A tinkle of breaking glass sounded from above. Ingrid looked up at the ceiling, the white plaster moldings of vines and fruits cast in orange by the firelight. A second crash from upstairs had her backing toward the door. Someone—or something—was in the house with her. She couldn’t stay. Yes, if she left she would be in danger, but she couldn’t just sit and wait for whatever it was—demon or human or gargoyle—to sniff her out.
Ingrid left the sitting room and stumbled through the inky-blue corridor. She didn’t have Luc’s hand to hold this time, but a set of stairs appeared on her left and she flew down them, the clumsy thudding of her boot heels padded by carpet. She heard the sound of cracking wood upstairs as she came into the foyer instead of the kitchens. Ingrid unlocked the bolt on the front door and raced into the cold dawn. She stopped on the sidewalk and craned her neck to see the windows of the town house. Sure enough, there were two on the third floor that had been smashed.
Digging into her skirt pocket, her fingers found Vander’s dagger. The tip grazed her palm before her fumbling hand got a grip on the handle. She started for rue de Vaugirard. As a main road it promised more people; perhaps there would be strength in numbers. Besides, it would be a more direct route toward boulevard Saint-Michel and eventually the abbey and rectory. The Alliance members searching for her would have already gone there and left, she hoped, and she had to let Mama know that she was well. Besides, when Luc returned to Marco’s old territory and realized she was gone, the first place he’d look for her would be the rectory.
Ingrid kept her pace at a fast clip; she didn’t want to run and draw attention to herself, from people or demons. There were few others about. A kitchen maid quickly filling a basket of bakery goods at another open shop; two old men in some sort of military costumes standing on a corner, each of them wearing a brace of highly polished pistols; a fast-moving hackney, this one with a driver, coming down rue de Vaugirard.
She’d never felt more exposed. The hackney was bearing down on her, the horses’ heavy breaths panting out steamy clouds. She had a little money and considered hailing the hack. The crypsis rooting around through the window of that other carriage gave her pause, but it was a long walk to the rectory from here. Ingrid put up her arm and waved to the driver. He clattered by without sparing her more than a glance. Ingrid cursed beneath her breath and walked on, allowing her pace to advance to a half jog. Wherever he was, Marco was likely pitching a fit right then. She was attempting to keep her fear under control, but she knew he would be able to sense something amiss. She kept glancing up, expecting to see his winged form at any moment.
Two streets ahead, an enormous black beetle scuttled into the road, its body easily the size and girth of an Irish wolfhound. Ingrid stopped moving and stared at the beetle’s antennae. Two black rods as thick as her arms passed a blue electric current from one tip to the other. The tips sparked and spit, and barbs of electricity shivered down each long feeler, encasing them in spirals of blue.
A lectrux demon, it had to be. The demon she shared blood with. Ingrid felt a fast, and odd, sense of understanding and, even more fleetingly, kinship as the lectrux paused in the middle of the road. It lowered its feelers to the pavement and swept them side to side. Her arms were her antennae, she realized. They projected the current the same way the lectrux’s feelers projected it. The demon perked up and its giant beetle body shifted in Ingrid’s direction.
The connection she’d felt severed instantly. Ingrid took the immediate right up ahead. Without her own electric pulses at her command, she would be nothing more than prey. Ingrid threw caution to the wind and ran, her lungs tight and her legs burning with exertion. The street meandered to the left, cutting around a raised square set in front of a church. Narrow stone steps, crafted of pale yellow marble to match the fa?ade of the church, led to the square. There were no trees or gardens, just a matching yellow marble fountain and scattered benches. The square was empty, so Ingrid took the steps, keeping her pace just as quick.
Her boots scraped to a stop as someone stepped out from behind the fountain and into her path. The cloaked and hooded figure remained still. There was nothing more than a dark, cavernous hole where the face should have been. Ingrid stared, unable to breathe.
Axia’s robes undulated. “I have been searching for you, Ingrid Waverly.”
The orangery glowed with electric light, casting a flood over the snow-crusted shrubs that trimmed the glass-and-iron walls. Luc stood among the trellised rows of Clos du Vie’s vineyard with Gaston and Marco and the rest of the Dogs, Wolves, and Snakes, watching the chateau from afar. They were all in true form, and quieted by somber determination. Luc had not cobbled this plan together with any sense of levity, and he did not stand here now, waiting for the Chimeras to arrive, with a featherlight conscience. None of them did. The decision to attack fellow Dispossessed was not an easy one to make. It had to be done, though. Vincent could not keep killing humans, and the sooner he was stopped, the sooner the rest of the Chimeras would see they had been led astray.