Page 91 of Even Robots Die
I need to be on my way already.
I find my sneakers in the wardrobe and backtrack to the bed to get the socks I didn’t see the first time.
That’s when my stomach grumbles again.
“If you don’t eat, we’re not going,” I hear Brice say from the other side of the door.
Damn those bat ears.
Reluctantly, I grab the chocolate cup and thepain au chocolatand step out of the room.
Brice turns to me and I narrow my eyes at him as I forcefully bite the pastry to show him that I’ve eaten something.
He holds my eyes as I gulp down what is probably half of the contents of the cup, but doesn’t move until I’ve eaten half of the delicious pastry—it truly would have been a shame to let it go to waste.
That seems to be enough to satisfy him and he turns his back to me and walks down the corridor, expecting me to follow after him.
We walk down the stairs and the rows of pews for Sunday’s mass—it truly astonishes me that the dragon of Notre Dame respects the humans’ religion to the point that he still lets people come to pray every Sunday as they want. And then we pass the double doors at the entrance. Brice keeps looking back at me to see if I’m still following.
I don’t know what he thinks, but there is no way I’m running away now. I’m pretty sure I’m on a list of most wanted people after what I pulled next to my home, so I’ll take any protection.
It’s not the same as when I went with Daniel this time, though, because I know perfectly well what to expect outside. I don’t plan on just strolling around and entering the catacombs like it’s something I do every week.
Not that I really do that every week.
I’ve never been there. I’ve never even set foot in theSacré Coeurmy whole life. But I know Christina. I know her enough that she’ll grant me entry.
When we get out onto theparvisof Notre Dame, I expect to see the jet from earlier waiting for us, but there’s nothing.
“I thought we were going now,” I tell Brice, half expecting the jet to appear as we wait.
“We are,” he tells me with a smirk.
“Explain,” I answer, narrowing my eyes at him as he gets closer to me.
“Tell me where we need to go and I’ll tell you how we’re getting there,” he tells me. I think it’s supposed to be a question, but it sounds more like a command.
I cross my arms.
“I’ll tell you when we’re in our means of transportation,” I say to him.
He gets closer to me, and in one smooth swoop, slips a hand under my knees and at my back before bringing me flush to him.
“What are you doing?” I shriek more than say.
“You can tell me now,” he says as his wings sprout from his back, hiding me from the late afternoon sun.
It takes me a second to comprehend what he means, and when I do, I wiggle in his grasp.
“Nope. No way. I’m not doing this,” I tell him, trying to get out of his arms.
Did I say I liked how his hand felt on my back earlier? I rescind that thought. I hate it. I want out. Right the fuck now.
“It’s the most discreet way,” he tells me, still grasping me tightly against him. He hasn’t broken a sweat at all with all the thrashing I’ve been doing. It’s like I weigh nothing and my kicking feet aren’t even an inconvenience.
“Discreet, my ass,” I say.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you that those jets and flying cars can be tracked from one point to another …” he answers as he looks down at me.
