“Grayson.” She stood tall again and waved madly in return. “Grayson!”
He stood alone, just out from underneath the belly of the tower. He hadn’t shifted into hellhound form, so she knew his mersian blood, like hers, was still holding strong.
“Mr. Dupuis!” Ingrid turned to the Daicrypta doyen and grasped his arm. “The Palace of Electricity—can you get inside? Can you work the machines?”
Hugh had yet to swing his sword, Rory and Nolan doing a fine job of caging the both of them off from approaching threats.
“Breaking in and working the machinery should be simple,” he answered, the first hint of panic lacing his tone. “If I don’t become a tasty hors d’oeuvre first.”
“See that you don’t,” Ingrid said.
“Yes, well, I hope—Wait! Miss Waverly!” But Ingrid had already lifted the hem of her skirts and started dashing along the gravel esplanade to meet Grayson.
Her brother rushed forward, his arm outstretched and ready to hook hers as soon as he was close enough. She heard a sharp shriek behind her, near the Chateau d’Eau. It reached into her stomach and gave a ferocious tug. Somehow she knew it had been Luc, that he’d been calling to her, and yet she couldn’t stop and turn back, not with her twin so close.
Grayson took her arm and immediately started hauling her toward the tower pillars. The Champs de Mars ended on the other side of the tower, and unlike at the other end of the esplanade, there was no building to block their exit. They could keep running to the Seine if they liked.
“We can’t leave!” Ingrid heard herself shouting, breathless. She could do nothing to help, either, but ducking out for safety would have been cowardly. And if Hugh got the generators going in the Palace of Electricity, she might actually have a weapon more powerful than any blessed silver blade out there.
“Grayson!” she shouted again, but he wasn’t slowing. He also wasn’t cutting straight underneath the tower. He’d veered toward one of the thick pillars.
His hand tightened around her upper arm. “Ingrid, I need you to trust me.”
“Where are we going?” He didn’t answer, but directed her onto the first step of the stairwell leading into the center of the pillar.
Their feet scuffed up a dozen or so iron steps before reaching a platform where the stairwell turned on itself. Ingrid tried to drag her feet, but Grayson tugged her along, up the next section of steps.
“Grayson, tell me what’s happening.” Ingrid was short of breath at the next twist in the stairwell, and by then, she’d had enough. “Grayson!”
He paused on the iron step above her, his chest heaving.
“I’m sorry, Ingrid. I promise you, this is the only way.”
She gripped the cold metal handrail and took a wary glance down. They were already a good distance up.
“Where are we going?” she asked, wishing she’d heeded Luc’s shriek and turned back.
“I’m sorry,” her brother repeated, his grip on her arm unrelenting. “I’m taking you to Axia.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gabby’s wrists quivered like aspic as she braced her sword with both hands. The laces on her corset seemed to tighten with every shallow breath. She listened as Yann moved through the stables; his lion’s paws scraped along the floorboards about two stalls to the left. The boards groaned under his immense weight.
He wasn’t alone. There had been two thumps on the roof earlier. There were more gargoyles outside. Perhaps dozens. Gabby closed her eyes and tried to curb her fear. This was Gaston’s territory. She was a guest on it, and Gaston would feel Yann’s presence. He’d be here any moment.
As the drag of Yann’s claws drew closer, the horse sharing Gabby’s hiding place lashed its tail and bucked its powerful hind legs. They were intuitive creatures, and this one clearly knew something wicked was near. The animal was as large as Yann’s true form, she wagered. It didn’t have talons, but its wide body was pure muscle. A perfect shield.
Gabby slipped to the other side of the mare and crouched. The stall door was still rolled open—she hadn’t had time to close it.
Screwing up her courage, Gabby slapped the flat side of her sword against the mare’s rear end. The horse bleated, but it didn’t bolt forward as she’d hoped. She gave the animal another tap, but it still played coy with the open stall door. Gabby ground her teeth. If the horse wouldn’t be her shield, then it would be her ride.