so purposeful, like he was after something more than traumatizing them,” said Will.
“Of course, my friend. He broke their spirits in order to train his army,” said Sir Walter.
Mickie spoke in a crisp tone. “Enough. We’re done for today.” Protectively, she placed an arm around me.
All conversation was at an end, and we stood quietly with our own dismal thoughts. Sir Walter conjured a taxi out of a mass of yellow headlights streaming towards us, and we rode in silence to a building marked Palais de Justice .
Will took a long, hard look at me as we parked. “Do you want to just go back to the hotel?”
“I don’t want to offend Sir Walter,” I whispered.
The French gentleman overheard us and chuckled softly. “God cares not, child. Perhaps rest is what you need now, more than the celebration of the Mass.”
Mickie and Will exited the cab as Sir Walter spoke to the driver in rapid French. Winking at me, Sir Walter shut the door, my driver departed, and I collapsed once more into the back seat, exhausted. I rested my gaze on shuffling pedestrians as the taxi crept along the boulevard. The traffic reminded me of times I’d visited San Francisco; people on the sidewalks made better time than we could driving in a car. But it felt so good to be sitting.
I watched the faces of the pedestrians moving past. I smiled, imagining the stories Gwyn would make up if she were with me.
If we were friends.
I sighed. Gwyn’s voice tickled inside my head. This guy has to go home and tell his wife they’re being relocated to Iceland in the dead of winter; that woman just found out she’s pregnant with octuplets; that guy won the national lottery and spent it all on cheap whiskey … I heard her laughter in my head and tried to play the game myself for awhile. But my own mood was too somber. This girl just found out that there was a dad in World War II Germany who tortured his own children.
My eyes landed on a burly man with white–blond hair. For the most part, Parisians seemed to be dark–haired, so this guy stuck out. I watched him as he drew nearer, his expression a dour transferred–to–Iceland. My taxi driver slowed, causing the brakes to squeal noisily. The pedestrian looked up as he passed us. I twisted away just as he met my eyes, certain of who I’d seen: the blue–eyed man from Helga’s lab—Ivanovich!
I shrunk down into the seat, fear filling my veins like ice.
He doesn’t know you , I said to myself. He’d seen me last with a black nylon stocking that smashed my face beyond recognition. As proof that I wasn’t recognizable, he hadn’t connected my stocking–ed face with the drawing of me advertising my supposed “lost purse.”
But that didn’t matter, I realized. He did know what I looked like. He might not realize we’d met three weeks ago in Helga’s lab, but he knew me as “Jane Smith,” the fake name I’d given the first time I visited UC Merced. And from the poster, he knew his employer wanted me.
I snuck a peek out the back window of the taxi. Would he double back and pursue me? In the deepening twilight, it was impossible to be sure, but I didn’t locate anyone with blond hair looking back at my taxi.
I let out a huge sigh of relief.
And then I took in a gasp of air, ready to scream as the man with ice–blue eyes materialized in the taxi beside me.
Chapter Thirteen
NEEDLES
My scream never came. Before I had a chance, my pursuer threw large arms around me and rippled away, taking me with him. I quickly lost all sense of direction as he began a mad, invisible race through Paris with me locked in his arms.
At first I had no thought of struggling free; the crazy–fast speed at which we moved disoriented me. Then we slowed and dove underground passing through floors, rock, soil, and I didn’t know what–all. I grew afraid that if I tried to materialize, I would end up doing so within something solid.
Images from his mind flooded into my own. Fearful this could be a
“Of course, my friend. He broke their spirits in order to train his army,” said Sir Walter.
Mickie spoke in a crisp tone. “Enough. We’re done for today.” Protectively, she placed an arm around me.
All conversation was at an end, and we stood quietly with our own dismal thoughts. Sir Walter conjured a taxi out of a mass of yellow headlights streaming towards us, and we rode in silence to a building marked Palais de Justice .
Will took a long, hard look at me as we parked. “Do you want to just go back to the hotel?”
“I don’t want to offend Sir Walter,” I whispered.
The French gentleman overheard us and chuckled softly. “God cares not, child. Perhaps rest is what you need now, more than the celebration of the Mass.”
Mickie and Will exited the cab as Sir Walter spoke to the driver in rapid French. Winking at me, Sir Walter shut the door, my driver departed, and I collapsed once more into the back seat, exhausted. I rested my gaze on shuffling pedestrians as the taxi crept along the boulevard. The traffic reminded me of times I’d visited San Francisco; people on the sidewalks made better time than we could driving in a car. But it felt so good to be sitting.
I watched the faces of the pedestrians moving past. I smiled, imagining the stories Gwyn would make up if she were with me.
If we were friends.
I sighed. Gwyn’s voice tickled inside my head. This guy has to go home and tell his wife they’re being relocated to Iceland in the dead of winter; that woman just found out she’s pregnant with octuplets; that guy won the national lottery and spent it all on cheap whiskey … I heard her laughter in my head and tried to play the game myself for awhile. But my own mood was too somber. This girl just found out that there was a dad in World War II Germany who tortured his own children.
My eyes landed on a burly man with white–blond hair. For the most part, Parisians seemed to be dark–haired, so this guy stuck out. I watched him as he drew nearer, his expression a dour transferred–to–Iceland. My taxi driver slowed, causing the brakes to squeal noisily. The pedestrian looked up as he passed us. I twisted away just as he met my eyes, certain of who I’d seen: the blue–eyed man from Helga’s lab—Ivanovich!
I shrunk down into the seat, fear filling my veins like ice.
He doesn’t know you , I said to myself. He’d seen me last with a black nylon stocking that smashed my face beyond recognition. As proof that I wasn’t recognizable, he hadn’t connected my stocking–ed face with the drawing of me advertising my supposed “lost purse.”
But that didn’t matter, I realized. He did know what I looked like. He might not realize we’d met three weeks ago in Helga’s lab, but he knew me as “Jane Smith,” the fake name I’d given the first time I visited UC Merced. And from the poster, he knew his employer wanted me.
I snuck a peek out the back window of the taxi. Would he double back and pursue me? In the deepening twilight, it was impossible to be sure, but I didn’t locate anyone with blond hair looking back at my taxi.
I let out a huge sigh of relief.
And then I took in a gasp of air, ready to scream as the man with ice–blue eyes materialized in the taxi beside me.
Chapter Thirteen
NEEDLES
My scream never came. Before I had a chance, my pursuer threw large arms around me and rippled away, taking me with him. I quickly lost all sense of direction as he began a mad, invisible race through Paris with me locked in his arms.
At first I had no thought of struggling free; the crazy–fast speed at which we moved disoriented me. Then we slowed and dove underground passing through floors, rock, soil, and I didn’t know what–all. I grew afraid that if I tried to materialize, I would end up doing so within something solid.
Images from his mind flooded into my own. Fearful this could be a
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