Wrath of the Fallen by Eve Archer
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ella
I gaped at the black mass of funnel-shaped clouds enveloping the towers of Notre Dame and turned to Caspiel. “Didn’t you say that Mastema and Dominick left Notre Dame?”
“Mastema did,” Caspiel said, the pregnant pause after his answer leaving me in no doubt as to where Dominick and Rami were.
“We have to help them.” I tugged Sara’s arm toward the storm.
“How can we help? If this is the same kind of storm that we saw in Jerusalem, then I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”
I shook my head impatiently. “There’s something Dominick needs to know. Something I read in one of Mastema’s books.”
Sara gave a nervous glance at the black sky. “He needs to know this now?”
“Yes. It’s about the prophecy.”
“The prophecy?” Caspiel asked.
“It isn’t what everyone thinks it is. At least, not exactly. And the truth about the prophecy might make all this warring between the archangels and the Fallen—between my father and Dominick—pointless.”
Sara pressed her lips together but nodded. “It isn’t exactly how I intended to get away and clear my head, but if you know something that could end all this, then you need to tell them.”
I stepped onto the sidewalk, but Caspiel grabbed my arm. “It isn’t wise for you to travel though Paris out in the open.”
I scoured the streets for one of the shiny, black taxis with the compact, white light on the top. “Then we’ll take a cab.”
The demon gave a brusque shake of his head. “We need to be unseen until we reach the cathedral, otherwise they could intercept you, and…”
I gulped. “Kill me before I can reach Dom?”
He didn’t nod, but he didn’t have to.
“Then how do we get there?” Sara asked, putting one hand on her hip and tapping her toe on the pavement.
Caspiel raked a hand through his hair before waving for us both to follow him down the sidewalk, and then down an alley next to the hotel. The impending storm had sent most tourists scurrying, so the narrow street was empty.
Caspiel glanced around furtively before kneeling beside a manhole cover and popping it open.
“You’re kidding right?” Sara gaped at him. “You expect us to travel to Notre Dame through the sewers?”
“I’m with Sara,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I’ll take my chances with the archangels.”
“Not the sewers,” the demon said, “the catacombs.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. I gestured to the dark hole that led underground. “This is the entrance to the famous catacombs of Paris?”
“It isn’t the official one, of course, but there are many entrances to the catacombs. Most of them get sealed up, because it’s illegal to wander in the unofficial part of the underground corridors, but our network of demons has always used the catacombs, and we keep secret entrances in use.”
“Now that, I believe,” Sara said.
I rubbed my bare arms at the sudden chill skittering across my skin. “So that means demons wander the catacombs?”
Caspiel gave me an indulgent grin. “Demons wander every part of Paris, but the catacombs hold special appeal.”
“And you’re sure a taxi wouldn’t be safer?” I asked.
Caspiel shifted his gaze to the circle cut into the street. “Do you think the archangels will think to go looking for you here?”
I huffed out a breath. I’d be thrilled when I could reveal the truth about the prophecy and stop worrying about being a target of everyone from Lilith to my own angel father. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Sara leveled a finger at him. “If we get lost under here, I’m going to spend the rest of my natural life singing ‘100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall’ at you.”
He grinned then noticed her fierce expression, and his own smile vanished. “Understood. I don’t know that song, but I assume it’s torturous.”
“Oh, it is,” I told him. “And Sara sounds like a cat in heat when she sings.”
She nodded. “It’s true.”
Caspiel looked at us both like we were crazy, before lowering himself through the manhole and holding up his arms. I wished I hadn’t worn a sundress, but there was nothing I could do about my poor wardrobe choice now. I sat down and let my legs dangle into the darkness before taking a deep breath and letting myself drop.
The demon caught me and set me down next to him then peered up just in time to catch Sara as she jumped down. When we were both standing beneath the street, Caspiel turned on the flashlight feature of his phone, sweeping the beam of light around us.
“These are catacombs?” I blinked hard at the high ceiling and smooth, stone walls. I’d imagined some dingy tunnel that we’d need to hunch over in, or crawl through, but this was spacious and well-crafted. The beige stone did appear damp, and it would have been generous to call the smell musty, but it was a far cry from a sewer system.
“You’re sure you know how to get to Notre Dame?” Sara asked. “I mean, they are called catacombs for a reason.”
“Decades ago, there were rave parties held down here. It’s been a while, but I remember it well.”
I eyed the tall demon in the designer clothes. He didn’t strike me as someone who would fit in at a rave, but perhaps he’d reinvented himself a few times.
He walked forward, and Sara and I stayed close on his heels, our arms linked, and our footsteps echoing. The light from his phone bounced off the walls, but most of the long corridor was shrouded in darkness, the blackness consuming the edges of the feeble light.
Soon the ceiling sloped down. The stone overhead became jagged, and the air fetid. Sara gripped my arm and sucked in air. “Is that what I think it is?”
I squinted to follow her gaze and spotted a skull embedded in the wall. “You mean, is it a human skull? Yep.”
“You know, people give the New York subway system a bad rap, but you’re never going to hear me complaining about it being dirty again.”
We slunk to the other side of the corridor as we passed the skull, but soon, we were passing another. Within minutes, the stone walls had morphed to walls made entirely of bones and skulls, the skulls facing outward, in long rows.
“Please tell me these people all didn’t die while trying to find their way out,” Sara said in a stage whisper.
Caspiel laughed and the sound echoed off the walls, making it sound more ominous than cheery. “The catacombs were originally the city’s ancient stone quarries. When the city needed a better place to store their dead, they began moving bodies from flooded cemeteries.”
“That’s comforting,” I said, trying not to brush against the ancient skulls as I walked, my body recoiling and even my breath becoming shallower.
We rounded a corner, and Caspiel stopped so suddenly both Sara and I walked into him. A figure stood a few feet in front of us, his shoulders stooped, and his head bowed. He wore black clothes that were covered in a fine layer of dust. When he raised his head and his eyes flashed red, Sara’s hold on my arm tightened but she didn’t make a sound.
It’s okay, I reminded myself. Caspiel said that the demons frequent the catacombs. Besides, we were walking through them with a demon, one of the prince of demon’s top deputies. Surely, we were safe.
“I’m here by authorization of Mastema, Prince of Demons,” Caspiel announced in a booming voice.
“He has no authority over the dark demons of the dead,” the creature rasped, sliding a hand over his hairless head, flakes of loose skin fluttering off and sifting down to the ground at his feet.
I shot Sara a look. Dark demons of the dead?
“What in the ever-loving hell is a dark demon of the dead?” she whispered to me.
Caspiel glanced quickly at us, and I thought for a moment that he was going to explain it. Instead, he mouthed, run!
