A hand caught her elbow.
‘Camille. Get up – we have to get out of here.’
It was Olympe, hooking her cool grey hand under her arm, and pulling her back into the passage with surprising strength.
‘No – wait,’ she cried weakly. ‘James and Guil – we can’t leave them.’
But Olympe ignored her and dragged her on.
‘You’ve saved my life enough times now. I have to return the favour.’
They staggered into the back alley. As Olympe kicked the door open, a huge tongue of flame tore up the corridor to lick over their heads. They tumbled into the street, shrieking in pain as the fire caught their clothes and hair.
Instantly, hands were on them, patting out the flames and pulling them further from the building.
‘Cam? Cam, can you hear me?’
She opened her eyes, feeling Ada’s familiar fingers stroking her face and fell apart in Ada’s arms. Hot tears burned her raw skin, and she shuddered against Ada’s chest.
‘Guil’s still in there. And James. They came for me but I couldn’t – I tried—’ She broke off. ‘I couldn’t save them. I failed.’
PART FOUR
Quickening
1
The Crypt at the Saints-Innocents Safe House
18 Prairial Year II, two days until the deadline
‘Keep the leg elevated! Don’t stop the pressure!’
They crashed into the crypt under the Saints-Innocents charnel house, hauling Guil’s limp body between the three of them. James had his hands under Guil’s arms and Al had his legs, while Ada desperately tried to keep her hands clamped over the wound that was gushing blood. Olympe followed, helping Camille, who was still struggling to breathe.
Clearing the top of a stone casket, they laid Guil down. James had emerged from the rubble of the theatre carrying Guil, and they had fled for the safehouse.
‘Get something for a tourniquet,’ James ordered.
Al dug around in the supplies stashed in the crypt and brought back a length of cloth and a piece of old bone. There were plenty of bones to choose from, scattered around the floor of the crypt. It was cramped and dark, lit only by window slits near the ceiling that cast a dim light on the moss-covered flags and empty alcoves in the walls where once femurs and ribs and skulls had been piled. They had bundles of supplies stashed between the broken flagstones, Ada’s crossbow wrapped in oilcloth, old clothes and masks for disguises, and a few medical odds and ends from patching each other up.
James fed the fabric around the top of Guil’s thigh, using the bone to twist the cloth tighter and tighter until Ada felt the flow of blood stem. But they couldn’t fit a tourniquet around the injury to his side. She stuffed the wound with rags, pressing both hands down in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.
‘Don’t let go.’ James pushed a hand through his hair, leaving a red smear across his forehead.
‘We need a doctor,’ said Ada.
‘No,’ said Camille. ‘No one can know where we are. It’s not safe.’
‘And letting Guil bleed to death is?’
Camille stared her down.
Ada felt his blood, hot and slippery on her fingers. ‘There’s been enough death already today—’
‘It’s not safe—’
‘I’m a doctor,’ cut in James. ‘I mean, I’m training to be one. Let me help.’
