

  “And what do you plan to do if you discover one?”

  “I’m not sure,” Etienne admitted, glancing over at Betty. “What are we going to do if we find him?”

  “We’ll reunite him with the woman who’s loved him for sixty-five years,” she said.

  “Amelia?” Phlegyas said, taking Betty by surprise. His eyes danced at the sound of the headmistress’s name. “I never dreamed she might still be alive! She must be quite old by now.”

  “How do you know about Amelia?” Betty asked.

  “Come.” Phlegyas rose to his feet and walked to the far edge of the rubble. “You will never get in that way.” He stopped in front of a large rock. “I started visiting the tunnels when I moved to Paris to attend university. One day I stopped here to eat my lunch. I set down my sandwich, and a rat popped out of a hole in the rocks, grabbed my food, and scampered back inside. I wondered if there might be something behind the rubble, so I aimed my flashlight into the hole and discovered a hidden cavity. I tried to find a way inside, but I couldn’t do it alone. So I brought four friends with me the next day. We worked for over a week, until we had created an entrance. When we left, we hid the entrance behind that rock. If you like, we can move it now.”

  A single person could never have budged the boulder. It took the entire group of five to roll the rock just a few feet to one side. When they’d finished, they found themselves peering into a small chamber.

  Dusty surveillance equipment had been arranged on a desk. The old-fashioned black boxes featured a complicated array of knobs, dials, and counters. Wires led from the machines to a small hole bored into the ceiling. Five wooden crates functioned as makeshift filing cabinets. Each was filled with yellow paper that would have disintegrated if touched. Across from the desk, a long wooden box lay positioned against a wall. Draped over it was a piece of black cloth embroidered with the Darkness Dwellers’ logo.

  “When we uncovered the room, we found an Englishman inside. He was half buried under the rubble. He seemed to have perished in some sort of explosion. We freed his bones from the rocks and built a coffin for them. But we left everything else exactly as we found it.”

  “Why did you assume he was English?” Betty asked.

  “There was nothing in the room to identify him. He had a gun in one hand, but his clothes were the hand-stitched rags of a working man. There was a photo of a girl in his pocket. The picture looked to be from the 1940s, around the time of the war. It had been signed on the back, and Amelia is not a common name here. In France, we would call her Amelie. We also found this when we began to move the man’s bones. It must have been with him when he died.” Phlegyas took a Zippo lighter from his pocket and handed it to Betty. Inscribed in the metal was the Darkness Dwellers’ logo and two lines in English:

  THE DARKNESS DWELLERS

  Defending the Bowels of Paris

  “Maybe the man was English. Maybe he was a Frenchman who spoke English. But whatever his nationality, I’ve always felt certain that he died protecting Paris and the catacombs. My friends and I were so inspired by his sacrifice that we started an organization to continue the man’s work. We called ourselves the Darkness Dwellers as a tribute to our anonymous hero.”

  “His name was Gordon Grant,” Marcel said. “And he wasn’t British. He was an American. But other than that, you were right. He gave his life to save Paris.”

  “And Amelia?” Phlegyas asked. “I could tell from the photo that she was a fascinating girl. I’ve been half in love with her for ten whole years.”

  “Would you like to meet her?” Betty asked. “She’s waiting back at our hotel for news. I know she’ll want to thank the man who’s kept Gordon Grant’s grave undisturbed for so many years.”

  “Oh, but he hasn’t lain undisturbed,” Phlegyas said. “Not at all! Monsieur Grant has had hundreds of visitors over the last decade. Whenever the Darkness Dwellers initiate new members, we bring them here so they can pay tribute to our true founder. He is what we all aspire to be.”

  “Back in America, they think Gordon Grant was a traitor,” Betty said. “He was the leader of a small group of spies, and all of them were murdered. When Gordon’s body wasn’t found, they assumed he’d fled Paris with the German army.”

  “Monsieur Grant isn’t the only hero in the catacombs who has been mistakenly labeled a traitor,” Phlegyas noted with his eyes now on Marcel.

  “Me?” Marcel turned to see if there might be a more qualified candidate standing behind him. “I’m not a hero.”

  “You all are,” Phlegyas said. “You and Miss Bent saved untold lives when you captured those bone-stealing fiends in the ossuary. Etienne risked his neck to save a rather unpleasant girl who was lost in the tunnels. And Detective Fitzroy did his best to protect the Darkness Dwellers, despite the fact that he’s never met any of us.”

  “How did you find out about that?” the detective asked.

  “I have my sources,” Phlegyas replied with an enigmatic smile. “You’re all heroes, but only one of you had to fight his own father in order to do the right thing.”

  Marcel blushed and stared at his feet.

  “I heard what you told him,” Phlegyas continued. “You said you hoped to find a family that would want you as a member. I’ve spoken with the other Darkness Dwellers. We would like to be that family.”

  “You’re m-making me a member?” Marcel stammered. “But you never accept anyone under eighteen!”

  “We are happy to make an exception in your case,” Phlegyas said.

  Betty was about to squeal with delight when she saw the boy shaking his head vigorously. “No,” Marcel said. “I can’t join without Etienne. If it hadn’t been for him, I would never have made it into the catacombs. I’ll wait until we’re both old enough to be Darkness Dwellers.”

  “I was hoping you would say that,” Phlegyas said. “We would like to extend an invitation to both of you. And to Detective Fitzroy. Miss Bent would make a wonderful addition as well, but I believe she may have another city to protect.”

  “Thank you, though,” Betty said. “I’m honored.”

  “You’re very welcome. Three new members in a single day! We must celebrate! But first, Miss Bent, when will you introduce me to the woman I’ve been waiting a decade to meet?”

  Chapter 39

  The Metamorphosis

  PARIS: MONDAY, FEBRUARY 23

  Good manners must be mastered in one’s youth. By a certain age, bad habits become impossible to eliminate. In my experience, teaching a grown woman to behave like a lady is like casting a pig in the role of a princess. You can put a diamond tiara on the animal’s head, but you’ll never fool your audience. Once we reach adulthood, we are who we are. For better or worse, there is simply no going back.

  —Amelia Beauregard, Savoir Faire

  Not long after the events I’ve described, the secondhand-book world found itself in a frenzy. An anonymous collector was offering five hundred dollars for copies of a common etiquette manual. Most thought the offer seemed too good to be true, but after thousands of books had been bought and paid for, a New York journalist decided to investigate.

  He identified the mysterious collector as none other than Amelia Beauregard. She was determined to purchase and destroy every last copy of her very own masterwork, Savoir Faire. When questioned, Madame Beauregard was unusually blunt. She told the reporter that she’d discovered that her manual contained information that was both unreliable and dangerous. Asked to be more specific, she identified several passages, including the one I’ve copied above.

  “I was eighty-four years old when I became a new person,” Amelia Beauregard was quoted as saying. “You’re never too old to change.”

  Betty Bent was on hand to witness the transformation. The day after she discovered the location of Gordon Grant’s coffin, Betty and Ve
rushka guided Amelia Beauregard down to the catacombs. While they journeyed through the tunnels, the old woman wore an unreadable mask. Her face showed no sign of the emotions she must have been feeling. When they reached the small chamber that held Gordon’s coffin, Amelia ventured inside alone. Verushka and Betty waited at a distance for their companion to emerge. More than three hours passed before Betty began to worry that Amelia hadn’t come to say goodbye—but to join Gordon Grant in the afterworld. She tiptoed to the chamber’s entrance to take a quick peek. She found the headmistress sitting on the ground beside the coffin.

  “Come in, Miss Bent.” The woman glanced up at the girl. Amelia’s eyes were ringed with red, but she didn’t seem sad. She looked as though she had finally found peace. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

  “I’m sorry, Madame,” Betty said as she helped her boss to her feet. “I wasn’t spying this time. I just wanted to—”

  Betty’s explanation was cut short when Amelia Beauregard wrapped her up in a heartfelt hug. “Thank you,” Amelia said.

  “You’re welcome,” Betty replied.

  And that was it. There was no going back. In the hours she’d spent in the tiny chamber, Amelia Beauregard had become someone new.

  Amelia released the girl and checked her watch. “Oh dear! I hope I haven’t made us late for the party!”

  “I don’t think the Darkness Dwellers will mind one bit,” Betty said. “You’re their guest of honor.”

  They found a cavern furnished with the longest table Betty had ever seen. It was set with china and silver on loan from Etienne’s family. Dozens of candles lit the scene. Every member of the Darkness Dwellers was in attendance, and they were dressed in their finest clothes. For some that meant ball gowns and tuxedos. Others wore their cleanest T-shirts and jeans. Everyone rose when Amelia Beauregard entered the room.

  “The Darkness Dwellers are honored you could join us this evening, Madame.” Phlegyas seemed spellbound.

  “Amelia,” Madame Beauregard corrected him.

  The woolly-haired man broke into a smile. “Amelia. We have something we would like to give you. This has been our organization’s most prized possession for many years. But now we know it belongs to you.” He presented her with a rusty Zippo lighter.

  Amelia beamed when she read the inscription on the metal case. “I knew this must have been what you found! I had the lighter engraved myself. It was the last joke Gordon and I ever shared. I can’t tell you how much pleasure it brings me to see this, but I’m afraid I can’t keep it.” She returned the lighter to Phlegyas and addressed the entire crowd. “Please accept it as a token of my appreciation. Thank you for taking such good care of Gordon.”

  “We are happy that Monsieur Grant is finally going home,” Phlegyas said with a bow.

  Amelia shook her head. “Now that I’ve had some time to consider the matter, I’ve decided that Gordon’s home is in Paris now. His parents have been dead for many years. He never had any brothers or sisters. I am the only person left in America who ever knew or loved him. Soon I will be gone, too. I would like him to remain with the people he’s inspired to do so many good deeds.”

  The Darkness Dwellers responded with a standing ovation.

  “This is indeed a banner night!” Phlegyas announced. “We have never had so much to celebrate! Three new members and two wonderful gifts from our guest of honor! As soon as the two youngest Darkness Dwellers arrive, the festivities shall begin!”

  Amelia shook a hundred hands while Betty and Verushka found their seats at the table. Once the greetings were over, Detective Fitzroy was waiting to help the headmistress with her chair.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said once he had her ear. “If the truth about Monsieur Grant were known, it could inspire all of Paris. In the hands of a good reporter …”

  Betty expected Amelia Beauregard to balk. A reporter might uncover facts the woman wasn’t ready to share. But Amelia seemed quite fond of the idea.

  “You’re right, detective,” she agreed. “It’s time the truth was finally told. All of it,” she added with her eyes on Betty.

  “Are we sure we know what really happened down here?” Betty asked. “Gordon Grant didn’t betray his men. He died protecting the catacombs. But we don’t know much more than that, do we?”

  “I’ve spent sixty-five years of sleepless nights in the catacombs with Gordon and his spies,” Amelia said. “One thing is for certain. There was a traitor among the original Darkness Dwellers. Someone rigged the tunnels with explosives, but that man wasn’t able to finish his work. Gordon must have discovered the plan and realized the danger he was facing—otherwise, he wouldn’t have had a reason to write a farewell message to me. I think I’ve pieced together the rest of the story as well. I have no hard evidence, of course. But when I was a girl, I was a fan of Sherlock Holmes and he always said …”

  “‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,’” Betty quoted.

  “Good work, Miss Bent! Well, my theory may sound improbable, but at least no one can say it’s impossible. As I just mentioned, I think Gordon found out that someone was planting bombs in the catacombs. So he sent his most trusted colleague to the surface for help. Unfortunately that man—the one who was carrying the coded letter addressed to me—lost his way in the tunnels and eventually died of thirst.

  “The traitor must have gotten nervous when a member of the team disappeared. Perhaps he decided to act sooner than planned. He ambushed three of the Darkness Dwellers, but Gordon probably put up a fight. They must have been near the surveillance room at the time. Somehow one of the bombs exploded during the struggle, burying Gordon in the rubble. But the traitor didn’t get away, either. He died without seeing his plan to fruition.”

  “Who do you think the traitor might have been?” Detective Fitzroy inquired.

  “I know better than to make accusations. But if I were investigating the crime, I would pay close attention to the man Gordon shot.”

  “Wasn’t he the American engineer?” Betty asked.

  “His name was Joseph Hanson, and he was a nasty little man. Even before the team left for the catacombs, someone had started spreading rumors that Gordon was involved in a dangerous love affair. Perhaps Joe had planned to frame Gordon all along.”

  “Your theory does make a lot of sense,” Betty said.

  “Yes,” Amelia replied. “But as I mentioned, there’s no evidence to support it.”

  “If all fingers were pointed at Monsieur Grant at the time, perhaps no one bothered to investigate the men who’d been murdered,” Louis Fitzroy said. “A good detective might be able to uncover solid proof that Joseph Hanson wasn’t who he claimed to be.”

  “And would you be able to recommend such a detective, Louis?” Amelia inquired mischievously.

  “I believe I know the ideal man, Madame,” Fitzroy replied with a smile.

  “Then by all means, investigate. Any information you uncover can be handed over to the press. But before any article is published, I will need time to contact my family. Aside from that, my only request is that the location of Gordon’s grave remain secret.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take him back to the Marble Cemetery?” Betty asked. “That way, you wouldn’t need to travel so far to visit him.”

  “My dear, I don’t need to visit Gordon,” Amelia responded. “He is with me all the time. ‘To me there needs no stone to tell, ’T is Nothing that I lov’d so well.’”

  “That’s the poem from the cemetery,” Betty said.

  “It’s one of the Thyrza elegies,” Amelia said. “I’ve spent so much time mourning my fiancé and our daughter that I forgot that there’s a bit of both of them still left in Manhattan. So—what do you say, Betty—shall we catch a flight home tomorrow? I believe there’s someone waiting for you as well.”

  “I’d say that sounds fantastic,” Betty said. “But I should stay in Paris until I know Kiki won’t need me.�
�

  Her last few words were drowned out by the sound of applause. Etienne and Marcel had arrived at last. They circled the room, thanking their fellow Darkness Dwellers. When Etienne reached Betty, he took the seat by her side.

  “I spoke to her.”

  Betty didn’t need to see the boy’s face to know it wore a smile.

  “I suppose that’s why you’re late to your own party? And?”

  “The announcement is tomorrow. Marcel and I will be waiting outside the Prince Albert Hotel as you asked.”

  “I’ll call the paparazzi as soon as I’m on the surface.”

  “Excellent!” Etienne said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I must do.”

  The boy got up from his seat and waited patiently for the crowd’s attention. When the cavern was quiet, he began his speech.

  “As many of you know, our friend Kiki Strike was unable to attend this party. But she asked me to make the following toast. I’m delighted to have been given the honor.” He paused for a moment. “When Marcel and I were invited to join the Darkness Dwellers, we could hardly believe our good fortune. But eventually, we realized that luck had nothing to do with it. Remarkable things have taken place in Paris over the past few days. Lessons have been learned. Old loves have been located. Criminals have been captured, and justice has prevailed. Friendships have strengthened, and new ones have formed. All of this may look like serendipity. But the truth is, a single person is responsible for all of these miracles. No one else could have accomplished so much in so little time. And she only had to thrash Marcel once.” Etienne waited until the laughter subsided. “So please join me in toasting Mademoiselle Betty Bent—one of the few people I’ve met who’s brave enough to be nice.”

  Chapter 40

  Stunning Developments

  PARIS: TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24

  Stunning developments out of the Eastern European nation of Pokrovia tonight. Princess Katarina, the only child of Princess Sophia, the beloved royal who was murdered fifteen years ago, has returned to her native land for the first time since her parents’ deaths. Long believed to have perished with her family, Princess Katarina has submitted to genetic tests that have proven beyond doubt that she is, indeed, the true heir to the country’s throne.