Page 42 of Even Vampires Bleed
Yeah, I’ve got a whole wardrobe lost to my old room. What is an extra set, anyway?
“I’m looking for the entrance to the catacombs,” I say, as if I know exactly what I’m doing.
Spoiler alert: I have no clue what I’m doing, but I’m doing it, anyway. That’s what happens when you wake up with vengeance on your mind.
“There are multiple entrances to the catacombs all over Paris,” the man says. “So, why pick theSacré Cœur?”
He sounds like he’s daring me to say exactly why I picked this entrance, but I’m not going to back down. I straighten my back and look him in the eyes, even if that means I have to tip my head up.
“I’m looking for Christina.”
If he’s not fromLibération,that name might not ring a bell for him, but if he is…
I see recognition in his eyes, and that tells me exactly what I need to know.
Rebels don’t go by a full first name and family name—no, they’re just a first name and that’s all.
Christina might not have been in charge for long—Elhyor killed Bastian, the former leader, when he tried to take Angie away a few weeks ago—but anyone in theLibérationnetwork knows that name now.
“Alright,” the man says, “wait here.”
He closes the door behind him, and I don’t hear him lock it, but when I try to open it, it won’t move.
The inside must be soundproof.
I don’t really want to wait. It’s not like I have other things to do, but now that I’m here, I can’t wait to start being useful.
Well, let’s open another door.
Except this lock is not an easy one. It has pressure points, and I can’t open it with only one bat hand—foot, or whatever you want to call it.
I have two options.
Shift completely, open the door and get dressed before following the man at the risk that he walked too fast and that I won’t hear him anymore.
Or.
Or I can forgo the dress up part and directly follow him in shifted form. Means I’ll have to be naked in front of Christina and whoever will be in the room at the same time.
To hell with my pride, I’m not waiting.
So I shift, struggle a bit with the lock and follow the man by the sound of his steps.
It takes us a couple minutes to reach our final destination.
I barely pay attention to the messages on the walls or the collection of skulls used as if they’re wallpaper.
I make a beeline for the man I followed and enter the room after him.
My eyes take a minute to adjust to the light inside.
The corridor was barely lit, but this room looks like it could come from one of those gothic romance books that I read. The walls are dark, some of them all black and others are hidden by dark red curtains as if they lead to other rooms.
The room is well furnished, but the same color pattern seems to be everywhere. The desk at the back is made of black wood and the chairs that are on both sides of it are from the same wood with cushioning made of burgundy velvet.
To my right, two men are sitting on a couch that looks like they could be from the same set as the desk chairs. Facing them—and with her back to me and the man who just entered—is Christina. I would recognize her long strawberry blond hair anywhere, especially after seeing her on theparvisnot so long ago.
“Christina,” the man starts talking without caring that she was already deep into her conversation with the two men in front of her.
