“So what is it you wish to do after your apprenticeship?” Evangeline asked as they neared the campus of the Dauphine. “Will you become an architect, or . . . ?”
The glass bubble in Simone’s chest shattered, and the illusion broke. She was only pretending here. She had no business with Evangeline on her arm. She had no business on this clean, quiet street, pretending she belonged here, when every person she passed surely knew otherwise.
“I’m not going to university.”
Evangeline blinked a few times, then cocked her head.
“You understand I’m Algerian, yes? My family, we—we live in Goutte d’Or. Surely you know that life can never be for me.”
Evangeline bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”
“It’s—it’s been very lovely, living in your world for a few months.” Tears prickled at the corners of Simone’s eyes. “But this isn’t my world. It never will be.”
Evangeline’s throat bobbed. “I like my world better with you in it.”
Simone’s mouth inched open, but she had no words. She wasn’t used to working with people. They didn’t obey geometry and lathes and planes. “You hardly know me.” Simone’s temper, always simmering beneath the surface, was threatening to boil. “I’m a novelty to you, a funny glimpse beyond these landscaped boulevards—”
Evangeline dropped her arm out of Simone’s and whirled to face her. “I know you are meticulous but impatient. You’ll do any task a countless number of times to get it right, but you resent it, you resent that you can’t shape things just the way you like. I know you swallow down insults and slights but they sit inside you like stones, refusing to dissolve. I can’t imagine what kind of weight that must be inside you all day.”
Simone crossed her arms over her chest, feeling very exposed. She should have known Monsieur Gaturin’s daughter was more than just a pretty objet d’art. She was crafty, shrewd, calculating—and it made Simone love her all the more.
It also made her fear the day Evangeline might turn those weapons against her.
“I think you like your work, but you don’t feel respected for it. And it frustrates you. It poisons the whole process. I’m sorry they treat you that way—you deserve better.” Evangeline’s fingers darted out to tap against her cheek. “I wish I could give you better.”
Simone turned her head away from Evangeline’s touch, even though she craved it. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I’m not offering it. I just wanted you to know you aren’t some . . . passing amusement.” Her smile was lopsided—not at all the polished smile she wore around her father. Simone wondered if she was glimpsing Evangeline’s real smile for the first time.
“Look.” Evangeline pointed down the street to an archway made of bone. “The catacombs are open.”
Simone blinked a few times. Trying to follow Evangeline’s thoughts wasn’t so much chasing a train as winding through a labyrinth. She wanted to go back, back to the moment when Evangeline touched her face. Wanted to linger there a while longer and forget all the reasons she shouldn’t.
“I like to get lost in the catacombs when I need to think. They’re comforting.” Evangeline held out her hand to Simone. “Want to see?”
Simone nodded and took her hand.
Evangeline led her into the caverns, dark and moist as a mouth. They passed various tour groups who’d no doubt come there to appreciate the same. Skulls leered all around them, but the hollow eye sockets felt welcoming, somehow. No judgment, no eyes to see the humiliating infatuation she was sure burned bright crimson on her cheeks. She’d been to the catacombs once when her father still lived with them; he acted like they were something gruesome to put the fear of God into misbehaving children, to warn them that they ought to respect their parents, for death, and judgment, was always lurking around the corner. That it lived in their bones, just beneath their own skin.
Whether that constant reminder of mortality was what Evangeline liked about them, though, Simone didn’t know. She tried to see them through Evangeline’s eyes now as they crept, soft as cats, down a winding central corridor. More than bones, Simone now saw architecture. Structure. More than impermanence, she saw eternity, the power of enduring in a shifting world.
And she saw this magnificent girl she was hopelessly in love with. She saw a glimpse of something she never dared dream could be hers.
“I think they’re beautiful,” Evangeline said at last. Simone didn’t know how far down they’d gone, but they’d lost all other sounds of living things; the tour groups they’d passed were many turns behind. “I wish I could put my bones here someday. It’s a form of immortality, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure you and your father will have gaudy monuments towering over Père Lachaise for all eternity.”
Evangeline rolled her eyes, then slowed to a stop when they reached a metal gate blocking off one path. “What do you suppose is behind this?”
Simone pretended to think long and hard before answering, “Bones?”
Evangeline giggled and squeezed her hand. “You’re hopeless. Come on. Help me with this lock.”
“What?” Simone whisper-hissed, but Evangeline was already tugging at it.
“If they’ve locked it off, it must be because there’s something good on the other side.” In an instant, she produced a hairpin from her bun. “Watch. I used to practice this on Papa’s desk drawers.”
Simone bit back another disbelieving cry. All she could do was watch while Evangeline worked the pin in the gate’s lock and toss anxious glances over her shoulder. Maybe for Evangeline this was all fun and games, but Simone knew the way the gendarmes and Goutte d’Or informants looked at her and her family—they’d never get the harmless chuckle a politician’s angelic-faced daughter always would.
Evangeline must have sensed something of this in Simone’s silence, because once the lock popped, she glanced at Simone shyly—guiltily. “I’m sorry. You probably think I’m a dreadful brat.”
She could be a dreadful brat, but that wasn’t the point. “I envy the freedom you have, that’s all.”
Evangeline looked away, blinking rapidly as she eased the lock and chain loose from around the gate’s bars. “I didn’t choose to be who I am.”
“Neither did I,” Simone said, more tartly than she intended. There was that temper, boiling over again.
Evangeline sniffed—were those tears gathering at her lower lashes? Simone’s stomach dropped out from under her. This wasn’t at all how she’d wanted this excursion to go. Not that she had any illusions how it might go, only that she didn’t want this—
The gate screeched open, and they stepped through.
“I know as fates go, mine could be far, far worse. But that doesn’t mean I want it. I don’t want to be his heir. Some pawn my father can shove into whatever marriage looks most convenient at the time. I want—”
“Hey! What are you doing—”
They both froze as a shout ricocheted across the bones.
Then, once more Evangeline seized her wrist, and they ran.
Finally, Simone had the advantage, thanks to her trousers and sturdy shoes. Evangeline’s Oxfords kept sliding out from under her as she skidded across the winding path; a stray bone spur snagged her stockings with a horrible rip that cascaded down the fabric. The footsteps drew nearer. Evangeline pulled her down a side corridor, darting underneath a workers’ oilcloth spread across an archway of femurs and skulls. They were plunged into darkness in the narrow gap. Evangeline clasped a hand over Simone’s mouth as they faced each other in the alcove, and Simone could feel their hearts pounding together frantically as they tried not to breathe.
The footsteps drew closer. Closer. And then with a heavy grunt, went back the way they came.
They sagged down, Evangeline squeezing her forearms tight. Simone couldn’t bear to let go. Evangeline’s warmt
h was intoxicating, a strong perfume she couldn’t stop breathing in. All she wanted was to drown and drown.
Finally, she drew a ragged breath. “What . . . What is it, then . . .” The boil threatened to overtake her. “What is it you really want?”
In the dim lighting, Evangeline almost glowed, her face drawing closer. She pushed a loose strand of Simone’s hair back from her face, eyes luminous.
Simone didn’t dare breathe. She couldn’t startle whatever delicate thing lived between them. She wasn’t ready to give it up. Not yet.
“I want you.”
Evangeline cupped Simone’s hand on her face and drank her in with her lips. Simone was so startled at first she almost pushed back, and Evangeline faltered—but Simone surged forward then, and more than made up for her misstep. Their arms were warring as they reached for each other, but their lips were in harmony, working together like they’d been made to do this all along. Evangeline tasted sweet and a little salty, creamy like the wedges of Brie she brought home. And the gentle sighs she breathed against Simone’s cheeks were as soft as any of her gauzy dresses. Simone wanted to grip them, feel that fragile fabric in her hands. Her knee slid between Evangeline’s thighs, and Evangeline tightened around it with a moan.
“I want you,” Evangeline murmured when she gasped for breath. “I want you, I want you.”
“You already have me,” Simone said. She found the tender space beneath Evangeline’s ear and kissed it. “Since the day we met. But—aren’t you afraid?”
Evangeline leaned back from her, eyes wide and gleaming in the electric light that trickled around the corners of the oilcloth. The concern scrawled so plainly on her delicate features fractured Simone’s heart.
“I’m always afraid.” Evangeline’s voice wavered like it might break. “But isn’t it better than being afraid alone?”
Simone pushed away the memories and shoved through the thick oak branches that slapped her with wet leaves like tongues. Every step, she waited for the whistle and sting of death. But nothing came. Whoever was watching them either didn’t realize they’d been spotted—unlikely—or was waiting for them to act first.
Rifle hoisted, she scanned the forest’s edge across the road below them and waited for something to budge.
There—a flash of gold, then green and gray. Someone was crouching on a tree branch. The branches were stubbornly dense with brown and orange leaves, but Simone made out a slight figure doing their best to hide.
Simone locked the bullet in her rifle chamber, relishing the sharp crack it made that echoed across the ridge.
“Don’t shoot!” The figure’s arms rose. “We’re on your side!”
Simone had heard that before. Thanks to the pose, she could approximate the location of the figure’s chest, their head—
She stumbled backward, rifle slipping from her shoulder. She was going mad. That had to be it. For a moment, she saw a flash of gold and rosebud lips—for a moment, she saw Evangeline—
The figure dropped down from the trees with a crunch of dead branches. Of course it wasn’t. Simone cursed herself. First the agent on the radio, now this. She was losing her edge, and it was going to get her killed.
The figure—the young woman who did, at least, have blond hair twisted up around her skull in braids—approached the side of the road.
“We don’t mean you harm,” she said in slow, deliberate German. “But you should know I have two more companions you haven’t spotted.”
Against her better judgment, Simone turned around. Sure enough, Phillip and Rebeka stood with their arms raised, a German man and woman pressing the muzzles of hunting rifles to their backs.
“Fine.” Simone dropped her rifle. “What do you want with us?”
“We’re supposed to meet Resistance contacts sent from Hallenberg,” the man said.
Simone groaned and bent to pick up her rifle. When the first girl glowered at her, she slung it on her back and held her empty hands out. “You idiots. Suppose I weren’t with the Resistance? Now you’ve just told me that there’s a cell in Hallenberg and one in Wewelsburg, which is where I presume you’re from.”
The cocky smile faded from the man’s face. “But you’re—I mean, obviously you’re not Nazis—”
“They said there would be only two of you.” The blond girl made her way up the escarpment to join them. “The guard and the radio operator.”
Rebeka bit her lower lip. “I don’t want trouble. I can go—”
“Go where?” the man asked. “Don’t you know what Wewelsburg is?”
“I know that we’re supposed to be vetting you and your little social club of Germans who are playing at Resistance now that it’s far too late,” Simone said. She stood up straighter, scanning their faces. “You’re doing an abysmal job of proving yourselves so far.”
The man narrowed his eyes, but none of them mustered a clever retort to that.
The blond girl, the one Simone had first spotted in the trees, stepped into the midst of Simone, Phillip, and Rebeka in some strange sort of negotiation. “I’m Ilse. These are my colleagues, Mitzi and Jürgen.” Mitzi and Jürgen stared back with tight jaws. “Please forgive our harshness. It’s been very difficult for us to watch the world unraveling around us. Even in our little town.”
“I can’t imagine,” Rebeka said in a tone that was pure venom.
“You misunderstand me. There’s something terrible happening at Wewelsburg Castle,” Ilse said. “Something that has to be stopped.”
Simone and Rebeka exchanged a look. That horrible ceremony Rebeka had seen when she stepped into the shadows. Those bloody demons were going to follow them everywhere.
“We’ll need to set up your radio system first so we can get word out about what’s happening,” Simone said. “But then, if you’re willing . . .”
Simone felt a tug deep in her gut as Ilse’s gaze landed on her. She stared back, challenging, and hoped Ilse didn’t know it for the pitiful bluff it was. “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
Ilse laughed like shattering glass. “We’ll see about that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LIAM
Liam awoke to birdsong. Sunlight tickled his nose as he stretched along their makeshift pallet on the floor, savoring the raw, swollen feel of his mouth. “Daniel,” he murmured, fingers stretching, grasping. “C’mere.”
But his hand landed only on bunched-up blankets, already cold.
“Daniel?”
Dust motes swirled in the sunbeams as he stood. The air in the chalet was too stale—ash and sex and musty bedding. Too silent. Sudden panic jerked Liam upright like a puppet string.
“Daniel?” He whispered this time, pushing to his feet. “Daniel, where are you?”
The only answer was a dark crackle in the back of his mind.
Liam forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. He hadn’t so much as touched the shadow world since their escape from Nazis and then Pitr the previous evening. He didn’t need the shadows to guide him, to bolster him. But they certainly made things easier. Thoughts of the darkness circled him like a hunter outside the cabin. If Daniel was in danger, or if Pitr had found them—maybe he could just snatch a fistful of energy, only enough to protect them—
Liam opened his eyes with a gasp. His nails had torn into his palm, and blood welled there. Hands he’d touched Daniel with last night, had cradled his jaw and traced along his throat and his hips and more besides. What if you closed the rifts for good? Daniel had asked him—forever sealed off the pathway between the shadow world and theirs. The very thought curdled in his stomach, crushed his chest with a panicky weight.
He needed the power—needed it. His whole life had been pushing him toward this victory. He’d no longer be the helpless, powerless, too-young boy struggling to grow up, struggling to care for his mother, struggling to prove his worth. F
or himself, and for countless others suffering. The chance that Pitr and his Nazi friends could claim the shadow world for their own was just the risk he had to take.
He forced his palm flat to his side as he crept across the great room of the chalet and peered into the kitchen. No one. Nothing.
Nothing except a note on the counter.
I know you’ll try to stop me, or demand to come with me, which is why I must go now. I can’t let anyone else get hurt—and that means not letting the darkness eat you, too. Know, though, that you gave me one last reminder of what it is to feel joy—that for a moment, I could pretend there might have been another fate for me. For us.
I’m sorry. I wish I could have spent another lifetime learning you.
The cry wrenched out of him, dropping him to his knees. He was imploding—his sadness and fury collapsing into a single dense point. Daniel. You idiot. Darkness pounded in his head, crowded his vision. It didn’t have to be this way.
He crumpled the note in his fist, leaving smears of blood on the paper. Unthinking, he drew on the darkness. The first trickle of shadow was like ice, but the more he pulled, the more it thawed.
A quick glance out the window showed the Mercedes was gone. But if he moved through the shadow world, he could go faster. He could catch up to Daniel. Maybe even beat Daniel there.
The shadow pounded in him, an executioner’s drum. It demanded to be let in. It was a great carrion bird, hungry and eager to stretch its black wings in his heart. Tear through his skin. Consume him. Make him its vessel of rage.
The chalet shimmered around him as oily nighttime flooded it and the shadow world stretched before him, beasts circling, trees hungering, wind laughing with his name—
Shit.
Liam shoved it all away with a snarl and slid into a heap on the floor. “God damn it!” The rift wavered and closed back up. Blackness slithered out of him and scattered to the far corners of the cabin, evaporated, burrowed, fled. “God damn it.”
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