Page 48 of City of Love

“All right,” she says, taking it in stride. “Go stop someone from drunk driving or whatever it is you’re doing. But Lyd?” she says, sounding nervous now.

“Yeah?”

“Please be careful.”

I smile softly despite all my worries. “I will,” I say. “I promise.”

I thank her and hang up, a newfound courage pumping through my veins. I mean, it’s still scary. But I need Noel to be okay.

I know where he’s going to be, and I know when. It’s not far away; I checked when I Googled it. I could easily bike there using one of the bicycles Mme Marchand said I could use. It would be easy to check on him, make sure he’s okay, and then come back home.

I just have to dosomething. Sitting here wallowing in my worry is driving me nuts. I’m not a wallower. I’m a doer.

And right now, I need todo.

I debate for a second before finally deciding to leave a note for Mme Marchand in my room. I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t know how she would feel about me leaving the flat by myself at night. And to be honest, if the cemetery weren’t so close, I would probably agree. So I jot down a quick note telling her that I’ve gone out to meet Noel. If she doesn’t come in my room, she’ll never know, but if she does, she’ll know where I am.

I replace my boxer shorts with jean shorts but leave my shirt on; it’s just a t-shirt, so it won’t look weird or anything. Then I slip out of the flat and go downstairs. The warm breeze plays with my hair as I find the bike Mme Marchand told me I could use, and I check my phone again to make sure I know where I’m going. All of this seems almost surreal—this is not the kind of thing I normally do—but Jade was right.

And realistically? I heard the words “gun” and “knife,” but I don’t know what Noel’s doing. It seems unlikely that people areactuallygoing to be waving guns and knives around. I don’t think that’s the kind of danger I’d be walking into. Plus this is a residential area, and the street is actually pretty quiet right now, so I don’t think the ride there would be too bad either.

So I’m doing this.

The night is warm, but the breeze as I ride sends a little shiver through me. I bike past a blur of quintessential Parisian architecture for about ten minutes—six- or seven-storied buildings with neat rows of windows and black latticework balconies—stopping to check the map on my phone at every street corner, because I could get lost anywhere. Knowing me, I would end up in the red light district without having a clue how I got there.

When I slow to a stop, I’m not at the gates of the cemetery yet, but I can see them down the road. I get off the bike and lock it at a bike rack, my fingers fumbling from nerves in the dark. Then I wait.

My phone says it’s almost 9:30—I will never get used to military time—and I force myself to stand still rather than start pacing again. I’ve tucked myself behind a tree and out of view of the gates, but I still have to poke my head around if I want to see. I look every few seconds or so, taking in what else I can see with only half of my attention.

The external walls of the cemetery are stone and are all but dripping with dead-looking vines. They’re protected by a high barrier of bushes, but it probably wouldn’t be hard to go over those walls if you were tall, and it occurs to me for the first time that I don’t know how Noel is planning to get in this cemetery. The website said the place closed at 5:30—hours ago. I can’t imagine he’s going to be able to just walk in.

Crap. I might not see him. There has to be more than one entrance, and who knows if he’s going to use an entrance at all? I bet he could get over those walls. He’s tall and muscular—

“Out for a nighttime walk?”

The voice startles me so completely that I actually jump, both feet off the ground, before whirling around.

It’s Luc. His previously cheerful face moves in and out of shadow as he approaches, and he looks more serious than he did the other day at the jewelry store. I might even call his expression disapproving.

“H-hi,” I say, cursing my stutter. I clear my throat, pressing myself back into a tree. “What are you doing here?” It’s the dumbest question I’ve ever asked; he’s obviously here with Noel.

“I’m checking the area to make sure there aren’t any surprises,” he says grimly. “Surprises like you.” He sighs. “Come on,belle.I will tell you now, you’re in trouble. I’m tempted to send you home, but he would probably kill me.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. I sort of get the feeling that he’s serious.

“Come on,” he says, strolling past me and giving a little jerk of his chin to indicate I should follow. It crosses my mind briefly just to run away, but that feels like a bad idea, so I trail behind Luc instead. His lack of cheerful conversation makes me nervous. Renewed thoughts of being shot and stabbed run through my mind, but that all stops as we approach the gates and two dark figures step out of the shadows.

I don’t recognize one of the men. His hands are tucked casually in his pockets as he slouches toward Luc and I, a little dimpled smile growing on his face as he looks me over.

I don’t pay much attention to him, though, because the other figure is Noel.

His eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen when he sees me, and for a split second, all I see on his face is fear—stark, undeniable fear that sends ice through my veins.

I blink and the fear is gone, replaced by the standard tight jaw, clenched teeth, and stormy expression.

Luc’s right; I’m in trouble.

The other man approaches me before Noel does, his eyes running over me once again. Then he pulls one of my hands into his and kisses my knuckles—straight upkissesthem like he’s a fancy gentleman or something. He’s boyishly handsome, I guess, but I’m too shocked by the knuckle kissing to care. I just stare at him for a second before looking at Luc and Noel, and I’m surprised at what I see.

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