I lengthen my stride and summon a final burst of speed, but the beast is faster still. It pulls ahead, snorting as the Louvre comes into view along the riverbank.
If I don’t stop it now, I never will.
Desperate, I heft a pitchfork from a hay cart on the roadside, aim the tines at the smoke beast, and heave with all my might, sending a silent prayer with my makeshift spear. The tool is heavier than I’d thought and my aim is far from perfect, but the steel teeth manage to nick the creature’s hind leg. It whirls around and blasts the cobbles with fire. I slam to a halt a hair’s breadth from the scorched stones and roll to the side, narrowly avoiding a second strike.
The beast dives toward me, shaking the ground beneath my boots, shaking every quivering bone in my body. Its golden eyes lock on my frame and a scream burbles up my throat. I cast around for a weapon, an idea.Anything.
Think, Mira!
The river’s to my left. I could lure it to the water. Beasts that spit fire shouldn’t take kindly to water. Or I could run right, toward one of the armories. If the beast’s flames ignite the gunpowder, the explosion might kill it.
And half a block of innocent souls!
The creature hisses and stretches up to its full height. Its noxious breath pours over me like scalding water. I veer to the left. Not fast enough. Fire claws at my dress, and I curse myself yet again for not rendering Lesage’s blood draught soIcould control the monsters as well. Pain burns up my leg, but a second later it’s gone. Arms wrap around my chest and drag me to the street. We roll into the gutter, my skirts sizzling as the dreck douses the flames.
“Are you insane?” Josse shouts.
“You followed me.” I blink up at him, not certain he’s real.
“A little help!” Desgrez bellows. He’s dodging in and out of doorways across the street, stabbing wildly at the beast between bursts of fire.
Without looking at me, Josse pushes to his feet and comes at the beast from behind. He removes a dagger from his boot and manages to sink it into the smoke beast’s left hind leg. The creature screams and spins around. Its mace-like tail splinters through a wooden pillar, nearly beheading Desgrez.
“On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t help.” Desgrez ducks behind a crate, and Josse streaks across the road to join him.
Panting, I push up to my knees and gather rocks into my skirt. Then I hunker behind a vegetable cart and toss the stones at the smoke beast. When it turns to snarl at me, Josse and Desgrez leap from their hiding places and slash at its legs and neck. They manage a few decent blows, their faces and tunics covered in a spray of thick black blood, but the creature catches on. The next time I hurl my rocks, it swivels the other way and knocks Desgrez’s blade from his hand. The rapier spins into the road, and when Josse tries to grab it, the smoke beast nearly sets his hand aflame.
Exhausted and unarmed, Josse and Desgrez hunker behind the wooden pillars that hold the half-timbered houses aloft. The beast rears back and draws a snarling breath. It’s going to incinerate them—and the house too. I dart forward, pebbles falling from my skirt, and run at the creature, screaming.
Fire flares overhead. I gasp, assuming the beast breathed on the thatching. But instead of flaring upward, the fire rains down atop the monster—little balls of flame made of bundled twigs. The smoke beast screeches and lurches to the opposite side of the road, but a barrage of fire descends from that rooftop as well.
Down the block, two small figures dash from an alleyway waving their arms. The smoke beast rounds on them, but before it can lunge, someone whistles and a weighty bundle unfurls from the rooftops. It appears to be a net of some sort that drapes across the beast’s back and tangles in its lashing wings. While the creature struggles, more shadowed figures burst from the alleys and climb down gutters. Half of them run toward the beast’s head with daggers and fire pokers that they stab into its legs and underbelly, and the other half scurry around its stumbling feet like ants, reaching to secure the rope.
The smoke beast roars and swings its head, but before it can breathe its deadly fire, more figures emerge carrying pots of water, which they splash into the beast’s face. Scalding billows of steam churn into the sky, and the lethal tang of sulfur and brimstone is so overwhelming that I gag. As the creature struggles, the net tightens. The beast attempts to turn but stumbles over the rope and crashes to its knees.
I watch, stunned, as the group pins it to the ground and a boy—a gawky, pole-armedboy—raises an ax and cleaves the smoke beast’s head from its neck.
He laughs as slick blood sprays his face.
“What in Heaven’s name …” Desgrez’s voice trails off as the boy struts toward us, wiping his ax clean on his stained tunic. His straw-colored hair is matted in clumps and his eyes are feral and hungry. He couldn’t be more than fourteen, but he carries himself with an air of authority—shoulders square, brows set in his serious, crinkled forehead. He whistles and the shadowy figures that had been holding the net hustle to join him. They continue to pour from the crevasses and spindle down from the balconies like spiders. Every one of them is rail-thin with scraggly hair, and they’re armed to the teeth with daggers and pokers and clubs.
Shivers flash down my arms, and I take a stumbling step back.
A street gang. Paris is crawling with them—children who run from the orphanages, preferring to eke out an existence picking pockets in the gutter. It’s a cruel and merciless life, according to Gris, who took up with one of these gangs before Mother found him. He says the children are as hardened as any proper criminal. That they would have happily mugged Louis XIV himself had they spotted his carriage rumbling down the street.
They surround us like a pack of wolves, and I shrink closer to Josse and Desgrez—though I’m not entirely sure they’ll protect me again. Neither has so much as looked in my direction.
The boy slings the ax over his shoulder and says, “You’d be dead if it weren’t for us, and our protection doesn’t come free.” Desgrez edges toward his rapier at the side of the road, but the straw-haired boy swings his ax into the cobbles. Jagged bits of rock fly into the air, and he laughs when Desgrez jumps back. Which seems to be an invitation for the rest of the band to laugh. “I wouldn’t do that, monsieur.”
“Let us pass,” Desgrez says.
“Gladly.Ifyou pay.” The boy cocks his head and grins, poking his tongue through a hole where one of his front teeth should be.
“We haven’t got any money.” Josse pats his filthy tunic and breeches.
“Surely you’ve got something worth taking?”
“We didn’t ask for your assistance,” Desgrez says. “You cannot hold us hostage.”
