“I’ve never metthem.”
“They’ve never visitedyou?”
“No.”
It wasn’t completely unusual for parents not to seek out their children until they ascended. Some didn’t want to get attached in case their progeny failed to reach the celestial city. Even though I was curious about them, there was pain mixed into that curiosity, and that pain dimmed my desire to meetthem.
If I ever mothered, I’d live in the guild with my Fletching. Or at least, I’d try to. It wasn’t allowed, but perhaps if I was a Seraphim’s consort—There I went again, dreaming outsizeddreams.
“I should get back to our honored guest, but it was a pleasure to meet you. Leigh,correct?”
“Oui.”
“If you need anything, come findme.”
“Thank you,Ophan.”
Once she was gone, I hung up my clothes, showered, then stood in front of my closet, debating whether to sleep or get dressed for the day ahead. Jarod’s face flashed behind my pupils. Who was I kidding? There was no way I could sleep. I looked up at the lightening cobalt sky, estimating dawn was near. Jarod would probably not be awake yet, but leaving this early would give me time to study the lay of the land. I had no idea where the guild was compared to hishouse.
I donned a knee-length black skirt and a long-sleeved black top which had been cleaned so often the fabric had become a little droopy and fell off one of my shoulders. I tried to center it, but as I slid my feet into black heels and grabbed my bag, it slid askew again.Oh well. Perhaps, the French would find itstylish.
Careful about not making too much noise, I treaded lightly toward the sound of gushing water, my stilettos clicking on the stone. Just like in our guild, the walls of the Atrium were covered by rampant flowers. Instead of honeysuckle, pink roses bloomed here, which gave the space a slightly different aspect and smell to ours. A difference accentuated by the statues at the heart of the seven fountains. As I studied the quartz carvings of the celestial beings, the pungent fragrance coupled with my lack of sleep and firing adrenaline made my head spin. Meeting someone new and going on an adventure with them usually thrilled me, the same way starting a new book did. This morning, though, dread superseded my excitement, because so much was atstake.
Borrowing courage from the statue of an angel brandishing a golden shield, I strode through the Atrium and into the half-moon foyer where I unlocked a glass compartment from the wall of lockers by scanning my fingertip. Inside was a thin wad of bills that could be replenished as long as the sum demanded wasn’toutrageous.
I stashed the money inside my handbag, and then, stealing one more breath of celestial air, I drew open the door and stepped into theunknown.
Chapter 7
After the doorof the guild clanged shut, I pirouetted to take in my surroundings. The sky was dark, but the street wasn’t. Smooth cobblestones framed by sidewalks too narrow for pedestrian use glistened underneath the row of antique cast-iron lanterns jutting from the limestone façade of two-storiedhouses.
A man sucking on a cigarette was hosing down the sidewalk in front of his bakery, seemingly the only other soul awake at—I checked the time on my phone—4:15AM.
I smiled at him, which won me a “Bonjour,mademoiselle.”
The scent of warmed butter wafted from inside the lit bakery where a woman with puffy red cheeks was rolling out a long strip of whitedough.
My fascination made the man proclaim in rapid French, “We make the best croissantsin all of Paris. They’ll be ready in twohours.”
My stomach rumbled. “I’ll be back later then,” I said, starting down the curved, cobbledstreet.
“We sell out beforeeight.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I’ll be back before eight,then.”
I brought up the map application on my phone to check where I was—Cour du Commerce Saint-André—and then I input where I needed to go—Place des Vosges. I discovered it was a half-hour walk through a neighborhood called Saint-Germain that reminded me of the East Village with its labyrinth of quaintstreets.
When I burst out of the maze and onto a quay overlooking the river, my lips parted. Carved limestone ended in slate rooftops that glistened as wildly as the current sweeping through the city. I suddenly wished I wasn’t in such a hurry to close my mission. The thought dampened the splendor around me, and then the sight of two homeless people cocooned in sleeping bags and panels of cardboard reminded me that not all was beautiful in the humanworld.
I crossed the bridge over the river that forked around l’Île de la Cité. The tiny island was even more quiet than the neighborhood I’d just left behind. Once I reached the other riverbank, though, there was noise. Not much at first—the occasional car or truck—but then I reached a larger street called Rivoli, and music spilled onto the sidewalk along with small groups of inebriated patrons. I sidestepped them, edging ever closer to a square dotted with lush trees. I scanned the buildings girdling the public garden until I located the stone mansion, which I’d flown from New York, in the middle of the night, to seek out. Although its entrance was shaded by an arcade that ran the length of the sleepy street, my digital map indicated this was Jarod’sheadquarters.
I crossed the road and dipped under the gothic archways toward enormous blood-red doors. If this weren’t a mobster’s domain, I might’ve found the color appealing. Instead, I found itominous.
The porte-cochère clicked open, and two men dressed in tuxedos exited. I held perfectly still, trying to blend into the shade of a stone column, but both men noticed me. A lone girl out and about at this hour would surely draw anyone’seye.
Where one lost interest fast, the other kept looking. Although his hair was shot through with silver, his skin was smooth. “Vous êtesperdue?”
My mind translated his words:Are you lost?“Non.”
