When, after a full day and night of hard travel without a single stop to rest, their train had pulled into Gare du Nord, Gabby could feel only relief that those people had decided to stay behind. The reports had not been exaggerated in the least.
Plumes of smoke chugged up from the city’s skyline, and the clouds above Paris were tinged a deep umber from the fires below. They’d fought through a riotous bevy of people at the station, all of them attempting to flee the city, and all of them wearing the same pale mask of panic and fear. On the curb outside the station, the price for a hack had risen to an absurd two francs per mile—if the drivers were going to die driving through a war zone, they at least wanted to die with a full purse.
Hugh had shelled out a small fortune to a cabriolet driver to transport him, their valuable portmanteau, and his pet corvite to Clos du Vie, while Gabby and Rory had headed for H?tel Bastian. By the time they’d hit rue de Sèvres, Gabby had shrunk back from the window and welcomed the formidable steadiness of Rory’s arm against her own. They had both drawn their silver blades and sat with them at the ready. Outside, uniformed police and French military, fully outfitted with their own, ineffective weapons, had been trolling the streets from rue La Fayette to the Sorbonne. There had been a startling lack of citizens, however, and even more eerily, a lack of noise. It was as if the smog clouding above the city had somehow muffled all sound, making the clap of hooves and the jangle of the hackney carriage’s tack louder than it should have been. It filled Gabby’s head and grated on her nerves.
She leaped from the hack as soon as it stopped. She and Rory dashed inside, up the curving stairwell, to the third-floor door. Gabby itched to go to the rectory—she wanted to see Ingrid and Mama and make sure nothing had happened to them. But right then, there was nothing more important than finding Nolan.
As a red-capped Roman Alliance saw them into the open loft, she thought her stomach might cast up what little food she’d consumed over the past day. What if they’d taken Nolan directly to Rome? What if he’d attempted something stupid—it was Nolan, after all—and they’d harmed him?
Benjamin stood from the sofa and faced them, temporarily allaying her worries. The London faction leader wouldn’t still be in Paris if Nolan had escaped, would he? Nadia was there as well, though she remained on her cushion, her arms crossed and legs relaxed. Vander was seated beside her, his shirtfront torn and bloodied.
“Gabby?” He stood up, a tender hand against his wounded side. “What are you doing here?”
She searched the room. “Is Ingrid with you?”
“What’s happened?” Rory asked before Vander could answer. Gabby didn’t see her sister. She did notice, however, that the dozen or more Alliance members present, both Roman and Parisian, looked ragged and drawn, and were just as blood-spattered as Vander.
“Axia happened. Her demons. The Dusters, fallen under her spell. The damned gargoyles,” a Paris Alliance member spat out as he crossed the loft toward them. He had intense gray eyes, silver-dusted black hair, and a rugged set to his chin.
“The Dispossessed are with us, Hans,” Vander replied, his voice hard. His flash of anger surprised Gabby.
Hans snorted and muttered something indecipherable. Behind him, in the hallway of curtained-off rooms, stood a willowy man in a crimson cape and matching crimson beret, his hair white as powder underneath. He would have resembled a Vatican cardinal had it not been for the brace of swords he wore at his hip.
“Where is Ingrid?” she asked again. If the Dusters were under Axia’s command, what did that mean for Ingrid and Grayson? Or Vander, for that matter?
Vander pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”
Gabby closed her eyes and forced her breathing to steady. Her sister would be fine. She had Marco. She would have Luc, even if the gargoyle was no longer her protector. Gabby had to remain focused, just as Ingrid would do.
“We’re here for Nolan,” she said, opening her eyes again.
“Quinn is a traitor and will be punished accordingly,” Hans replied.
“I wish you would stop slandering me,” came Nolan’s voice from the curtained hallway. Gabby and the others in the loft swung their heads in that direction.
“Nolan!” she called, starting toward the hallway. Hans held up his hand and two red-capped Romans slid into her path.
“I’m all right, lass. They’ve just got me tied up in my room,” he answered, his voice bouncing off the beamed ceiling. “You told me you’d stay in London.”
Gabby pitched her voice to meet his. “I said no such words. Besides, we’ve finished the net!”
“What net?” Hans asked.
Benjamin stepped forward, his blocky shoulders widening as his eyes narrowed on her. “Does this have to do with the Daicrypta diffuser net you came to us about?”
“Yes,” she answered, but then pulled back. “And, well … no.”