“Three point five slide in P 27. Crews blue four and five to P 27. All others avoid area.”
Within seconds, two groups of helmeted Shadows with shovels, picks, metal wagons, and dull blue flashlights zoomed past and out of sight. My heart resumed beating. I was tucked in a doorway waiting for the commotion to end when two figures approached, one looking very familiar. Beside a standard issue Shadow shape was a beefy hunk of human with more meat on him than a six-pack of Shadows. Blag! What was he doing here? I caught a snatch of conversation as they passed within inches of me.
“... how do you live like this? Everything falling down around you. Man, I’m no neat freak, but the stench down here could peel paint. What, no cleanser, smokey?”
I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked to see Blag with one of the Shadows, but it still took me by surprise. I’d kind of felt a bit sorry for him the other night when he’d picked me up and taken me back to CAFTA. Now I felt disgust, or worse. A chillingly familiar voice answered him.
“It wasn’t always like this, big boy, but it’s getting worse. Four or five slides a day, some bad. Last week a whole passage was blocked and abandoned. But Louche has a plan. Fear not, squarehead.”
It was the voice of Scar, the bony-handed Shadow from the club. They turned a corner and I followed, slipping in and out of doorways and spaces between buildings. The streets got quieter and the passages narrower, and they walked in single file until reaching a polished metal door recessed in a rock face that could easily have gone unnoticed. They stopped, and while Blag looked around and kicked at some loose stones on the path, Scar hissed the words “Black Mamba” into the door, and it slid open to admit them. For one terrifying moment I thought Blag looked right at me as I leaned out a little to see what they were doing, but then he turned away and passed through the doorway.
I seemed to be alone. The sounds of activity were in the distance, and even the ever-present sewer reek had faded a bit. I approached the shiny steel entrance to who-knew-where and stared at it. Sealed air-tight like a bank vault, it was perfectly smooth, with no doorknob or window to mar its gleaming surface. There was a small button on one side mounted with a speaker in the rock, and I knew what I had to do. I pushed it, and when a red light went on, I forced my voice as low as possible and barely whispered “Black Mamba.” The door slid open silently, and I stepped inside, grinning.
What I saw couldn’t have been more different from the stinking underground city just beyond the entrance. All was smooth and metallic instead of rough and rocky. Was that a faint odour of mint? It could have been ether; there was a somewhat chilly, hospital-like feeling to the place. I could see what looked like a satanic supermodel working at a computer in a waiting area. She was dressed in designer black leather and stiletto heels that looked like they could be used for acupuncture. Her hair was pulled straight back from her carved features, and her eyebrows resembled French accent marks. While she concentrated on her screen, I slipped past as quickly as possible, blocked from her sight by a huge vase of black roses. The sleek hallway was covered with black-and-white photos of every possible phase of the moon. Deep carpeting added to the funereal hush of the place. Expensive, tasteful, and slightly terrifying was the mood du jour. Passing offices with the doors shut and the throbbing glow of computer screens inside, I wandered for some time without seeing anyone until I turned a corner and almost walked into a pack of Shadows, all lighting up together. They sucked up the smoke like nutrition, and when they exhaled, it was a wonder they could see each other, never mind spot me.
“Okay, it’s time,” muttered one, and they all seeped into the nearest set of doors.
I followed at a distance down a stark blue-lit hallway as they joined others gathering in what looked like a science fiction laboratory, a room full of gleaming tubes, keyboards, and screens displaying charts and strange symbols. Dominating it all was a huge fish tank–like structure holding what appeared to be floating, spinning, sparkling drops of water, dancing like fireflies in the glassed-in space. A chubby scientist type, who looked like a Shadow in reverse with jet black rock star hair and a silver flowing lab coat, paced, hovered, and made adjustments as the group settled around a table. While the smoke and reek of this lot was disgusting enough, it made it easier to remain unnoticed in the hall. It was no surprise to me when the master of nasty ceremonies eased in through a side door and shook hands with the rock ’n’ roll doctor. The general coughing and clearing of raspy throats subsided as Fiat took command of the room.
“Mes amis, sons of the darkness ... ouiiiii ... yessss. The hour approaches when Paris will belong to the Shadows once more. When we will never again have to crawl back into the cracks, ashamed of what we are.”
I noticed he said “what,” not “who.” Low coughing sounds of agreement rumbled through the room. He went on, “As the lights of the city have dimmed, so too will the hearts of all who cannot embrace the darkness. As you know, our plan calls for ‘lights out’ during the Bastille Day fireworks, when the city will have other preoccupations, but that is just the beginning. I would like to introduce you to a friend of the underground, the brilliant Dr. Etienne Brouillard.”
More mucousy coughing and laughter like the hissing of leaking pipes greeted this announcement. The doctor, looking a bit sweaty and trying to appear dignified after this introduction, had the lights dimmed for his moment of glory and belched into his hand. I felt like I should be passing a “teacher is a pig” note to Penelope at this point.
“What you see in this tank,” he gestured to the glowing, floating specks behind him, “are clouds. Very small, almost invisible, but clouds indeed. And very smart clouds, because they have been individually charged to be self-sustaining once released. They devour dark matter — cigarette smoke, automobile pollution, industrial fumes, political conversation....” at this point, he allowed himself a swinish smile, “and they grow and hover over the city, keeping it in a never-ending midnight.”
The doctor looked very self-satisfied as bits of spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. He began speaking more rapidly. “We have seen how they have slowly darkened the city in recent weeks. At a signal from Monsieur Fiat, millions of them will be released through the sewer grates all over Paris.” He snorted audibly at this point, and his voice grew louder and higher pitched. “The clouds will cast a shadow over the city, a beautiful shadow that will never pass, one that ...”
Fiat signalled to turn the lights up, cutting off the foaming doctor and starting a brief burst of applause from the Shadows, who seemed more than a little confused by this demonstration. “Merci, Monsieur le Docteur, merccci. Yesss, but before that happens, there is one symbolic act that will cast the heart of Paris into sweet despair. The giant crane you have been working on so hard is finished, my friends, and tonight it will be wheeled into position beside the Seine in the Square Jean XXIII, where it will appear ready to go to work like so many others the next morning — fixing, building, repairing ... but it has a different destiny, does it not?”
Here he paused dramatically as the Shadows nodded and grinned their snaky smiles, knowing, no doubt, what was coming next. “And as it readies to pluck the spire of Notre Dame like a spiky blossom from the cathedral, I will personally inaugurate the launching of the great darkness ... with this.”
He held up what appeared to be an expensive, oversized bottle of champagne filled with black liquid. “Good enough to destroy the golden shine of the dome of Les Invalides, good enough for the rose window of Notre Dame, non, mes amis?”
As he called out a final “All right, let’s go ... much to do,” over the swell of approving sounds in the room, the meeting broke up into little groups that began to disperse. I slipped into a closet to hide until all was silent. I couldn’t resist taking a closer look at the cloud tank as I passed quietly out of the room. The sounds of Dr. Brouillard chewing and grunting from an adjoining room covered my departure nicely. Up close, the tiny clouds looked like pinpoints of liquid light, glowing f
rom within, all whizzing around the tank like they were dying to escape and do their worst. At least that’s how I imagined it. Back in the hallway, I took a long breath and figured it was time to get out while I could. I had more than I needed to go to the police with. How to get out of here?
At that instant, heavy footsteps pounded down the hall toward me. I jumped back into the lab just in time to watch Blag crashing down the hall with a ferocious scowl on his face, no doubt sent on some nasty mission by Luc Fiat. After a bit of time had passed, it was quiet once more, and I thought I’d head in Blag’s direction. Instead of exiting, though, I found myself in a circular space with twin elevators painted to resemble the Arc de Triomphe at night with hallways fanning off like the boulevards at L’Etoile. Clever, but bizarre. Cool blue light oozed from above, and looking up, I saw one large room or office encircling the area with partially opaque glass. A strange scene was being acted out on this circular stage. Two identical figures gestured at each other in silhouette like a mirror with a delayed reflection. One would step forward, raising his arms and dramatically dropping them to his sides, then the other would respond with almost the same moves in reverse.
I watched, fascinated and intensely curious, until I saw one of the figures lift something large and pointed over his head and swing it wildly at the other. He must have missed his target, because the glass above me suddenly shattered with a huge crash, and jagged pieces flew into the air. I dove into the nearest hallway and watched while a vast panel of window opened to reveal Fiat, trembling and holding a shining golden cross at his side.
He spat out his words at the figure across the room. “I should’ve known when you told me to “Lighten up, Louche” that your ridiculous campaign was no cover-up at all. When we were children, you always put the sun in your pictures, didn’t you? And you were terrified of Papa’s shadow buzzards while I loved them. And don’t think I didn’t know about your secret weekend tennis and volleyball; that make-up didn’t hide your tan, you little lizard.”
I couldn’t hear the reply from the other side of the room, but I was furiously trying to figure out what all this could mean. The menacing voice lowered to its usual serpentine hiss. “Go ahead. You’ve served your purpose well, confusing people who can’t tell us apart, but now I don’t need you. It’s too late to stop me anyway, and you, of all people know it. Soon enough the Shadows will emerge from the underground, and I’ll be the king of midnight, rolling through the blackened streets of Paris in a limousine as long as a city block with a golden cross for a hood ornament.”
He stood glaring as he tossed the shiny weapon to one side. At this moment the elevator door opened, and out strode ... Luc Fiat!
In a rush it all became clear to me as he swept down one of the corridors looking like he was in a trance. In the office above, Louche, his twin brother I now realized, picked up his phone. “Phlegm?” He sounded completely calm. “My brother just left my office. Unfortunately, he’ll need to be detained until after the celebrations. Make him comfortable in suite zero, s’il vous plait.”
As I craned my head up to hear what Louche was saying, at that moment he decided to inspect the damage to his office window and looked right down into my eyes. A twisted smile came over his face.
“Ahhh, ma petite. Bienvenue. How perfect. Welcome to the underworld.”
I was frozen in place and helplessly watched him pick up his phone again without taking his eyes off of me. “Scar. We have an intruder in the Shadowcorps offices. A little puff of nothing. Ouiiii, good idea. Bring the gargoyles.”
He hung up, and a smile like the gleaming blade of a knife hung in the air until I ran and ran.
Twenty-One
Hallways led to more hallways and a blur of doors and voices and the sound of my breath racing in and out of me. Each time the voices got closer, I’d make another turn, but I knew I couldn’t keep it up. Finally, I recognized some things — the photos of the moon, that giant vase of black roses. It was the entryway, and there was the zombie supermodel receptionist. As I was trying to figure out how to get out unnoticed, the doors opened, and the hushed entryway was suddenly filled with a pack of the nastiest-looking creatures I’d ever seen, growling ferociously and pulling on the metal chains that were held, just barely, by Scar. Their skin was stretched like shrink-wrap over their bones, their eyes seemed lidless, the fangs were permanently bared, and their ears flat back against their knobby heads. It was a terrifying sight, and I struggled to keep from gasping behind a couch, my latest hiding place.
“Oh, Scar, you look so manly with your puppies,” sneered the receptionist, arching a razor-sharp brow.
“Let’s cut to the chase, if you know what I mean, Tawdry.”
“Your little pack of underdogs seems a bit more restless than usual,” she offered teasingly.
“Must be that perfume of yours. What is it — eau de toilette, or oh, the toilet?” he wheezed and laughed in his ugly way.
She raised a brow in the direction of the hallway to the right of her desk, and Scar rushed on, led by his straining beasts. He was no sooner gone than Tawdry whispered, “Okay, little one, you can come out. I’ll open the doors for you. I’m outta this dump soon enough myself.”
I emerged wide-eyed, and she shrugged, flashing a little so-what smile. She indicated a row of security cameras on her desk, one clearly showing the outside of the door. “Can I hear that voice again? You know, ‘Black Mamba’?” She smiled and imitated my entrance trick. “Okay, quick. See you in the sunshine, kiddo.”
I didn’t even stop to thank her as I burst out the sliding door and down the nearest stone passageway. The stench of the sewer was never so welcome. I could hardly wait for the sweet smell of boiling beets. After a while I felt like I’d traded one maze for another. I passed piles of bones in little alcoves and had to dodge the stalactites that were hanging like rocky icicles from above. At times the water got deeper, blacker, and nastier smelling. The light was virtually non-existent when I almost ran right into a wall of stone. A rockslide! This meant I’d have to turn back. Right then I heard a sound that stopped the breath in my chest. My stomach rose into my throat, and I felt pure cold fear. That snapping, snarling sound could only be one thing. The gargoyles. A voice hissed, “They’re pulling this way. C’mon.”
I started groping a wall looking for a crack to crawl into I knew didn’t exist. Suddenly, from above, a huge hand reached down and grabbed me by my coat while its partner clamped over my mouth just in time to stop the scream that was about to escape.
In the darkness, I could see nothing. The panting and slobbering of the gargoyles seemed to fill the space below me. A gruff voice barely whispered in my ear, “Be cool and very slowly take off that scarf, and we might get out of here.”
Blag, my rescuer? It didn’t make sense, but this wasn’t the moment for making sense. I slipped off Sashay’s scarf, and he indicated that I should wrap it around us. He continued to support me with a grip of steel that I was very grateful for. His other arm was coiled around the jagged point of a rock at the top of the slide. The scarf blended in with the rocks and must have concealed us, because I could feel the hot hound breath and see flashlights moving over us.
“She must be close. These gargoyles are goin’ crazy,” a voice grunted.
“Yeah, right, she turned to stone,” came the snide response.
“Alright, alright, let’s keep looking. Louche doesn’t like to wait.”
The sound of chains clanking together was accompanied by growls and yelps. Gradually the sound receded. I was still afraid to breathe. My leg was going to sleep, and I shifted slightly. A sudden torrent of tiny stones rushed down the rock face.
“What was that?” a distant voice echoed down the passageway. Some whining and snapping followed.
“Let’s get outta here before this one closes off.”
Great. Something else to worry about. Hungry creatures with fangs like sharks, a madman who wants to plunge a beautiful city into darkness, being wedged in
a stinking hiding place with a sweating lug who might or might not want to protect me, and now the possibility of a rock slide trapping me in the Paris underground forever. Whatever happened to just worrying about too much math homework?
Once the silence took over, Blag groaned and eased me to the ground. I realized he’d been holding both of us up with one arm for quite a while by hanging on to a large chunk of freshly broken rock. “Thanks. How, how did you ... I ... I thought ...” I stuttered.
“Yeah, I know, I know.” He was flushed and out of breath.
“I saw you going in, little spy mouse.” He managed a smile as he shook his sweating head before continuing. “I’ll bet Tawdry did too. There’s a security camera, you know.”
I shrugged, feeling a little stupid but mainly just glad to have escaped Shadowcorps. “She let me out. But I thought you ... I mean I saw you with ... with them and I just figured ...”
“I know.” He cut me off. “Those Fiat jokers forced my dad to sell the club to them. They’re changing it into the Moulin Noir — how twisted is that? Tonight’s the last night as the Moulin D’Or. I tried to talk them out of it today, but I wasted my breath on those weasly wimps. I think Luc might have gone for it, but Louche calls the shots.”
The Adventures of Mademoiselle Mac 2-Book Bundle Page 8
