They trailed after him to the now-quiet lobby, the two security guards facing the night sky. In the corner of the room, a plush red velvet sofa awaited them. Julien fell to his knees, dragging out two bags from underneath it.
One was his usual rucksack, although stuffed with unusual items.
And the other…
“What…?”
And then, out of the enormous zipped bag Julien had brought along in the taxi’s boot—and then paid the driver a hundred francs to ensure it was placed under the sofa closest to the door—he lifted an enormous shovel. With a theatrical flourish, he wiggled it in the air. “We’re going to need this.”
Darcy gasped. Even Elliot looked shocked.
“Huh? Where are we going?” asked Cinn, who, unlike the other two, hadn’t caught on.
“Père Lachaise Cemetery.” He flung the shovel over his shoulder.
“No!” breathed Darcy. “No Julien, not that! Anything but that! That’s… the literal definition of sacrilege!”
Watching Cinn’s face change as he put the puzzle pieces together was the highlight of Julien’s night. So far.
“You mean… we’re going to go and… dig up Béatrice? From hergrave? And… take one of her bones home with us as a magnet item?”
Despite the look of horror on Cinn’s face, Julien beamed at him.“C’est ça!”
“Elliot, back me up here. Tell Julien he’s deranged.” When Elliot didn’t say anything, Darcy shouted, “Elliot!” She snapped her fingers.
“Darce, Béatrice would probably find it quite funny. Besides, we can put it back afterwards. Julien is on to something here. What could possibly be a stronger magnet item than her freaking bones?!”
A scream of exasperation. A pursing of her lips. The tiniest stamp of her foot.
Darcy wasn’t happy, but she’d come.
Julien turned to Cinn, expecting resistance from him also, but clearly they’d corrupted him, as he just threw his hands up in an ‘I give up’ sort of way.
fifteen
Julien
The four of them wordlessly stared up at the high perimeter fencing of Père Lachaise Cemetery, each spike glinting menacingly in the moonlight.
Even having removed their ties, they weren’t quite dressed for this breaking-and-entering adventure.
Cinn bit that beautiful bottom lip of his. “Julien, I can’t get arrested for this. Not with my record.”
Julien was pretty sure Eleanor had instructed his record to be wiped clean, but he grabbed Cinn’s hand, thumb trailing over his knuckle, and dropped his voice to a low murmur. “I give you my word that I won’t let that happen.”
With one sharp, decisive nod, Cinn squeezed Julien’s hand before releasing it.
In case he wasn’t completely convinced, Julien swung his rucksack around, unlatching the top to show Cinn the interior. “If the police do suddenly arrive, I have multiple weapons in my arsenal.”
Cinn’s jaw fell slack.
“Not to kill them!” God, what did Cinn take him for? Lighting a cigarette, Julien inhaled a lungful of smoke before passing it to Cinn’s eager fingers. Did Cinn also feel the tingle of sensation where their skin had briefly touched? Was Julien alone in the slight increase to his heart rate?
Most importantly: was Julien forgiven yet?
If only he could reach inside Cinn’s mind to unravel its mysteries.
Reaching the tall metal gate, secured by a chunky iron chain held by a sizeable padlock, Julien smiled—he was prepared for this. He reached inside his rucksack, seeking his compact, silver capsule that would align the padlock’s tumblers and spring the lock free.
