Dark Hunt

by Naomi Clark

  I sighed and settled back against my pillow. “And ... everything else?” I asked, unable to say the word vampire, hardly daring to ask at all, with that dark light in Shannon’s eyes.

  She stared at the floor, clenching and unclenching her fists. For a long time she said nothing, throat working as she swallowed. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “The police arrived, but I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Do you think I killed it?” She looked up then, gazing at me pleadingly. I didn’t know what she was pleading for. Did she want to have killed it? Did she want me to assure her that no, the vampire was probably off licking its wounds? Surely not.

  I settled for a flippant answer, hoping it was the right choice. “You can’t kill the undead, Shannon. Everyone knows that.”

  To my intense relief, she laughed. It was a bitter, short laugh, but some of the darkness left her eyes. “I’m never leaving England again. I might never leave the house again.”

  I’d be happy with that. I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy again. My arm itched and our too-brief conversation had exhausted me. I reached for her again, sighing with contentment when she leaned over to kiss my forehead. “Go back to sleep,” she told me gently. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  ***

  The next couple of days were like that, me drifting in and out, Shannon always there when I woke up. She still looked drawn and tired, but we didn’t talk about it. We spoke very little in fact. While the vampire venom worked its way out of my system, I couldn’t concentrate long enough to hold a proper conversation. At the end of the first day Shannon told me Thérèse would be discharged in two weeks, with a full recovery on the cards. Considering the gruesome state of her legs, it seemed like a miracle to me. According to Shannon, the doctors agreed.

  The second day Sun came to visit, bringing the biggest bouquet of flowers I’d ever seen, a riot of orange and pink orchids and roses. “For both of you,” she said, arranging them on the windowsill over my bed. “For Mikey.”

  She looked ready to pop. “Are you staying in Paris until the baby comes?” I asked her.

  She shrugged. “I still want to go to England with you guys. I can’t go home, Ayla, I couldn’t stand it.” She confessed that she’d heard from her family, via Mike’s. “They’re pretty unhappy with me right now, but they’re cutting me a break given the…circumstances. They think I’m going home after the baby’s born.” She patted her bump protectively. “They’re wrong.”

  She’d changed too, I thought dimly as sleep took me again. There was steel in her voice that I couldn’t match up with the fluffy-headed wolf I’d known this past week. Maybe she’d always been made of steel and Mike’s death had rocked her? Or maybe it had put the steel there. Sun didn’t mention Le Monstre. It was like we were all just going to pretend it hadn’t happened. I wasn’t sure if I was okay with that or not.

  ***

  They had to release at the end of the second day, because Shannon and I were supposed to be heading home the next day. I was sent packing with an armful of pills and a stern lecture in French that I didn’t understand. The tone was clear enough that I guessed I was being told not to come back any time soon.

  Shannon was waiting for me in the reception area, a paper in her hands. Without a word, she showed me the front page. Under the headline, ‘Horreur dans les Catacombes,’ there was a big, full color picture of the tunnel in the catacombs with its broken gate and a pool of blood. No vampire. No body. I wet my lips, staring at her.

  “No body,” she echoed my thoughts. “The police are looking at it as potentially another Le Monstre killing right now.”

  “So Clémence...?”

  “Released this morning. I haven’t seen her, but it was on the news.”

  We hailed a taxi and were soon on our way back to Montmartre. For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke, but then I had to ask, “Do you think it’s still out there?”

  “I’m trying really hard not to think about it at all,” she confessed, clinging to my hand. “But I suppose the answer must be yes.”

  I shivered, bile rising in my throat. “I can’t wait to get home.”

  “We have to tell the police what we know,” she said, surprising me. “If it is still out there, they need to know everything before someone else dies.”

  She was right, but my stomach churned at the thought of going to the police. “They’ll never believe us. We’ll be hauled in for questioning and all kinds of shit. I can’t face it, Shannon.”

  “Ayla.” Her voice was gentle, and I guessed she was preparing to say something she knew I’d hate. “We have a responsibility here. This isn’t a Pack situation where you can keep it secret and hope for the best. People’s lives are at risk.”

  I rubbed my face with a groan. “I know.” The Pack comment stung, but I swallowed the instinct to snap back. I couldn’t face an argument right now either. “Maybe we can make an anonymous phone call? Or send a letter or something? I can’t sit in a police station and talk about vampires, Shannon. I really can’t.”

  She frowned, looking like she might argue, but in the end she nodded. “I need to tell someone,” she said finally. “I need to get it out of my head. I’ll call.”

  “Anonymously?” I was being a coward, I knew and both my human and wolf selves hated it. But I hated the thought of being dragged into a messy investigation more. I tried reminding myself of my ambition to be a community support officer, told myself I’d be dealing with this kind of shit one day if I saw my ambition through. I should be brave and do the right thing, I knew. It didn’t help.

  “Anonymously,” she agreed with an edge of reluctance.

  I leaned back against the taxi seat, cool leather soothing against my sore head. “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for, but I felt like I should.

  “Don’t be. None of this is your fault.” She rested her head on my good shoulder, snuggling up against me. “I want this to be over as much as you. But I can’t just sweep it all under a rug and carry on like it didn’t happen.”

  She didn’t say it was a wolf/human divide; that violence and bloodshed was a big part of werewolf life and we handled it differently. She didn’t say it because it wasn’t true; humans were just as capable of violence and bloodshed as wolves and when you stripped away all the bullshit, we were all animals underneath. She didn’t say it. But I felt it.

  Nineteen

  We made the call as soon as we got home. It took a while, with the officer at the front desk having to find someone fluent in English, but we got it done. Shannon clutched the phone receiver the way she’d held the torch, with a death-grip, like it was a weapon. She kept her voice level and calm; she didn’t use the word vampire.

  I sat holding her free hand, listening to the officer on the other end of the line carefully clarifying Shannon’s statement. The catacombs, yes? There was a fight, yes? She didn’t want to leave her name, no?

  Finally, she hung up with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped and a little more of the weary darkness fell away from her. “They knew most of it already,” she told me. “I bet they’ve been combing those tunnels for every scrap of evidence they can find.”

  “That wasn’t the point though, was it?” I reminded her. “You needed to tell them.”

  She closed her eyes and fell into my arms. I held her as tightly as I could, rocking her and kissing her hair. “We’ll be home soon,” I promised her.

  ***

  We spent the day curled up together on the sofa, dozing, reading, and not talking very much. Late in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door, and I smelled wolves. I opened the door to find Sun, Clémence and Thérèse on the doorstep, all wearing matching looks of expectant pleasure.

  “Ayla! Mon héro!” Clémence pounced on me, almost knocking me over, and hugged me hard enough that my ribs creaked. “You save us from fires, you save us from monsters, you are like a superhero!”

  Cheeks flaming, I wriggled free of her crushing embrace. “Don’t b
e silly,” I mumbled. “Come in. Are you all okay? Does anyone want tea?”

  Everyone wanted tea. Clémence insisted on making it though, escorting Sun to the sofa and helping Thérèse, who was in casts and on crutches, over to the kitchen table to sit down. Shannon and I sat together, exchanging baffled looks. Clémence was like a domestic whirlwind, making drinks, making snacks from the meager supplies in the cupboards, chatting wildly about nothing and generally being too hyper to bear.

  “Clémence, how are you?” Shannon interrupted her finally. “The police and everything...are you okay?”

  She turned a genuinely bright smile on Shannon. “I am excellent, trés bien. All is well, yes? Everyone is safe, nobody is dead or in jail. We are all fine.”

  It was such a simplistic way to look at things, but her determined cheer was catching. “I suppose we are, mostly,” I agreed finally.

  “Mostly,” Shannon echoed, her hand tight on my knee.

  “So, we need to do something big to thank you both,” Clémence continued. “Thérèse and I, we owe you so much.” She shot her girlfriend a fond smile, which Thérèse returned. I imagined they’d had quite the reunion. I wondered if they’d get past Patric’s death and Thérèse’s hang-ups and see that fondness turn into something more solid.

  “We have a present for you,” Thérèse said. “Well, it is a surprise, anyway. I hope you both like surprises.”

  Sun squealed and clapped her hands together. “I do. I love surprises. I get to come, right?”

  “We are all going,” Clémence announced. “D’accord?” she asked me.

  I didn’t really think we were being given a choice. We drank our tea, ate our snacks and then Clémence hurried us out of the flat and down the hill towards the Moulin Rouge.

  It was almost six o’clock and the doors were open, people queuing to get in. The art-deco paintings of corseted girls glowed in the green light of the sign over the door. Everyone I could see was wearing formal wear; silky dresses, dinner jackets, sparkly earrings. My heart skipped as I realized what Clémence’s surprise was.

  “Clémence, we’re not dressed for this,” I protested, tugging at my t-shirt. “Can’t we go back and—”

  “We will be late!” She laughed at me, shoving me into the queue. “There is no dress code. We are paying, we wear what we like, d’accord?”

  I wasn’t convinced, but as we stood in line, I saw one or two other casually-dressed people join the line. Next to me, Shannon buzzed with excitement, her eyes fixed on the velvet-darkness of the Moulin Rouge’s interior. I relaxed completely. For the first time since the catacombs, exhaustion didn’t line her face. I decided then that Clémence was right, or she would be. We would all be fine.

  ***

  Our little group got a few funny looks as we entered the Moulin Rouge. Except for Sun—who wore a shimmery silk purple, pink and blue dress—we were all dressed down. Nobody said anything, but I could sort of tell that the staff taking our coats were thinking dirty thoughts. I thought only Thérèse’s pitiful appearance stopped them actually voicing them.

  They didn’t stop us from entering and nobody stopped me wandering round the gift shop staring greedily at Moulin Rouge perfume, jewelry and fountain pens, all way out of my price range, but so pretty to look at. The perfume would smell amazing on Shannon, musky and sweet.

  Finally we were ushered through to the main room, a massive affair packed with tables and hung with chandeliers, red velvet draped everywhere. Most of the tables were already full. The waiter took us to one to the left of the stage, close enough that we’d have a perfect view of the show once it kicked off.

  “This is amazing,” Shannon said, taking the seat next to me. “Clémence, you shouldn’t have done this. It’s too much.”

  “Not at all!” Clémence threw her hands up. “We owe you so much more.”

  “We thought this would be a perfect Parisian thank you,” Thérèse added, patting Shannon’s hand, her eyes serious, her smile warm. “A small one, compared to all you have done.”

  I thought I might cry. I managed not to, but my eyes definitely watered a little. I was still feeling the after effects of Le Monstre’s venom, kind of fluey, I could use that as an excuse if anyone noticed I decided.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Sun said, easing into her seat, her large bump making the process overly elaborate and complicated. “Oh my God, do you think they’ll have ponies in the show? Mikey told me sometimes they do.”

  Thérèse was already flicking through the menu. “I came for my sixteenth birthday and they had dogs then. Little poodles. Very sweet, very well-trained.”

  I could imagine. Dogs didn’t like wolves, as a rule. I had an image of a pack of poodles running riot over the stage, tripping up dancers in their efforts to get away from the wolves in the audience and had a fit of giggles. When I shared the image, Sun giggled too, but the others simply shook their heads and sighed, like the pair of us were the naughty kids lowering the tone.

  The Moulin Rouge’s food didn’t compare to some of the restaurants Shannon and I had already eaten at, but I couldn’t have cared less. The champagne was great and it flowed freely. I was already well on my way to being drunk before the show started and happier than I’d been for... Well, yeah, okay. The whole holiday. If our luck held, who knew, I might even see a mime before we left Paris.

  Shannon kept leaning in to kiss me or stroke my hair, her own champagne going down just as easily. Every little touch was like a blessing, a silent affirmation, we’re okay. I’d been expecting anger, rows, after what I’d pulled in the catacombs, but they hadn’t come yet and I thought now they might not come at all. I held her hand under the table until the food arrived, and then I shifted my chair closer to hers so our legs were pressed together while we ate.

  I picked over my salmon, eyes fixed on the big stage. The curtains were drawn, but I could smell bodies moving behind them and the excitement whispering through the packed room was building as the countdown ran down to the moment that the curtain would pull up and the show begin.

  I almost squealed when finally the curtain did rise and the lights went down. Suddenly the stage was alight with glitter and jeweled tights and screaming with fuchsia feathered headdresses and massive deep blue feathered fans. Wild, carnival music played and I watched entranced as the dancers kicked and whirled and spun their way across the stage.

  It was magical. The dancers were an even mix of wolves and humans: the wolves using their strength to throw humans through the air, the humans turning gracefully as they flew, like birds and butterflies in their brilliant outfits. Every time I held my breath, sure they’d fall or crash as they were tossed higher, but every time the flying dancer landed safely in a waiting wolf’s arms and the audience shouted their wonder.

  For what felt like far too short a time, we were dazzled by one routine after another, the outfits ranging from traditional can-can skirts to futuristic silver affairs, to elegant ball gowns with elaborate wigs. There were no ponies, much to Sun’s disappointment, but there were poodles—just as well-trained as Thérèse had said. It was magnificent—the music, the acrobatics, the artistry of it all—I could have watched it forever. If I lived in Paris I’d be here every weekend. maybe every night.

  I didn’t want to leave when it was over. Shannon had to drag me out of the gift shop before I spent every penny we had on souvenirs we couldn’t afford. I did manage to snag a bottle of perfume while Sun distracted her, tucking it in my bag to present to Shannon when we were alone.

  Out on the street, the cool air was a relief after the heat of the Moulin Rouge. People milled around taking photos of the windmill and dancing their own clumsy versions of the can-can. “Thank you so much.” I hugged Clémence, flushed with excitement and happiness. “That was amazing!”

  “Good.” She hugged me back. “You deserved a beautiful last night in Paris after this week.”

  I didn’t want to say goodbye to her or Thérèse now it had come to it. Despite everything, I
felt like we couldn’t yet. We all ended up in a cocktail bar across the street, downing French martinis and Cosmopolitans, teasing Sun who pouted over her sparkling water and getting drunker and drunker until the barmaid insisted it was high time we all went to bed.

  By then it was impossible for me to tell if the fuzzy head I had was down to drink or vampire venom, but I still had the presence of mind to remember Le Monstre, remember that there’d been no body. The thought sobered me and after Sun, Shannon and I tearfully hugged Clémence and Thérèse goodbye, with lots of kisses and promises to stay in touch, I insisted on waiting for their taxi with them, which meant we had to do the whole tearful kissing and hugging thing all over again when it finally arrived.

  Shannon and I clung to each other as we staggered back up the hill and it was Sun’s turn to tease us for being lushes as she trailed after us. Climbing the stairs proved difficult but finally, with a lot of giggling, we were outside our front door. Sun had to unlock it for us.