Aeromancist (SECOND EDITION): Art of Air (7 Forbidden Arts Book 3) Page 4

  Early the following morning, Lann’s driver rang Kat’s doorbell. He carried her single suitcase downstairs. Lann and Eve were waiting in the car. From the look of them, they were in a heated discussion. When the driver opened the door, they fell silent. Except for a quick greeting, none of them spoke again until they boarded a private jet.

  An airhostess showed them to their seats. Feeling nauseous again, Kat laid her head back and focused on her breathing. The last thing she wanted was to vomit in a paper bag with Lann for an audience.

  Someone touched her arm. She opened her eyes.

  Eve was bent over her. “Ginger helps.”

  “Thanks,” Kat said, offering a meek smile.

  “What’s wrong?” Lann asked.

  Eve took her seat. “Morning sickness.”

  For a brief moment, Lann looked guilty.

  “It’s nothing,” Kat said, turning her face away from his gaze.

  Although she didn’t spill her guts, her nausea didn’t abate. She suffered it for the duration of the ten-hour flight.

  Before landing, Kat used the bathroom to freshen up. She studied herself in the mirror. She appeared pale. Applying a bit of make-up to put some color back in her face, and brushing her hair and teeth made her feel somewhat better.

  The airhostess announced that it was minus five degrees Celsius at ground level. Coming from a summer where thirty degrees was the rule, Kat didn’t look forward to the bleak weather she saw from the window as they landed. When the plane door opened, she pulled on her wool coat and scarf, and followed Lann and Eve to a waiting car.

  Everything seemed unreal. It felt as if she was watching a movie. What happened wasn’t happening to her. Until two weeks ago, she belonged to Lann. She believed she was happy. Two days ago, her life was shattered by the double lines on a pregnancy test. Ten hours ago, she was in Santiago. Now, she was on French soil.

  She looked around. They weren’t at a major airport, but at a smaller airfield. Except for a control tower and a hangar, there were no other buildings. They weren’t going through passport control. Nobody, except Diana, knew where she was. Even Diana didn’t know exactly where she was. She didn’t know either, only that she was somewhere in Paris. Could she even trust Eve and Lann? Her heart started beating with a sluggish pace. Her grief had made her blind. Once again, she’d placed her life in Lann’s hands without thinking it through.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. What was she doing? She didn’t have a phone. Since her mobile didn’t have roaming, she’d left it in Santiago. She hadn’t even brought her computer. She only had a few American dollars.

  Eve got into the car. Lann turned with his hand extended, presumably to help Kat inside, and stilled.

  His gaze found her where she’d paused not far from the steps of the plane. “Katherine?”

  She’d once trusted him completely, but that was before she’d learned of his deceit. She’d even trusted him after he’d confessed his job sometimes involved killing people. She’d believed he wouldn’t hurt her. She’d believed he was a good person. Had her passion and lust made her see only what she wanted? The emotional turmoil had prevented her from thinking logically for the past two days. Now her mind suddenly cleared like sunshine after a storm. She didn’t know him.

  A frown pleated his brow. “Katherine?”

  She didn’t move.

  He extended his hand farther. “Come to me, Katherine.”

  Come to me, one of his love notes had said, the one he’d given her with a ruby-encrusted hairclip because the gemstones reminded him of her hair. She’d left it behind with his other gifts, everything he’d given her, to rid herself of anything that could evoke a painful memory.

  But ridding herself of her baby wouldn’t be like that.

  On the contrary, the memory would haunt her to her grave. Her love for a baby she was yet to name wouldn’t let her take the hand Lann offered. She couldn’t go through with it, no matter the cost.

  Lann’s expression shifted. His concern made way for fear. He took a step toward her, still reaching for her. “It’s going to be all right.”

  It was a lie. She looked around, searching for a way to escape. They were on an airfield, in the middle of nowhere. She had nowhere to run to, nowhere to go. If she was going to get away from him and Eve, she had to play along. For now.

  She forced herself to take a step.

  “Good girl,” he said with a warm smile, but his body remained tense. “Come to me, sweetheart.”

  She took another step. He waited perfectly still, as if he were talking her down from a ledge. When she was within his reach, he gripped her fingers tightly. He pulled her to him and then into the warmth of the car. Inside, he put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his body. Stiff with tension, she allowed the caress. She needed to save her strength for the battles that mattered. She let him believe she was giving up, giving in. Surprise was the strongest weapon.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered in her hair. “I’ll find a way to make this up to you.”

  Eve shot her a questioning look, but Kat avoided her eyes by looking through the window. The driver pulled away.

  “Where are we?” Kat asked.

  “We’re south of Paris,” Lann said, “close to Versailles.”

  The fields changed to suburbs, and the suburbs to skyscrapers. After a forty-five-minute drive, they stopped in front of a skyscraper with glass walls.

  “We’re here,” Lann said, his announcement sounding like a verdict.

  He got out and gave Kat a hand. Eve followed.

  “Come on,” he said, taking Kat’s arm. “The driver will bring our luggage.”

  It was late afternoon. A weak sun, already low on the horizon, peered through the clouds. They didn’t go through reception, but entered via a side entrance. Eve led them through a hallway down to a basement and up a staircase to a floor with a private sign. She opened the door to a room handsomely furnished with a whitewashed armoire, bed, and nightstand. Original paintings lined the walls, and a flat screen television was mounted on the one facing the bed. Vases full of flowers stood on every surface. Gold of Kinabalu orchids. Funeral flowers. Condolence flowers. Her heart clenched so painfully it was difficult to breathe. Mechanically, she lifted the card next to the vase on the nightstand. From Lann.

  Lann helped her out of her coat and hung it in the armoire before unbuttoning his own. The driver followed with their bags and left them in the room.

  When he was gone, Eve said, “I’ll let you two get settled in. Kat, I’ll have dinner sent over right away. I suggest you eat, because in an hour’s time you can’t eat or drink anything until tomorrow morning. I’ll do the procedure at seven. I’ll come fetch you at six. Have a shower tonight. Any questions?”

  Kat had plenty, but none of those mattered now. She shook her head.

  “See you tomorrow.” Eve squeezed Kat’s hand. “Everything will be fine.”

  She left and closed the door on the false promise.

  Silence descended.

  They faced each other as the awkwardness stretched.

  Kat cleared her throat and forced her vocal cords to function. “You’re staying here, in this room?” she asked, glancing at his bag that stood snugly next to hers.

  “I told you, I’m not going to let you do this alone.”

  She bit her lip to stop herself from replying. Nothing she said was going to make a difference.

  He lowered his glasses to look at her. “Do you need anything? Do you have any cravings? Can I get you some wine or snacks?”

  She was about to say she wasn’t drinking alcohol when an idea crossed her mind. “There is something, if you don’t mind.”

  “Anything.”

  “Eve said some ginger would help.”

  “Of course,” he said, buttoning his coat back up.

  She gave him a weak smile and sat down on the bed. “Thank you.”

  The walls were painted yellow. Maybe it was to create a cheerful m
ood, or at least fake it. From her window, she had a pretty view of the garden, and soft music played through a central system. What would their child look like? Would it be a boy, with blond hair and strange yellow eyes, or a girl?

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, watching her too closely.

  “I’m tired. I think I’ll lie down until you get back.”

  His voice softened. “I won’t be long. If you need something while I’m gone, press this button.” He showed her a button on the wall.

  “Okay.”

  He hovered, as if he wanted to say something, but then he pursed his lips and left the room.

  In case he was testing her, she lay down and waited five minutes. When nothing happened, she jumped from the bed, grabbed her coat from the armoire, hastily threw it on, and grabbed her bag. She opened the door a crack and peeked around the frame. The hallway was empty. Instead of taking the stairs, she rushed to an elevator, and pushed on the button. Nothing.

  “Come on,” she mumbled, repeatedly stabbing the button.

  Several precious seconds passed before the elevator arrived. Hopping inside, she prayed she wouldn’t run into Eve, but the floor was deserted when she exited. It wasn’t difficult to retrace their steps. Within minutes, she was at the side exit. Thankfully, the door was unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped outside. A blast of cold air hit her.

  Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she hurried through the back garden and found a gate that gave access to the street, but it was locked. Disappointment and anxiety rushed through her. Adrenaline flushed away the cold, replacing it with a wave of nauseating heat. She held her breath as she followed the path around the building to the front. A few people exited through the main entrance. She fell in behind them and hid her face in the lapels of her coat as she followed the small group through the front gates. The security guard didn’t even look up. Sagging with relief, she forced herself to walk normally until she rounded the corner. Only then, when she was out of view, did she run. She rushed into the streets of Paris with no idea where she was going.

  She walked for a long time, until she ended up in a neighborhood with cobble-stoned alleys and sand-colored buildings on either side. Shops and bars dominated the ground level, their doors closed against the cold. People huddling in coats and hats pushed past her, their faces cast down. Most of the clouds had dissipated, and strangely, now that the sky was clear, it was colder. The sun was no more than a glow that threw long shadows over the pedestrians. Their heels echoed on the stones, a loud clattering that encroached and surrounded her. She was moving up-stream, caught by elbows and shuffled by shoulders. Then, just like that, the mass of people dissipated. The footsteps faded around a corner. Dusk swallowed the shadows. All of a sudden, she was alone in a cold, dark alley.

  Looking over her shoulder, she walked faster. She saw no one, but she kept moving farther, trying to outrun the fear that seemed to follow on her heels. For how long had she been running? Where was she? No shop lights burned in the windows. The buildings were quiet, their doors shuttered. Graffiti marred the walls and the stench of urine lifted from the pavements. The wind had picked up. She was shivering with more than cold. She had to get out of the alley and find shelter. Shoving her hands deep into her pockets, she followed the snaking alleys from dead-end to dead-end, panic propelling her feet faster despite her exhaustion.

  She rounded a corner and stumbled onto a square only big enough to stage a fountain. Two other streets ran out from its center. Blindly choosing one, she hurried left, right, left again, and exited on the same square. Tears burned in her eyes. She’d been impulsive and stupid.

  This time she took the other street, making her way down the alley not wide enough for a car to pass. A short way up front, a movement caught her eye. She stopped. Three figures leaned against the wall. One of them pulled a match and lit a cigarette. It was too far to make out their faces, but judging by their height, and their hats and coats, they were men. She felt trapped. If she turned back, she’d end up by the fountain. Going forward wasn’t an option. She looked left and right. No shops or brasseries. In the arch of another side street hung a sign for a hotel. It would have to do.

  She moved toward the dim light illuminating a portion of the building. The outside was painted red, the original stonework showing through the flaking color. When she rang the bell, the door to the street clicked open without delay.

  She slipped into a dark entrance with a reception desk lit by a lamp. A thin, bald man sat behind the desk. He stared at her without offering a greeting. The front door shut behind her with a click. Floorboards creaked under her soles as she crossed the lobby.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head.

  She pointed at the keys hanging on the wall behind him. “How much for a room?”

  He pushed a brochure over the counter. “Cinquante.”

  Fifty Euros in big print ran across the pamphlet. That was pretty cheap, which meant it was a bad area or a questionable place. She only needed a room to rest, to think, and to figure out what to tell her parents when she called them in the morning.

  The man tapped his fingers on the counter. “Alors?”

  She took the money from her purse. “I only have dollars.”

  Grabbing the money from her, he licked his thumb and fanned the bills. He looked back up to drag his gaze over her. “Quel numéro?”

  She squinted at the words. Assuming he’d asked her which room she preferred, she looked at the keys. They were all there. She was the only customer.

  She pulled up her shoulders in a tired gesture. “Doesn’t matter.”

  He gave her number nine. He was counting the bills when she made her way upstairs. Number nine was on the first floor. The key turned with difficulty. Just when she thought she’d have to go back and call the man to come and help her, the lock gave way and the door opened. She closed the door and tried to lock it from the inside, but this time the key didn’t budge. Finally, too tired to struggle further, she gave up and pushed a chair under the door handle.

  She looked around the room. The light that fell through the window basked the interior in a red glow. Everything inside was red, except for the furniture. The wallpaper was burgundy, reflecting the hue of the carpet. The room was old and shabby, but surprisingly clean. The French sleigh bed was noisy under her weight. She didn’t switch on the light. She wanted to stay in this semi-darkness, just for a little while.

  Kat woke with a start. She lay on the bed, still fully clothed. She sat up to listen for the noise that had pulled her from her sleep. There it was. A thump on the floor in the corridor. Her throat tightened. Thump. Thump. There were no other guests. Unless it was a latecomer, or the man downstairs.

  Thump. The sound stopped at her door. Kat clutched her coat lapels together. There was no other door, no en-suite bathroom. Assessing her escape routes, she looked at the window, but the movement of the door handle caught her attention. Someone was pressing it down.

  Her heart slammed into her ribs. Adrenaline pumped through her body, making her skin prick with pins and needles. Before she had time to jump from the bed, the door splintered with a deafening noise and crashed into the room. The impact broke the chair as if it were a matchstick.

  Chapter 4

  Horror kept Kat frozen as a cloud of dust rose from the carpet. A man dressed in a black coat and hat stood in the frame. Two men with similar attire hovered behind him. Her breath caught. The men from the alley. Her only escape route was via the window. Without glancing away from the dark figures, she got up. Taking a deep breath, she sprinted for the window.

  The stocky man blocking the door moved inhumanly fast. Grabbing hold of her hair, he yanked her back. She uttered a cry as he threw her onto the bed, making her land facedown. Pushing onto her hands and knees, she scurried to the other side and crouched with her back against the headboard.

  “Hello there, lass,” the man said with a slight Scottish accent. �
��You must be Katherine.”

  She gasped. “Who are you?”

  He remained in the shadows, so she couldn’t see his face, but there was a strange glow to his skin that broke through the darkness. His cronies didn’t enter. They stood immobile with their hats pulled low, guarding the door.

  “He said you were pretty.” The man took a step forward. Red light washed over his face. “But he didn’t say you were such a luscious piece of flesh.”

  Repulsion made her shiver. He had a round, pudgy face, and a glowing white skin marred with pockmarks.

  “Who are you talking about?” She was playing for time, wracking her brain for a way out.

  He flicked his tongue over a set of teeth finer than toothpicks as he sniffed the air. “You smell good. Pity he wants the bairn you’re carrying worse than you.” He advanced toward her. “If it was me, I’d give up the babe, but,” he stopped at the side of the bed, “maybe he’ll change his mind when he sees you.”

  Kat flattened herself against the headboard. “What do you want?”

  Dark hair that fell from under his hat framed his fat cheeks. His lips were blood red, and his bulging eyes didn’t reflect the light. The scars on his skin weren’t pockmarks. They were … scales.

  “I can’t bite you,” he said, “not without harming the babe, but I can enjoy you in other ways.”

  “Get away from me!”

  Taking another step closer, he whispered, “I smell your fear and it makes me hard.”

  “Step the fuck away from her,” a cold, hard voice said from the hallway.

  Lann.

  An artic wind blasted into the room and slammed into the wall behind her. The men guarding the door pulled knives from under their jackets.

  “Lann!”

  Kat screamed, but before the sound had left her lips, Lann aimed and fired two pistols. The men dropped where they’d been standing.

  “Come to me,” Lann said, the strain evident on his face as he kept his weapons and gaze trained on the man.