She returned his smile. “I feel fine—a bit tired, is all.”

“We have time to eat and bathe before Café L’Enfer—or we could catch a few more winks and bathe. Which would you prefer?”

“Sleep.” Softly, she kissed each scratch on his chest. They rested for another hour in a kind of twilight slumber, She hooked a long leg over his thigh, while he ran his hand along the curve of her hip and across a rounded buttock cheek.

And the bath was . . . stimulating.

They took turns washing each other. Mia, the water sprite, with a slippery bar of soap in her hands, caused a good deal of tumescence under milky water. For his part, he kept his fingers soaped and on her clitoris until she quivered and moaned.

By nine, they were squeaky clean and thoroughly pleasured. They dressed in a rush and met the Nightshades in the dining room just past the designated hour. “Everyone accounted for?” he inquired.

“America and gargoyle are off having a visit with one of Edvar’s relations, the chimera, Le Stryge,” Valentine advised. “At Notre Dame Cathedral . . .”

He must have blinked.

“I believe he resides above the Northeast Façade—along with a few more of Edvar’s kind.” The female Nightshade fashioned a pretty eye-roll. “He was quite insistent.”

“The gargouille—they are waterspouts, are they not?” Mia asked.

“Turned to stone, centuries ago. Edvar was correct about that.” The gentle, mannered voice came from behind them.

Exeter pivoted. “Mr. Ping, you have returned to us.”

Ping appeared slightly more male than female. Exeter had witnessed the immortal jinni vary his gender on several occasions. It was . . . stunning, to say the least.

“Doctor Exeter. Mia. You’re just in time for my report.” Ping slanted silver eyes as he pushed a lever on Tim’s projection map. “Several tunnels have been lost and others gained.” The genie pointed out the best and worst of what they might face, if they decided to enter the catacombs from alternate, Outremer Paris. “I ran across a troll by the name of Gobb Filkins who knows the catacombs and moves quite comfortably back and forth through the warples.”

Exeter frowned. “Good God, trolls.”

“Says he’s glad to help us.” Ping shrugged. “Apparently, Prospero elbowed him out of his favorite niche, and Gobb is . . . perturbed.”

“Warples?” Mia queried.

“Short for Trans-temporal warp portals—wherever both worlds touch. Oakley’s going to use the warples to prove his Uncertainty Principle. The more precisely one measures the momentum of a particle, the less precise one’s measurement becomes.” Tim rubbed sweaty palms on his trousers. “It helps explain why the portals tend to drift.” The young inventor’s anxiety level was palpable. Clearly he was agitated.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Noggy?” Exeter had never seen the young inventor in such a state.

“The wizard container is ready.” Noggy removed a dingy-looking pocket square and wiped the perspiration off his brow. “Oakley’s latest device . . . I thought I mentioned it in London . . . designed to capture and contain Prospero—for a few minutes. Actually, we’re not sure how long it might hold him. Kind of hard to run beta tests, if you follow.” Tim scanned blank stares. “Guess not. Anyway, once we’ve got him in the trap, we have to get him to Black Box headquarters, where there’s a permanent cell that will hold him indefinitely.”

Exeter suddenly understood the level of anxiety in the room. He had never met Tim’s twin brother, an inventor in his own right, but he had heard enough . . . Oakley was a genius and a recluse, with a talent for making money. Bazillions, was the word Tim had used.

At one time, Oakley had been a competitor of the powerful Prospero, maker of strange and sundry creatures, who also controlled the aether supply in the Outremer. To Exeter’s mind, their much reported rivalry had always begged the question—where exactly did Oakley fit in—and who, exactly, was the enemy? Whatever the answer, Prospero had presumably forced Black Box underground. The details were fuzzy. Exeter continued to scrutinize Noggy. He disliked fuzzy details, and he greatly disliked this dangerous, sideways shift in their mission. “I take it we are going to have to lure him in?”

The corpulent young scientist nodded.

“Well, this is a good deal more than we bargained for.” Exeter checked the mood around the room. Sober, indeed. “However, it may also be the only way to free Phaeton and protect the Moonstone.”

Tim hesitated. “Uh . . . about the Moonstone.”

Chapter Seventeen

MIA SENSED AN UNDERCURRENT OF HYSTERIA in the dining room; conspiratorial forces were at work. Exeter arched a brow and she answered him silently, shifting her gaze to the cherubic young scientist. “What exactly are America and Edvar doing with those old stone waterspouts?” she queried.

Tim mumbled something she could barely make out.

Exeter leaned forward. “Sorry, did you say—setting a trap?”

“I suspect they’re not visiting with Edvar’s distant relations.” Mia scanned the room and didn’t receive much eye contact.

Finally Ping spoke. “We tried to bring you in on the plan, but found your bedchamber empty. One of the tall windows was open . . .”

Exeter swept his frock coat back, resting his fist on his hip. “Mia has reached a point where she can control her shifts.” His gaze connected with hers. “A real breakthrough, actually. We were out together this evening, as an exercise.”

“That is wonderful news.” Valentine approached them both. “America believes Phaeton entrusted the Moonstone to Edvar, and that the gargoyle hid the stone in one of the creatures at the cathedral.”

“Please tell me Jersey is with her.” Exeter raised his voice.

Tim licked the droplets of sweat on his upper lip before speaking. “America got a bit ahead of plans—Jersey went after them the moment we discovered the note.”

Valentine handed over the message. “Ping and Victor both advised Phaeton to entrust the stone to someone of great loyalty. A person or creature who could not be swayed.” Mia thought the female Nightshade stood up rather well under the doctor’s severe scrutiny.

Exeter crumpled the notepaper. “You realize America is in grave danger, especially now . . .” Nodding to something behind the inventor, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Step aside, Tim.” He pointed a finger at the low-flying spy, zapping the small intruder with a pinpoint beam of energy. Mia quivered involuntarily at the memory of his extraordinary touch. Exeter noticed, and winked.

“We need to find them quickly, before Prospero can act.” He motioned them out the door, and down to the lobby.

No matter how angry he was, Mia had to admit that Doctor Exeter was the most reassuring of men, at times. Somehow, no matter how great the difficulty, she knew he would see them through the trials ahead. In the courtyard, he helped the ladies into the coach and waited for Ping and Tim to climb inside. He poked his head in the door. “What’s the address again—of the café?”

Valentine leaned forward. “Fifty-five Boulevard de Clichy.” Exeter looked a bit sheepish. “I apologize for raising my voice earlier.”

En route to the cathedral, Tim quickly laid out the situation. “If Edvar has loosed the Moonstone, the logical place to store it would be in the incarcerator.”

“The only way to lure clever game into such an obvious trap. I take it America has the device with her.” Exeter’s jaw twitched as he studied Tim. “Tell me truthfully, Mr. Noggy, was it in your brother’s plans to incarcerate the Moonstone as well as Prospero?”

Tim’s mouth flattened into a thin, grim line. “More than likely.”

Mia was curious. “Rather a neat trick—capture two for the price of one. But how could anyone possibly know it would work—the device, that is?

“Several years ago, during a brawl, Oakley whacked some skin off Prospero’s skull.” The mental picture of Tim’s brother engaged in knives and fisticuffs with the evil wizard caused several mouths to drop open.

“It was brutal. A fight to the death, only . . . it didn’t exactly turn out that way.” Tim shook his head. “Prospero fled with some of my brother’s top-secret designs and Oakley ran his DNA profile.” The roundish young scientist read the look on Exeter’s face. “Chill, mate—it’s a medical identification procedure that doesn’t get invented in your world for another hundred years.”

“Anyway, if we can get Prospero within a few feet of the incarcerator”—Tim pursed his lips and made a siphoning noise—“he gets reduced to subatomic bits and sucked right in.”

Mia clapped her mouth shut and checked Exeter, who continued to stare rather pointedly at Noggy. “And you’re quite certain the device will hold both the Moonstone and Prospero.”

She caught an upward flicker of exotic silver eyes, as did Exeter. “Thoughts, Ping?”

“Any calculations for the Moonstone would be guesswork. As for Prospero . . .” The jinni did not appear overly concerned. “Remember the Moonstone senses intentions.”

Tim craned his neck for a glance out the window. “We’re at the western façade of the cathedral—does anyone see them?” The cathedral’s doors appeared to be open, though it was hard to make out much detail, as the impressive Gothic structure was dimly lit. A number of visitors lingered near the entrance.

“There—up in the gallery of chimeras.” Valentine pointed to the figure of the smallish gargoyle perched on the head of Le Stryge. Edvar bounced up and down on his larger stone cousin in the most insistent way, as if he was attempting to dislodge—one might surmise—the Moonstone. In a burst of color and light, a globe-shaped object emerged from the head of Le Stryge. The glowing object hovered momentarily in midair and then dove for the concourse. The diminutive comet whooshed its way around clusters of tourists, who cried out in alarm at the strange, low-flying object. A cloaked character chased after the fireball—almost certainly Jersey.