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Prologue
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Elizabeth glanced at Etienne and looked him up and down. “You don’t look ready,” she mused.
“I just need to find my coat,” he shot back.
“And your tie?” she asked. “And your shoes while you’re at it?”
“Oh shut up,” he muttered, digging through the piles of discarded clothing scattered on the floor of his room. “Merde, do me a favor and see if my trench coat is in the conference room? Mon Dieu, si on depart pas bientôt…” His voice trailed off into a stream of French.
Elizabeth smiled as he slipped into his native language. While she’d been born and raised in southern England, Etienne had lived in Paris until he began studying in London at age seven. His English was impeccable—he could fool a Londoner into thinking he was British—but apparently cursing came faster in French.
A moment later, Etienne emerged from the pile of dirty laundry with a clean tie in hand. He looped it around his neck and began tying it into his customary full Windsor, but paused to look up at her. “Did you check the conference room?”
“No need,” she laughed, holding out his coat she’d been carrying since she’d walked in.
“Oh good,” he said distractedly, kicking aside clothes near the foot of his bed in search of his shoes. He pulled his tie tight, and it promptly fell apart. “Bloody—”
“Here,” she offered, lifting his tie over his head. “And your shoes are up on that shelf, on top of that pile of papers you were going to give Oliver last week.”
“You mean you never brought those down to him?” He stomped into his shoes and sat down to tie them properly.
“It wasn’t my job,” she answered patiently as she looped the tie around her neck and frowned down at it as she tied. She finished quickly and deftly. “Here,” she said, handing it back to him.
He took it back and cinched it properly at his neck. “I don’t understand how you have the patience to deal with me all the time.”
“I don’t,” she answered with an innocent smile.
Throwing her a look that clearly said, I’m not amused, he snatched his trench coat from her and swung it around to get his arms into the sleeves. Glancing in the mirror, he straightened his tie and smoothed his slacks.
“Now are you ready?” she asked.
“Ready. Let’s go.”
“What?” she asked.
“I hate to say this…” he began hesitantly.
“Oh spit it out,” she said.
“You’re… you’re wearing a skirt. We’ll be jumping over streets and—”
“Honestly?!” She smacked him upside the head. “You idiot, no one’s even around to be looking up, and really I think you’d be more concerned about someone tracking us, not seeing my lingerie. Now if you don’t jump, I will first.”
“Alright, alright!” he exclaimed, rubbing his head ruefully. “I was just checking…” He backed up a few paces and took a running leap, clearing the gap with room to spare. Elizabeth followed close after and they were off.
Three blocks and seventeen well-aimed jumps later (minus Etienne’s rather spectacular landing when he narrowly missed smashing a cat), they headed down to street level by way of back alley fire escape from an apartment complex. Elizabeth said nothing to the change in plans from Etienne’s original intention to descend at the warehouse next door. By now, after nearly six years of acquaintance, she knew the quirks of Etienne Laroche. She respected and trusted him and his intuition, so she followed his lead.
The two stepped quickly and lightly down the street, their figures cutting shadows on the walls in the garish half-light of the street lamps. Tonight they would be treading dangerous ground; two people, who were not supposed to be alive according to the government, could only assume walking into the federal intelligence unit’s base of operations would be dangerous. But they had their ways of getting past such complications.
From alleyway to alleyway, they made their way towards their destination. A few blocks from their target, they dodged into the city gardens and used the cover of the trees. At last, they saw it through the trees: the lighted façade of the Hotel de Crillon, a five star hotel on the edge of the Place de la Concorde.
“Here goes,” he whispered to her.
Next to him, Elizabeth nodded, jaw set and a cold smile on her lips
On the other hand, some who stayed at the Crillon worked for the government, under Captain Frederic Dubois, who ran the intelligence unit. These patrons were classy, but not rich. Yet they had exactly what Etienne and Elizabeth needed: not money—information.
The pair slipped in among the stream of patrons by keeping their eyes down and following everyone else. But the moment they were through the doors, Etienne, who up until this point had led the way, dropped a step behind Elizabeth as her escort.
Elizabeth was naturally a beautiful young woman, and she knew how to carry herself in high company. She stepped forward quickly and confidently, deliberately drawing attention to herself. Each click of her tall leather boots on the marble floors had to be noticed, along with every swish of her whippy skirt and each flick of her head to brush back her loose blonde hair. She glanced from side to side as she stepped towards the hotel’s restaurant, her sultry blue eyes catching the looks in her direction. No one noticed Etienne trailing behind her as she strode through the lobby like a model on the runway.
The host at the restaurant was expecting her. When she walked up, he promptly showed her to a small table at the back of the restaurant, where a sharply dressed businessman waited for her. He stood when she came up, and they greeted each other with a peck on the cheek.
“Hello Benjamin,” she said, taking her seat delicately while Etienne fell into place behind her along the wall.
“Hello Maggie,” he said in turn, his accent British like hers. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Neither she nor Etienne batted an eye at her pseudonym. She laughed lightly. “A while? It’s only been two weeks.”
“Two weeks is far too long,” he answered. “I hope you don’t mind; I already ordered you a drink.”
“Not at all. You heard from Joshua?” she asked.
Benjamin frowned and took a sip of wine from his glass. “Yes, I did. I can’t say I’m happy with the arrangement, but it’s only because I never know if I can trust an American.”
“Oh come now, he lived in London eight months out of the year since he was ten. He’s practically one of us.”
The waiter came with her drink and set it down. Benjamin thanked him as he bowed away, and turned back to Elizabeth. “He’s still an American, and he thinks like one, too.”
Elizabeth took a sip of the martini and smiled. “But you agreed?”
“I did. If you trust him, I’m willing to set aside our differences.”
“Good,” she said dismissively. “Now, your side of the bargain?”
He sighed reluctantly and pulled a pen from the inner pocket of his suit. “Very well,” he said, scribbling a number on the napkin from her drink and handing it to her.
She took it and handed it to Etienne without even glancing at it. “It was good seeing you, Benji darling. Let’s do this again soon, hm?”
They stood, exchanged another kiss on the cheek, and parted ways.
Etienne scoffed. “You’re an amazing actress, you know that?”
“Surely,” she replied.
He pulled the napkin from his pocket. “Room 206,” he whispered, shoving it back in his pocket and placing his other hand at the small of her back to guide her towards the elevators.
She went first again, asking the bellboy for the second floor as they stepped in. As they waited, backs against the hand rail, they entertained themselves by making faces at each other behind the bellboy’s back. When the elevator came to a smooth stop, Elizabeth handed the bellboy a few coins and strode out as if she owned the place, Etienne following.
The room was easy enough to find, although there were a few tense moments when they passed the armed guards of the secret police stationed in the hallway. Elizabeth threw them a shy, sultry smile, and they let the pair pass without a word. Etienne checked the room number just to be certain, then positioned himself beside the door to stand guard. Crossing his arms at his chest, he eyed her in mock skepticism. “Sure you can handle this?” he whispered.
“Oh please,” she muttered. She flipped up the collar of her coat. “How do I look?”
“Classy,” he answered with a smile.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she threw him a saucy smile and knocked.
“Ouais?” came the irritated reply.
“Room service,” said Elizabeth quietly. If Benjamin had done as he’d promised, this particular room belonged to an English-speaking member of the French government’s intelligence agency.
The door swung open, the room’s resident peeking around the door. He looked young, maybe a little older than Etienne’s twenty-one, but tired and overworked.
“Who are you?” he asked, his accented English no louder than a whisper.
“Maggie Collins,” she answered. “From Benjamin Kent?”
“Ah oui,” he said, smiling nervously. “I almost forgot…”
Elizabeth took him by the tie and led the way back into the room, the door clicking shut behind them. Smirking, Etienne kept watch
He glanced in both directions down the hallway. All clear. He put his hand on the door handle and closed his eyes. A moment later it clicked, and he kicked the door open, his hand already reaching for the gun in his belt.
“Arrête!” he yelled, raising his gun before him as he entered the room.
The man looked up at the sound of Etienne’s voice. That split-second distraction was enough for Elizabeth, trapped with her hands cuffed to the bed, to knee him in the chest and flip her body around enough to swing her leg around to kick him in the face. He curled up defensively on the floor, frozen at the point of Etienne’s gun.
“You alright?” Etienne asked Elizabeth.
“I’ll be fine when these come off,” she answered.
Etienne turned to the man on the floor. “Give me the key,” he ordered.
The man obediently handed him the key to the handcuffs, and Etienne edged over to Elizabeth and handed it to her. She quickly set herself to undoing the handcuffs.
“Hurry up,” he said quietly, straining to listen for sounds from the hallway.
“Done.” She pulled her hands free and made quick work of handcuffing the man to the foot of the bed. It took her a moment to scramble around to room and pull her coat and shoes back on. “What’s the plan, Laroche?”
“Someone’s heard the commotion,” he muttered, shoving his gun back into his belt. “Take the balcony.”
“Tuileries?”
“Just go!” he ordered as the sound of people running in the hallway reached them.
“You’re coming, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer, a string of Latin spilling from his lips. The door flew shut, just as a security guard came into view. Turning, Etienne slapped a hand against the forehead of the unfortunate Frenchman shackled to the bed. A moment later, he slumped to the floor.
Outside the guards were banging on the door, all the while yelling obscenities in French. Elizabeth forced open the door to the balcony and hopped up onto the railing. She looked back at Etienne, who was frozen facing the door. “Etienne! Come on!” she yelled.
“Go!” he yelled back. “I’ll take care of things here.”
“You’ll get yourself killed!” she warned him.
“Just go before I push you!”
Elizabeth jumped; the door of the hotel room burst open. Etienne took out the first two guards quickly, the first with a punch in the nose, the second with an elbow to the side of the head, but he had to back up into the open area near the bed for more maneuvering space. The next guard fell under a well-aimed kick to the head, but the last three guards advanced into the room, their guns aimed at him. They probably wouldn’t shoot unless they had to—bullets were too expensive these days—but that didn’t mean they would hesitate to kill him in the name of self defense. He took a deep breath to clear his mind, despite the blood pounding in his ears. Behind the row of guards, the previous three were groaning and staggering up again.
Etienne’s mind was racing. “Alors,” he said, “qu’est-ce qui se passe maintenant?” What happens now?
One of the guards chuckled. “On peut te tuer. Nous savons que tu es mage.” We can kill you. We know you’re a mage.
Damn. It must’ve been the spell he used to close the door that tipped them off. That little move to buy time for Elizabeth had signed his death warrant—mages could be killed on sight, except most guards feared the unpredictable power of mages too much to shoot.
Etienne saw their uncertainty in the flicker of their eyes. A smile pulled at his mouth, cold calculation in his eyes. Well…I’m dead already, he mused. Might as well go out with a bang. He crouched slightly, and before the guards could react, called out a new spell.
“Occido!”
A rush of cold air knocked the guards back, their legs collapsing beneath the weight of their bodies. The two guards that had been closest to Etienne curled up on the floor, screaming and cursing as they clutched the bloody mess of flesh and shattered bone where there knees used to be.
Seeing the other guards shuffling to stand again, Etienne launched himself at the balcony. He managed to slam the doors closed before bracing his hands on the railing and flipping over in one motion. He fell straight down towards the street, muttering a spell to soften his landing. The concrete still came up too fast, and he somersaulted to break his fall, bowling aside a few surprised pedestrians. As he jumped up to run down the street, he heard the balcony doors bang open, and he thought he heard a guard yell, “C’est Laroche! Seulement Laroche peut survivre ça!”
Well damn, he thought. That’s put a crimp on things…
About a block later, she heard a new set of brisk footsteps behind her. She glanced back casually, as if checking a street sign. Etienne came running past, looking behind him every few steps.
“Etienne!” she whispered urgently, grabbing his arm and running alongside him.
“Elizabeth?” he asked breathlessly. “They knew it was me. They know what I look like now.”
She cursed under her breath. “Come on, we have to get back to headquarters.”
The pushed their way through the crowd, jostling their way past confused passersby as both tried to calculate the fastest way back to headquarters.
“Turn right in two blocks?” Etienne suggested.
“No, just one. How’d you get out?”
“Blasted them with a spell and jumped off the balcony,” he answered shortly. “You?”
She whistled in appreciation. “Me? I hopped balconies to a fire escape.”
“In those boots? Nice.”
“Don’t make me kick you with them.”
He grinned at her, an uncharacteristically snide grin. “Are we turning…” His voice trailed off mid-sentence.
Elizabeth turned back to see him staring back the way they came as his footsteps slowed to a halt. “Etienne!” she called. “What are you—we have to get going!”
But Etienne had locked eyes with a girl on the street. He’d just elbowed past her a few steps before, and he—perhaps and hopefully only he—had felt her reflexive reaction. Another mage, he thought, staring back at her. She looked gaunt and hungry, but her eyes shone brightly in the glow of the streetlights. He saw confusion and fear in her expression; she must know mages could be killed on sight here in Paris. I thought we’d found all the mages by now… How did I miss one?
Suddenly he felt Elizabeth’s hand grip his arm. “We’ve got to go!” she hissed in his ear. “The Jade League needs you alive!”
Etienne let himself be dragged up the street, his eyes never leaving the girl frozen on the sidewalk. “Soyez prudente,” he mouthed to her.
Be careful.
