“Go back, America!” Phaeton’s voice echoed from a faraway place.

Chapter Eighteen

EXETER GRABBED HOLD OF AMERICA only to have her break apart in his hands. Whoosh. Vanished into the Outremer. The darkness had just reached out and swallowed her up. He whirled around to find Mia and the Nightshades right behind him. “And the Moonstone?”

“Right here, mate.” Tim held the incarcerator under his arm.

Exeter exhaled a sigh of frustration or relief—maybe a bit of both. “I’m quite certain those two odd blokes dragged her across. We must follow them, in haste.” Exeter retrieved from his pocket the portable iDIP, which Tim had given him the day before in the train station. “How do I work this?”

“I wouldn’t, mate.” Tim grimaced.

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t be sure where she is. We need to get back to the hotel room, see if the bugs have located the hideout—pronto.”

Mia grasped Exeter’s arm. “Earlier this evening, I heard a voice. Ping heard it, as did America. I believe it was a warning from Phaeton, but there may have been a message, as well.”

Exeter turned to Ping. “What did he say?”

“If any of you tire of sin, you can always dash next door for a bit of Heaven.” Ping repeated the words verbatim.

Exeter stared. “What do you think it means?” A waiter dressed as Satan took obvious delight in shouting his order to the bartender. “Three seething bumpers of molten sin, with a dash of brimstone intensifier!”

Exeter tapped the waiter’s shoulder. “What sort of establishment adjoins l’Enfer?”

The devil snorted a laugh. “How can there be a hell without a heaven, monsieur?

As the Nightshades encircled the man, Exeter pressed the question. “Another café?”

The waiter retreated slightly. “Oui, Cabaret du Ciel. Everyone knows this, monsieur—”

Exeter placed Mia’s hand through the crook in his arm. “We break up into two groups,” he tossed the directive over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “Mia and I will go after America. They can’t be far ahead of us, not with a pregnant captive in hand.”

Exiting Hell’s Café, they were mysteriously plunged back into 1889 Paris. It appeared the veil between worlds was less stable in Montmartre. Mia wobbled a bit—disoriented by the sudden shift in time and space. “A bit of hysteria is all—breathe deeply—you’ll soon shake it off.” Exeter steadied her.

As they waited for their carriage, he unfolded a square of paper that contained a small amount of white powder. “Derived from an alkaloid obtained from the leaves of the coca plant, valuable as a local anaesthesiant, also used as a stimulant.” He took a pinch of the powder and held it under her nose. “Inhale, Mia—as if it were snuff.” He passed several packets around. “We are likely to cross over several times tonight—this will help keep our heads clear.”

Almost instantly, Mia appeared brighter—more alert. “You will likely experience a kind of visual and mental clarity.” She rubbed out a tickle in her nose. “Better?” he asked.

“Rather splendid, actually.”

“I’d like Jersey to come with Mia and me.” Exeter turned to Tim. “Mr. Noggy, the communication devices?” While Tim dug in his pocket for gadgets, they finalized plans. Tim, Ping, and Valentine would return to the hotel, mark the likeliest spots for Prospero’s underground chambers, and promptly relay the locations via the communicators. “Here we are.” Tim produced a handful of small devices. “Just like Star Trek, only better.” One never completely understood what the cherubic young inventor was talking about. Exeter was quite sure he spouted the esoteric vernacular for his own amusement.

Ping removed his spectacles. “You will likely descend into a sketchy bit of old quarry tunnel, which means you’ll run into a number of passages that lead nowhere. Some were dug as tests for the Métro. Paris will not have an underground train system for another ten years—so, if you happen to run across tracks or hear trains, you’ll know you’ve passed into the Outremer. Also, anarchists store weapons down there. They often plant explosives to protect their caches. Keep a lookout for trip wires.”

Tim handed Exeter a small, curved device. “Two buttons. One is the on/off switch, the other—press to speak, release to listen. Hook it over your ear—that’s it.”

Exeter pressed the on/off switch and practiced.

“The headset is also a homing device, so leave it turned on. Press when you want to talk and release to listen. These things can communicate across time and space, so they should be fairly reliable underground.” Tim swept back a riot of curly, unkempt hair to adjust his own communicator. “Stay in touch—every half hour or so, give us a call.”

Exeter helped Valentine into the waiting carriage and gestured for everyone to gather close. “Once we locate the hideout, we’ll designate a staging area. Ping will approach Prospero alone, lure him out of his den, so we can move in and collect America and Phaeton.” He turned and studied the enigmatic young man. “Hopefully, you have prepared a seduction. Will it be Ping or Jinn?”

The jinni offered quite a mesmerizing smile. “As you advised, I have a bit of both in mind.” Regardless of one’s sexual proclivities, one would have to be dead or blind not to see the allure of the androgynous creature. “Make your move with Prospero as soon as possible.” Exeter returned Ping’s grin. “Beguile him until we are well away from the hideout.” He removed a pistol from his pocket and spun the cartridge. A bullet in each chamber. Six emergency shots—just in case there was no aether to draw upon. Exeter crooked an elbow toward Mia. “Shall we look for a few devils in Heaven?”

Inside Cabaret du Ciel, they were greeted by a self-styled Saint Peter, who anointed the inebriated crowd from a basin of not so holy water. “Prepare to meet thy great Creator and don’t forget the garçons!”

Gauzy wings fluttered and brass halos bobbed as waiters flitted about the room in white robes. Exeter wove a path through a throng of intoxicated customers. “Heaven appears to be as popular as Hell with the boozy crowd—who would have thought?” Mia murmured.

He spotted a wraith at the end of the bar and nodded to Jersey. “In the alcove behind the bar.”

The Nightshade moved ahead. “I see him.”

Exeter tucked Mia behind him, protectively. A cloaked specter stood in the shadows in a coat of gossamer rags—tattered and war torn. The elusive apparition reminded him of the hooded Nightshades, who also wore cloaking devices.

“Prospero?” Mia’s whisper tickled his ear.

“Possibly.” Without taking his eyes off the creature, Exeter reached back for her hand. The wraithlike figure turned, then hesitated. Pinpoints of silver light, where eyes might be, looked back at them. The entity was actually beckoning them to follow. Cheeky phantom.

Skirting the bar, they found no sign of the sorcerer. Exeter examined the alcove for a possible trapdoor, nothing but a shallow niche with a painting of cherubs frolicking in the clouds. “Hold on.” Jersey felt around the edge of the gilded frame. “This side is hinged.” Exeter pressed the opposite side and the painting separated from the wall, revealing a hidden passageway.

Jersey climbed in first, then Mia. Exeter took up the rear guard. They crawled along in relative darkness, until Jersey fired up a bit of dagger light. “The passage grows larger up ahead.” Jersey lengthened the dagger into a sword and increased illumination. “Looks to be part of the old limestone quarry.” Jersey crawled out and helped Mia and Exeter down.

Pivoting in a circle, he counted two passages, traveling in opposite directions. Straight ahead, a set of stairs led one way—downward. Strange harmonics echoed softly up the stairs from the lower substrata. Jersey pointed his sword toward the echo and something fluttered in a dark turn of the stair. “Looks like we go below.”

They descended into more quarried caverns and narrow passages. Occasionally, they caught sight of a tattered wisp of fabric or heard a faint shuffle of footsteps. Reaching a blind turn, Jersey turned to them. “You two wait for a bit, then follow after me slowly—” Jersey halted his speech as a swirling column of dust came toward them. He motioned them all against the wall as the hissing rush of air passed them by. Jersey held up a finger and they waited in silence.

Exeter broke the stillness. “What was that?”

The Nightshade nodded into the blackness. “It’s still out there.” He’d learned to trust Jersey’s instincts—the half-breed demon had invisible feelers. How else had he known about the wraith attack on the train to Paris?

Jersey lowered his voice to a craggy whisper. “Every time we lose sight of this spook, we get some kind of clue—a sound, a footprint in the dust . . .”

Exeter nodded. They were being led. “If we have to run, I’d rather it not be into a trap.”

“As I was saying—I’ll scout ahead. Make your way forward, slowly. I’ll find you.” Jersey slipped around the corner and was quickly enveloped by darkness.

Mia stood with her back to the wall of the passage. Exeter pressed close. “How are the two of you?”

“She is present—no headaches—as yet.”

“Any urges?”

She didn’t have to answer. The hot, smoldering desire in her eyes said everything. She slanted her gaze away.

“Hold her close, but don’t let her shift—make her wait. Do you remember what I told you earlier?” He took a few steps forward, and stopped abruptly. Mia nearly ran into him. Instinctively, she flattened her hand against his back. Her touch so stimulated him, he moved her against the wall, and covered her with his body. “Answer, Mia. What did I tell you, earlier?”