Chapter 1

It was a dark alley; the sound of cars driving by filling it along with the creepy feeling I was being watched. I had no idea how I had missed that he was leading me here. Or why I had been stupid enough to follow him here. I should have known better, he is a Demon after all. It wasn’t like he was going to try and lose me at the Hilton.

God forbid.

My target was a Coluber, a snake demon. And being human with the wonderful traits that included, body heat and odor ranking among the top at the moment, I had no delusions that he could spot me. Still my mind let me believe that if I moved slowly enough, maybe he wouldn’t notice me. Maybe he’d think I was a freakishly big alley cat that walked on two legs and had no tail.

Oh hell, I’d already come this far, turning back now would do nothing, but prove that I was’t good enough to handle patrol. Again. And I was anything, except for not good enough. I knew all the rules. I’d practically memorized all I could about Sindians-- their Orders, Clans, and even their cultural customs. I knew that calling a Tiger a Panther would get you killed in a heartbeat. Calling a Dragon a Snake would get you eaten. It didn’t matter if you were extra crispy or raw. Personally, I don’t see how either way mattered, you still got eaten. But despite all I knew, it didn’t matter if I didn’t “nail” this demon.

Studying the walls of the alley, I continued to walk slowly, cautiously. And eased myself right onto the tail of cat, sending me falling on my ass as it bolted further into the shadows, howling in typical cat F-you ’s when I saw it.

He’d camouflaged himself into the wall to my right. His leg was bleeding, badly, and the blood was mingling with the water in the alley, pooling down the center of the floor.

“Shit.” I spat. Coming out of my vision, just in time to roll out of his range as he launched himself at me like a spring. He was already changing. His legs and lower torso now one very large scaled tail, only the upper half of his body still looked human (as human as a snake demon could get).

He turned in a split second, no slipping, no sliding, and caught me with his tail, wrapping it around me and squeezing. It was getting really hard to breath, but then it was getting hard to control the fire as well.

To keep it from building. To stop it from growing faster, higher, hotter. His shriek and my sudden drop were the only indications I had that he’d let go. I could see I was on fire. I couldn’t feel it. I never could, and just when I thought I was getting it under control, the resident Aqua’s dosed me.

And just like that, my last chance to join the school’s patrol for the semster was over.

“What the hell!?” I yelled, as the illusion fell away, a ripple of ions and atoms shifting back to their original form as the grass of the school’s football field, the metal of the fences surrounding the field, and the concrete of the bleachers.

Standing at the focal point of all my irritated ire was Mr. Jacobs a thin man in his late twenties. He wasn’t and all together bad looking guy, but like most of the teachers at my school. Mr. Jacobs didn’t look like the kind of guy who could have you thinking you were a six year-old girl. Even if you weren’t.

He looked as exasperated, as he always did, when I signed up for patrol, which had been twice a year, every year for the last four years.

“I almost had it.” I snapped, knowing a second later that if I had, he wouldn’t have ordered the Aquas to dose me. Again!

“Angelica, I’m sorry. But you know the rules,” He replied, a forlorn look on his face as he spoke. Yeah, I knew the rules. There were only three of them, and even though I had no trouble with the last two, the first rule always tripped me up. You must have a controllable active power in order to be allowed on patrol.

Even though I had the active part down pat, the controlling part was another matter. As far as keeping the fire with me, it was easy enough, but when I had to extend it to something else… that’s when I had problems. I never knew when hot was too hot, and not being able to feel it wasn’t helping me either.

“Maybe someday.” He added with that ‘please stop trying’ look in his eyes.

“Yeah. Right.” I nodded, and squished my way off the field. Hating every squish squash my sneakers made on the way. Someday my ass! If you didn’t have at least a semester of patrols under your belt by your senior year, you’re chances were practically zero to get on field duty. I despised the idea of being yet another ‘touch and see’ for the Guard.

“Hey Lizzy!” Michelle called from the cheerleading section of the bleachers. Yes, my school for the “gifted” had cheerleaders. And particular social climbing piranha was constantly annoying me to no end.

‘Lizzy’ was what she and her little gang had called me since seventh grade. Quite frankly, it’s what everyone called me. It was either that or Charlie from Fire Starter. Thank you so much Stephen King.

“Why don’t you give up little girl?” She asked sweetly looking ever so innocent and girly as she did. “Before you burn another school to the ground… and more than one classmate with it.” She added without a drop of her sweet girly innocence.

Five years ago my powers became active, along with many others. The only difference was that I incinerated my junior high, and sent most of my classmates to the hospital with third degree burns. And they didn’t. I wouldn’t say Michelle didn’t have a reason to give me a hard time her sister had been in my class.

Opening my mouth to tell her off, I instantly slapped it shut. It wasn’t that I was a non-confrontational kind of gal, you could ask my family for proof. Around them, it was all about confrontation, but anyone who wasn’t was off limits. Better to stomp off angry then torch them accidentally…or worse. Although, maybe I could make an exception for Michelle.

Before I had a chance to give that tempting idea further thought, Mat one of my older brothers , chimed in.

“Hey Michelle! Why don’t you do something useful with that big mouth of yours?” Mat yelled. Knowing that the exact second he said it, Michelle would see whatever it was he was thinking about and that would be her punishment for picking on his baby sister. Though technically speaking, I was only a day younger than him.

I had two ideas of what he’d meant, and was desperately trying not to think of either. But Michelle was and she was pissed off beyond belief.

Opening her mouth to reply she stopped short, a look of confusing muddling her features. A look people often got when Mat used his power. You see Mat had the wonderful ability of memory erasing and/or replacing. And for Michelle I strongly suspected he replaced rather than erased, which was gross. But I did take some joy in that later on, she’d suffer from what she’d just forgot.

“Why can’t you ever do that when I’m not around?” I whined in good humor, glaring at him as I did.

“Two birds,” he shrugged. “Piss off Michelle. And gross out little sister.” he smiled. Mat had a smile no one was immune to, not even Mark the eldest of us triplets, and the most serious. In a lot of ways, Mat and Mark were Ying and Yang. Mat was easy going and a total clown, while Mark was steadfast and when everyone said stick in the mud; we said stick up his ass. “So how’d it go?” he asked shoving his hands into his pockets as he did.

Yanking a towel from my pack, I ignored his question. I was standing two feet in front of him sopping wet and he asks that. Mat also had a 180-degree effect when it came to me. No sooner would he make me smile with the joy of seeing him, and then say something stupid and make me want to punch him.

“Oh…” he mouthed, walking around me tossing his bag on the bleachers before sprawling out on them in true guy fashion. Mat was 6’3” with short curly black hair. All three of us had black hair; it was a trait our father’s heavy Italian blood made sure we also had warm chocolaty eyes, and as much of a tan as you could get in Vermont. Most of which was hidden under a school uniform of navy slacks, a powder blue long sleeve button up shirt, and a navy knit sweater, which was tied around his waist, the tie that went along with this was probably stuffed in his bag never to be flat or seen again.

“Where’s Mark?” I asked finally, sitting next to him rubbing the towel furiously against my head. Once I was done I looked like I’d gone through an electro shock session. I didn’t mind though. Frizzilla I may be, but at least it didn’t tangle easily, nothing worse than yanking at your own hair.

“He mentioned something about running errands for Mrs. Harper.” he said as he watched the track team start practice.

“How long is that going to take?” I didn’t mind waiting; I just didn’t want to wait here. Ever since my pyro powers manifested, I’d become weary about public places. And school was the one I dreaded most. Most of the kids here kept their distance. Not that I really blamed them.

Seventeen kids got third degree burns that day. One died. They were all my classmates and if it hadn’t been for my brothers being in the same class, that one death would have been eighteen.

“I’m going to go ahead and head home.” I said as I pushed off the bleachers. I tossed my bag over my shoulder as I walked down the steps.

“Ang, you know you can’t go anywhere without one of us with you.” Mat stated as he watched me. Yes, I knew that. Ever since that day my brother(s) had to go just about everywhere with me. Only blood relations were immune to my fire. The principal said it wasn’t that uncommon, and that it was either a psychological or genetic trait. I’ll go with genetics. It would explain a lot, considering all three of us shared a womb for nine months. How much more connected can you get then that?

“I don’t want to wait.” I stated, tossing my brush back into my bag as I tied back my hair into a loss messy ponytail.

“You don’t have a choice. Mark’s got the keys.”

“Where’s yours?” I asked, receiving a raised eyebrow and slight smile. The look he gave me whenever he couldn’t remember where he’d put something. “Again?” I bit. “Fine. Where’s Mark?”

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I opened the door to the copy room and instantly wished myself blind for what I saw. Mark and Anita Montoya making it against a file cabinet. Turning on my heel, I shut the door behind me. Blinking several times, trying in vain to rid myself of the image of my eldest brother…Oooohh!!! I don’t even want to finish that sentence.

“This just isn’t my day.” I sighed, letting a small shutter run over me as the scene did a quick play back. Releasing the doorknob, I hadn’t even realized I’d been clutching. I walked down the hall with a red face and eyes I’m sure could have passed for golf balls.

So of course as I’m trying to shake off that horrid mental image I bumped into someone.

“Oh sor--”

“Emile, do you love me?” a woman asked in French. She was sitting in a bathtub, her hands stroking and bathing his chest—the chest of the man whose memory I was seeing.

“No.” He replied shortly. His voice was rough like leather, graded around the edges and thick.

“Liar,” She poked teasingly, as if making his tone out to be nothing. Worse, over he knew she was. Only he wasn’t lying. He was completely and utterly serious, besides being a bedmate and a pleasant distraction, he had no interest in her at all. “If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t make love to me as if you do.” She purred into his ear, catching the lobe between her teeth.

There was no love for this woman, just hollowness, anger, impatience and a deep sadness.

“What makes you think it is you I am making love to.” He responded with all the warmth of an Antarctic blizzard.

“Bastard!” She yelled, hurt and anger filling her voice. But without seeing her face, I couldn’t tell which was stronger--the hurt or the anger. She pushed him away, the water splashing over the sides of the tub as she got out. Grabbing her robe, she slammed the door behind her when she left.

He didn’t call after her, didn’t try to stop her, didn’t even get up to go after her. He just slid back down in the tub, wriggling a bit to make himself more comfortable. He should have felt guilty; at the very least he should have felt bad. But he didn’t. She was just like the others. She wasn’t Her.

Running a hand through his hair, he let a tired sigh escape his lips. He’d been waiting for so long, looking everywhere, but finding nothing. Where was she? Dropping his hand from his hair, he picked up the ring laying on his chest almost completely camouflaged against his skin and the nest of golden hair sprinkled over his chest.

Thoughtlessly, he dangled the ring from its thin chain. Idly watching it sway back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. It was a small ring, a woman’s ring. He stared at it a long time, feelings of longing, love, and confusion warring in him as he stared at the small gold circle.

“Angel? Where are you?” He asked quietly, before dropping it to his chest, still clutched in his hand.

“—rry…” I finished automatically as his memory faded. My eyes were blurry from the vision, but as they cleared up, I could see him standing before me.

An inch or so taller than my brothers, he had amber eyes and dark blond that went a little past his shoulder and carried somewhat of curl. He was very handsome, but the suit he wore made him more gorgeous than handsome. It was smoky gray and specifically made for him, the jacket hugging his shoulders and waist. A small red pin decorating the left breast of his jacket. Though on closer inspection, it wasn’t red, but a crimson shield with a lion standing rampant. A sword clutched in its paw, the Fleur de lis laying over its head.

“Excuse me.” I said hastily, and continued down the hall, giving only a minute glance to the two slighter larger men that flanked him as I passed. I didn’t look back to see where they were going. I kept going until I’d rounded the corner, then plastered myself to the wall and slammed my hand to my heart.

Holy shit!

I just slammed into a French Knight!

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“I’m going to Paris. I’m going to Paris. I’m going to Paris,” I cheered, literally bouncing up and down. The ticket for seat 5G in coach firmly clutched in my hands. It was not leaving my sight.

“Ang…” Mat started.

“Stop…” Marked added.

“Bouncing!” They both finished, their heads bobbing in unison to my jumping.

“You’re making us sick.” Mark stated, shaking his head as if to ward off his dizziness at watching me bounce.

“But I’m going to Paris.” I stopped in front of my brothers, too happy to take advantage of their annoyed and weakened states.

“We know. So are we.” They stated in flat no-way-out-of-it tones.

And that bit of news succeeded in crushing my happy Christmas vacation. Of course, they had to come along with me. They were always with me I thought grumpily. Still, that didn’t stop me from stomping into the kitchen and gripping about it to Mom.

“Why the hell do they have to come with me?” I snapped pointing to Tweedledee and Tweedledum at they followed me into the kitchen.

“Angelica Bosco, watch your language!” Mom snapped. Yes, my mother is a firm believer that her children will not cuss under her roof.

“Busted,” Tweedledee and Tweedledum chimed. Silencing when they received ‘the look’ from both Mom and me. “Sorry.” they quickly added.

“Homework now. And don’t say you don’t have any. I didn’t get called into a parent teacher conference to hear about how well you’re doing,” She stated to my brothers. Looking at each other, then back at Mom who’s ‘Now!’ expression still hadn’t changed. They left, grumbling as they went.

“Why do they have to come?” I whined, when I was sure they were out of hearing. I secretly hoped that for once, it would move her enough to not send them with me.

“Angi…you know why.” She said handing me a towel, so I could dry while she washed.

“So what, Gran and Grandpa’s powers aren’t enough to take care of mine?” I bit.

“Baby,” I hate it when she calls me that. It means she’s going to boil all my problems down to my inability to control a power that I’ve had since I was 13. “It’s a fourteen hour trip, most of it over an ocean. If your Fire acts up, I’d rather your brothers be there to take care of it. Even more so, they’ll be in France with you. It’ll help your grandparents out. Your Pryo abilities have grown a lot since the last time they saw you. They might need help if something happens.” If with her meant will. And was I right or was I right, all about how I couldn’t control my fire.

For the last four years, I’d been a Pyro Kinetic and every time I think my power has reached its height. Puberty decides to kick it up another notch…or six.

“I hate my power.” I grumbled mindlessly, while drying dishes and putting them away. Funny, how she always managed to rope me into helping with the dishes.

“I know Sweetie,” She said, wrapping an arm around me as she gave me a squeeze and kiss. “Makes you feel any better, there’s lasagna in the oven.” She smiled slyly.

And I stopped drying long enough to slap a big stupid smile on my face.

“Mine.” I chirped, doing my impression of the seagulls form Finding Nemo. She laughed placing another kiss on my cheek.

“There’s my baby girl. Oh, before I forget,” She put her towel down, and headed toward the table by the front door. “This came for you today.” She said, handing me a small cardboard box, our address being the only thing on it.

“Doesn’t say who it’s from,” I mumbled, brushing my fingers across our address.

“Well open it. See what’s inside,” Mom poked. Handing me a knife to cut through the tape. “Maybe you have a secret admirer.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. And while I very much doubted that, it was kind of nice. In a pathetic ‘of course your mother would think you were dateable’ kind of way.

“Could be.” I humored her, all the while thinking ‘hell had to freeze over first’. Cutting into the cardboard, I pulled out a small bubble wrapped box. Peeling away the plastic, the box was about an inch and a half by an inch and a half and made out of some sort of dark polished wood. No carvings or paintings designed the sides. No markers seal on the bottom. There was only a little metal catch and button.

Flipping the catch, I opened the box, and couldn’t believe what I saw.

Inside on a small satin cushion, sat the ring from the Knight’s memory.

“What the…?” I questioned softly. I’d barely taken the ring from its box when…

“I love you.”

The words echoed through my head, soft and haunting, bittersweet as their owner’s memory of it had been. Oh yeah, definitely the Knight’s Ring. Why the hell had he sent it to me?

“Angi.” I jumped at the sound of my mother’s voice, nearly dropping the box and ring in the process. “Sorry Sweetie,” Mom apologized, realizing she’d startled me. “What’d you see?” she asked, looking a bit concerned. Mom was always concerned about what I saw in my visions. They didn’t always come out quite as nice as this one.

Sort of.

“Nothing. Just echoes.” I lied with a smile plastered to my face. I hated telling my Mom what my visions were. Not because I didn’t want to worry her, but because they were my responsibility and mine. They were someone else’s secrets. Secrets that for some reason the Powers deemed I should know. Somehow, it felt wrong to violate that confidence, though if things continued the way they were, that’s what I’d be doing for the rest of my life.

With a glance, she shrugged and walked away.

Looking back at the ring, I slipped it on my finger and followed after my mother. The ring could wait. I had bigger fish to fry. I needed to get Tweedledee and Tweedledum’s asses left here in the states.

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Three weeks later Tweedledee, Tweedledum, and I were on a plane to Paris, France. And fourteen long miserable hours later we were in Paris.

“My Gran babies!” Gran cheered, spotting us at the baggage claim.

As always, Gran was looking chic with her silver hair done up in an elegant twist, her pantsuit fitted to her perfectly, while the pink blouse gave her a timeless elegance. She even had matching heels that finished her ensemble. Gran was a firm believer in the ‘less is more’ approach to fashion, especially if you had the looks to pull it off. And looks was one thing Gran had never lacked. A pity I couldn’t say the same, which was even more embarrassing considering I was her granddaughter. My looks were average and marked to stay that way.

“Hi Gran.” Mat smiled, reaching for a hug and only getting a questioning stare. “Matthew. You are only to speak in French.” Gran scolded, making it very clear that Mom had called and explained who was allowed what during this trip and why.

“Ah, man. She told you?” Mat whined, dropping his arms as misery warped his face.

“You honestly think your mother would send you over here with your grades and not tell me?” She asked giving the ‘I know all’ look our mother had inherited from her. “Matter of fact, from what I hear, the only grades that aren’t suffering, is Angi’s. Therefore, you two are under house arrest until I deem otherwise.” She stated, leaving them no room for argument.

“Aw… come on Gran…” They whined in unison, trying their cute twin puppy eyes on her with absolutely no luck. This was Gran, and while we may have been her Gran babies, she was the original version of Mom.

Which meant unyielding to the nth degree.

“No. You have to learn descent French,” she pointed to Mat. “And you have two essays for English Literature, which I’m sure your grandfather will love,” She turned to Mark rolling her eyes at the last statement. Grandpa was 100% French, right down to their irritated hatred of the English. However, Grandpa was also a retired publisher, so if anyone would be helping Mark with his essays, it would be him. “And you…” She turned to me finally, the same ‘no ifs, ands, or buts’ look she’d given the twins now aimed at me. “…must come shopping with me.” She smiled, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

“Damn, and here I was thinking I’d be getting off Scott free.” I snapped my fingers, while she laughed squeezing my shoulders for the comment. Then caught my hand in hers, pulling it up for closer inspection.

“Well this is lovely, where did you get it?” She asked. Looking down at the ring on my left hand.

“Oh!” I gasped, staring down at the ring. I’d forgotten all about it. The day after I received it, I’d meant to talk the Principal about it. Since the Knights were foreign they would have to of stopped by the Principal’s office. And I’d totally spaced on going to see him.

“Shit.” I bit.

“Shit?” Gran asked, looking very confused.

“The Knight.” I huffed, glaring down at the ring.

“Knight?” Gran repeated.

“Well, I don’t know,” I muttered. “It… it might be his. But I’m not certain…” I frowned at the ring.

“Why don’t you boys head for the car? It’s parked out front. Jon should be outside waiting,” Gran said, excusing my brothers to let so that she and I could speak more privately. “Why would a Knight give you a ring?” Gran asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if he’s really the one who sent it. I mean I only saw it once.” I shrugged.

“Once?”

“I bumped into him. Caught a memory of this.” I would have tried to explain better, but being as Gran was a telepath. It wasn’t really necessary. She was probably getting a better explanation from my thoughts than my actual comments.

“You’re sure this is the ring?” she asked. “You’re sure it’s his?”

“I think so,” I shrugged. “I mean I got a voice when I touched it. Felt the same as his memory.”

Gran didn’t seem comforted by that comment.

“You’re sure this Knight was French?” she asked.

I hadn’t said anything about… “Gran,” I chided, glaring at her slightly.

“I’m a Telepath,” She shrugged. “And no offence, Dear but you are babbling rather loudly in there.” She added, looking somewhat apologetic for the mental intrusion. Though she couldn’t stop herself from overhearing peoples’ thoughts anymore than I could stop flashing on the objects I touched.

“It was French,” I nodded. “Rampant lion clutching a sword with the Fluer de lis over head.”

“And the color of the shield?” She asked.

“Crimson,” I shrugged. “Can we please not talk about this anymore? I’m getting antsy just thinking about it.”

“Certainly,” she replied quickly, smiling in a manner I wasn’t too comfortable with, until she took my hand.

“The King’s coming? Did he say for how long? Did he say why?” Gran asked frantically, worry clouding her thoughts.

“The King’s coming?” I asked. Noting the surprise on Gran’s face when I asked, and how quickly she pulled her hand from mine as well.

“Yes,” she replied. “He’ll be having Christmas with us,” she smiled, reassuringly, but then added in an annoyed fashion. “Didn’t even give me time to properly decorate for his arrival.” Telepaths were as good at hiding their emotions as Retros were, so I didn’t know if she really was annoyed at the abruptness of his coming or if she was saying that to cover up something else. I doubted that though. Gran was anything if not a perfect hostess, going to practically any length for her guest. And she’d never entertained the King before, at least not at Bellmonte.

Bellmonte was the Chateaux my grandparents lived in. A family heirloom that had been in my Grandpa’s family for nearly seven generations, and was about three hours outside of Paris. So our vacation wasn’t in Paris per say, but it was close enough for me.

The Chateaux itself wasn’t very large with only three floors and twenty- two rooms, not including the servants quarters. But it did have a huge wine cellar and two garages with at least five cars in both. Okay, so maybe it was big, but when you compared it to the Chateaux’s in Loire Valley, it was practically a cottage.

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Our rooms were the same as always, aged and elegant, changing only slight with our tastes. Mine hadn’t really changed. It was still gave off an air of classical French, which I always loved. I liked the old ornamental styles: the four-poster bed with the curtains trimmed in gold lace, huge four pane balcony windows, the decorative mantle above the fireplace, the antique furniture, but most of all, I loved the painting on the ceiling. It was a painting showing a cycle of dusk to dusk, while dawn was situated in the middle, the accent of my bedroom being the Sun.

I loved it.

“Angi!” Gran called, shortly before coming in. I smiled when I saw her. “I need three answers. Then I need you to take a shower.” She said pointing to my bathroom as she walked in; a man behind her coming in after, placing my suitcases on the chest at the end of my bed.

“Remerciez le yo, Jon.” I said to the man smiling as he nodded back.

“Votre bienvenue, mademoiselle.” He smiled and slipped out the door quietly.

“What are the questions?” I asked, watching as she unzipped my bag and started unpacking for me.

“Shoulders, Neck, or sweetheart?”

“Shoulders.”

“Billowy, form fitting, or sheath?

“Something in the middle.”

“Color?”

“Something earth tone.” I shrugged. With Gran, it really didn’t matter what I picked because I knew she’d choose something I’d look good in. She always did, even with my average looks.

“All right,” She smiled tossing me my robe. “Your dress will be here when you get out of the shower, but make it quick. You’re hair tends to do evil things when left to its own devices. Oh, and grab your Grandpa on your way.” She added as she continued unpacking.

“ ‘Kay.” I said, hopping off the bed heading and into the bathroom.

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Twenty minutes later, I was dried, dressed, done up, and heading for Grandpa’s office. The dress Gran had picked for me was a deep emerald green, embroidered at the sides and along the top in shinning little beads of the same color, a set of matching gloves going along with it. The gown itself billowed out somewhat at the hips, but just enough to be pretty and not annoying to me.

Walking down the hall, I slid the gloves on. Adjusting them as I walked, being as they went halfway past my elbows, and noticed two men standing guard outside my Grandpa’s office. One of them, the taller of the two, uncrossing his arms long enough to knock on the door. And just when I reached them the door opened with my Grandpa standing in it. Looking very upset, then surprised when he saw me.

“Angelica, mon petit. What are you doing here?” Grandpa asked, the stunned tone of his voice worrying me somewhat.

“Gran told me to nab you on my way to the party,” I shrugged. “Bad timing?” I asked, looking from him to the guard that had knocked. The guard stood about a foot and a half taller than me in a simple black suit, the French Knights crest pinned to his jacket, and other than his short brown hair and matching eyes was the only other color he wore. The crimson of the crest stood out, like a red rose might against his suit.

“Oui…” Grandpa began, and then stopped when another voice interrupted him.

“No,” The voice said, Grandpa stepping forward out of his study as the man came forward. My eyes widened at the sight of the Knight I’d bumped into at school nearly three weeks ago. Still as golden in color as he was the day I’d hit him, save for his suit, which was black with a crimson shirt. “We had just finished.” He replied, eyes locking with mine.

Oh, crap. Did he remember me?

“Angi, petit. Allow me to introduce Emile LeRio. Le roi de la France.”

“King of France.” I repeated absently in English.

Oh shit! I’d slammed into the King!