You Slay Me

  "Come on," I said, snapping on Jim's leash and grab­bing my purse. "Let's make this fast. The least amount of . time I have to spend out on the streets, the happier I'll be."

  "Call Rene," Jim suggested.

  I was about to say I wouldn't bother Rene for some­thing so trivial, but rethought my strategy. With Rene serving as my driver, he'd keep his eye peeled for the po­lice ... that was assuming he'd want to drive a fugitive around Paris while she did her shopping. "Maybe I shouldn't get him involved."

  "Are you kidding? He'd love it," Jim said softly as I opened the door. I signaled for it to be quiet, then pulled Rene's card out, explaining quickly to Perdita that I was going to use a friend to drive me around. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I dialed the number, won­dering just how deep in the Venediger's business she had become. A Wiccan who had a well-used copy of the Steganographia was definitely an oxymoron.

  Kind of like a Guardian who was also a demon lord.

  Fifteen minutes later Jim and I descended the stairs, peering up and down the street for signs the apartment was being watched before dashing into Rene's waiting taxi.

  "Bonjour," I said breathlessly, grunting when Jim jumped into the taxi and landed on me. "Get off me!"

  "Sorry."

  Rene twisted around in his seat and glared at me. "Be­fore we go, I must first lecture you."

  "Um—"

  "You said on the phone you did not wish to derange me if I believed those stories in the paper about you. Me, I am offended you would think that!"

  I fluttered a hand at the window. "Rene, I'm sorry, the last thing I want to do is offend you, but I wanted to give you an out if you were uncomfortable with the thought of driving around someone who is wanted by the police."

  Rene snorted. "You do not have faith in me, eh?"

  "I have a lot of faith, I just don't want you getting in­volved in something that you'll regret."

  He made a rude gesture out the window at the person behind us who was yelling at him, turning to face the front. "Quand les poules auront des dents."

  "Huh?"

  He put his foot on the gas. I clutched Jim as we were thrown backwards. "It means when female chickens have teeth. It is your phrase for today, but it also expresses what I think of your so foolish worry."

  Evidently I was forgiven if he was giving me another phrase to wield during my time in France. I smiled and, while we drove to the Latin Quarter, gave him the latest on what had been happening since I last saw him.

  "It is good you called me. I will watch with eyes most vigilant to be sure the police do not see you," Rene told me as I dragged an unwilling Jim out of a pet shop we'd stopped at to get a brush. Jim decided any store that had big open bins of dog cookies was more or less heaven, and had to be forcibly convinced to vacate the premises. "We will serve the reconnaissance on the Rue Ebullitions sur les Fesses de Diable. If we see the police, hein, we will leave. If not, I will drop you off and park down the street, yes?"

  "Sounds like a plan," I agreed. And that's exactly what we did—Rene drove up and down Amelie's street a cou­ple of time, but we didn't see any police cars, or strange men across from her shop who appeared to be reading newspapers, or women stopped in front fussing with a baby carriage, or any of the other many ruses cops take when on stakeout. There were a lot of people on the street, but none of them were loitering. It was nearing midday, and people were hurrying along to the shops or for an early lunch. Rene let me out about a block away, following slowly behind as I strolled up and down the street, watching for anyone who might be interested in me.

  On my third stroll past Amelie's shop, he gave me the all-clear symbol and zoomed off to our rendezvous place a couple of blocks away.

  "Operation Amelie is go," I told Jim quietly as I turned on my heel and headed back for Le Grimoire Toxique. As I approached the door to the shop I did a final scan of the street, but no one was paying the least amount of atten­tion to us. "Whew. Looks like for once luck is with us."

  I pushed the door open and walked right into Inspec­tor Proust.

  16

  "Pardon me ... Oh, holy merde" I said, getting a good look at whom I had careened into. For a moment I just stood in stunned surprise; then my fight or flight instincts kicked in and I turned to run.

  Inspector Proust's hand clamped down on my arm, stopping me dead in the door. "Mile. Grey, what a pleas­ant surprise. I was just having a little chat with Mme. Merllain about you. Madame declared that she had no idea of when you might stop by her shop, and yet here you are. How very timely your visit is."

  My heart sank to my shoes (again) as I turned back to face him, flexing my arm experimentally. His grip wasn't painful, but it was extremely solid. There was no way I could get away from him unless I ordered Jim to attack, and I hesitated doing that, not only because it wouldn't look good for Amelie, but also because despite the fact that he wanted me in jail, I kind of liked Inspector Proust. At the very least, he was honest with me.

  "Amelie was telling the truth," I said, briefly allowing my eyes to meet hers as she stood looking very worried behind Inspector Proust. "She knows nothing about my plans. I suppose you want to have a chat with me, too."

  "That would be most agreeable," he said, gesturing to­ward the door with his free hand.

  Somehow I doubted if agreeable would be a descrip­tion that I would use. I shot a warning look to Jim as we left the store. It raised its eyebrows but kept silent.

  "I'm innocent, you know," I said in a conversational tone as Inspector Proust walked me down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of where Rene was waiting for us. I figured I had a minute at best before he marched me into official custody. Now was as good a time as any to fill him in on a few facts. "I didn't kill the Venediger any more than I killed Mme. Deauxville, and you yourself admitted I didn't kill her. I do, however, know who did kill both of them, and I'm in the process of gathering proof you can use to convict the murderer."

  "It is the job of the police to gather proof, mademoi­selle, not you. I will be glad, it is true, to hear your thoughts on the matter. I am most interested in what you have to say about your adventures at M. Camus's house." He cocked his head as he glanced at me. "It was you who set fire to the gazebo, was it not?"

  "Yes, but that was an accident, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was just a little careless with... uh... matches." I pulled on my arm. He didn't loosen his hold at all, just kept walking me down the street, Jim trailing behind us. I chewed on my lip for a moment, remember­ing what Jim had said earlier. Of all the powers a Guardian had, there was only one that could do me any good in this situation. If I could figure out how to do a mind push on Inspector Proust, I might be able to get away from him and make it back to Rene. I glanced at In­spector Proust from the corner of my eye. He lifted his free hand and gestured to someone, probably his driver parked down the street. It was now or never. "You want to let me go, don't you?"

  He looked at me, clearly startled by my statement. "I beg your pardon?"

  I curled my fingers into fists and opened the door in my head, ignoring the embers of Drake's fire that always seemed to be there, instead picturing Inspector Proust re­leasing my arm. "You want to let me go. You don't want to hold on to me. You know I'm innocent, so there is no reason why I should not just walk away."

  His brown eyes looked a bit wary. "Mademoiselle, are you unwell?"

  I took a deep breath, held the mental picture of In­spector Proust releasing me, and infusing my words with as much of my will as I could muster, said, "Let... me... go."

  Something gave, a barrier that was there, then was gone, and with its absence the pressure of Inspector Proust's hand on my arm also disappeared. I looked down, surprised the mind push worked. He wasn't hold­ing on to me. I took a step away, glancing up at him. His eyes were a bit flat, as if he were thinking some deep thoughts. Ahead of me, a car approached. I took a few more steps away from Inspector Proust. He didn't even blink.

  "It works," I
breathed as I yanked on Jim's leash. I didn't have to yank twice. As the unmarked police car zoomed up and stopped next to Inspector Proust, we walked away quickly, half expecting either the Inspector or his driver to yell after us, but neither did. The driver must not have realized his boss had me in custody. "Hot damn, it works! I can mind push! Now this is a skill I can use. No more speeding tickets, no more waiting for a table in a restaurant, at last, at long last, something prac­tical!"

  "Doesn't work on dragons, only mortals," Jim said.

  "We can't have everything," I answered as I turned the corner, intending on doubling back to dash into Amelie's shop just long enough to grab a copy of the book I needed. "Why do you mention dragons, particularly?"

  "Signora Grey," Renaldo said, popping out of a parked car to stand in front of me. "Il drago blu wishes to have a few words with you."

  "That's why," Jim said.

  I smacked it on the shoulder. "You couldn't have just said, 'Hey, Aisling, there're dragons sitting in a car over there'?"

  "// drago wishes for you to come with us now, sig­nora," Renaldo said in a louder, more aggressive voice.

  I didn't even try a mind push, not with Jim's half-assed warning fresh in my ears. Instead I jerked the gold chain with my jade dragon talisman over my head, yanking the talisman off the chain. "Look, gold!" I waved the gold chain in front of Renaldo's face. He sniffed the air, his eyes brightening as he watched the chain sway. When I was sure he was about to lunge at it, I threw it as hard as I could over his head. "Go get it!"

  Unable to resist the lure of treasure—gold, I had dis­covered, generating an almost visceral reaction in dragons —Renaldo spun around and jumped for the chain. I ran in the other direction, down the street toward Amelie's, past Inspector Proust, who was still standing on the side­walk looking distracted, this time with his driver waving a hand in front of his face. The driver didn't even glance at me as Jim and I raced past. I was almost to Amelie's door when two familiar figures ahead of me crossed the street to my side of the road, heading right for me.

  It was Pal and Istvan.

  "What, everyone knows I'm here?" I grumbled as I thought quickly. Behind me, Renaldo was stuffing the gold chain into his pocket as he walked quickly toward me, giving Inspector Proust and his driver (who was now shaking the Inspector) a wide berth. Ahead of me Pal and Istvan marched toward me with familiar grim looks on their faces.

  Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.

  I decided Drake's men were the least of my worries and beckoned to them, pointing behind me as I yelled, "The blue wyvern's man is trying to kidnap me so he can use me against Drake!"

  Drake's red-haired duo stiffened at my words, both their gazes going over my shoulder to where Renaldo was bearing determinedly down on me. Renaldo saw them at the same time and paused.

  "He has gold," I added persuasively.

  It was all the urging Pal and Istvan needed. They sprinted past me, their eyes lit with pleasure. Renaldo stood still for a moment, then he turned on his heels and ran for it.

  I shoved Jim into Amelie's shop, following quickly after the demon. I had no idea how long Inspector Proust would stay mind pushed, or how long the dragons would take to realize that I had tricked them, but I wasn't plan­ning on waiting around to see.

  "Hi, Amelie, I'm sorry about all this, but do you have a copy of—Oh, bloody hell, that's all I need! What the devil are you doing here?" A shadow fell at my feet as Drake loomed up in Amelie's doorway behind me. He must have been following Pdl and Istvan, although I hadn't seen him. I turned back to Amelie, unsnapping Jim's leash as I asked, "Do you have a back exit?"

  "Yes," she said simply, and nodded toward the bead curtain that separated the public part of the shop from the back.

  "Jim, attack!" I said, pointing behind me.

  Drake opened his mouth to say something, but Jim— for once—decided to obey me without argument and sprang at Drake before he could speak. They went down in a solid thud of tangled legs and black fur. I bolted to­ward the beaded curtain, jumping over cartons of books, heading for the door painted with a blue pentagram. I was through it and halfway down the alley that ran behind the building before I realized that Jim wasn't on my heels. I stopped, hesitating, unsure of whether I should risk going back for it, or trusting that Jim would take care of itself.

  "Dammit," I swore as I turned my back on the shop and continued to run toward the parking lot two blocks away, telling myself that the probability of Jim's survival was far greater than mine if I went back. A few tears snaked down my cheeks, making me angrier still at my­self. Jim might not be able to be killed, but its doggy form could be destroyed. I wiped at my cheeks, spinning around the corner of a cafe" to the busy parking lot that butted up against it. Rene was leaning against the hood of his car, reading a newspaper. I yelled and waved my arm as I bolted into the parking lot. He evidently got the mes­sage, because he didn't wait for me to explain; he just jumped into the car and pulled out of his spot, stopping long enough for me to throw myself into the front seat next to him before he burned rubber getting us out of there.

  "Where is the little devil dog?" he asked as I slammed into the car door with the force of a highly illegal and completely death-defying hairpin U-turn.

  I wiped angrily at the tears still streaming down my face. "I told Jim to attack Drake, but he must have done something to poor Jim, because otherwise it would have been on my heels. It's not normally very big on heroics."

  The thought of Jim being harmed by Drake made my tears flow faster. What sort of a coward was I that I would so quickly abandon Jim like that? It was following my command faithfully. Jim might be just a demon, but it was my demon.

  "Drake was there?" Rene whistled. "We will make a dashing escape right now."

  'Turn around," I ordered, pulling up the hem of my skirt to mop up my face.

  Rene looked at me like I had frogs in my bidet. "What?"

  "Turn around—we're going back. I can't leave Jim to Drake's mercy. Drake has no mercy. He'll torment Jim. I just know it."

  Rene slowed the taxi but didn't turn around. "Your bell is being rung," he said.

  I sniffed and shot him a frown. "I what?"

  He gestured a circle on his temple. "Your bell is being rung. You are not thinking right."

  "Oh, I'm crazy? Yeah, I know, but I'm learning to live with it. Turn around, please. I have to get Jim."

  Rene complied, but not without several comments about the immense lack of wisdom I was showing. "It is a little devil—you said yourself it cannot be hurt."

  "That doesn't mean Drake won't make Jim suffer, and no one torments my demon but me. It's a rule I have. Stop here. I'll slip in the back way."

  "I will drive around the block. You will wait for me here, yes?" Rene asked as he pulled up at the end of the alley. We both peered around. No one was visible.

  "Yes." I got out of the car, leaning in through the open window to give him instructions. "Five minutes. If I don't come out... go home. You won't be able to help me."

  Rene gunned the engine. I pulled back as he waved. "Me, I do not abandon my friends, just like you, eh?"

  He was off before I could warn him not to hang around. I slunk down the alley to Amelie's door and used my trusty credit card to get in the locked door, making my way silently through the back room to the curtain of beads.

  Amelie stood at the open front door, looking out. There was no one else in die shop. She turned when I whispered her name.

  "Aisling!" she gasped, closing the door quickly.

  I slid through the beads. "Where's Jim? Did Drake take it? What did he do to it? Oh, lord, I never should have left Jim alone with him."

  "Calm yourself—your demon was not injured," Amelie said, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "You must leave. It is not safe for you here. Drake and two of the green dragons are just outside. Inspector Proust is out there, too, although he appears to be in some sort of a daze."

  "Oy," I said, backi
ng through the bead curtain. "Where's Jim?"

  "It ran off. Where, I do not know. I assumed it would follow you. Here—you will need this. Drake left it for you."

  "Thanks," I said, snatching the dragon talisman she tossed to me, quickly making my way around the boxes to die back door. "If you happen to see Jim, would you tell it to come home? It knows where we live. And thanks for everything else, too."

  I didn't wait around to hear anything else. I was at the end of the alley just as Rene came roaring around the cor­ner.

  "M. Drake, he is in the street, speaking to two men in suits," Rene said as soon as I opened the car door. I got in, Rene taking off even before I could close the door properly. "They are the police. I know they are—they have the look of police. We must get you out of here im­mediately."

  I slumped back in the seat, worried, depressed, angry, and irritated at the sense of loss that I connected with Drake's sudden appearance. I stared out at the streets, watching for any sign of a big, lost Newfoundland. Rene shot me a questioning look when I didn't respond to a comment about Jim, finally settling back to drive me to Ophelia and Perdita's apartment without further demands for conversation.

  I sent up a little prayer that Jim would have the com­mon sense to return to the apartment as well. If it didn't... I shook my head wearily. I didn't want to think of what trouble my demon could get into without me to keep an eye on it.

  Call me stupid, but I missed the big galoot.

  "I'm so sorry you lost your dog, Aisling. Would you like me to ring up the animal-control people? They will let you know if they find Jim."

  "No, it's OK," I told a sympathetic Ophelia. I had re­turned home to find that Jim hadn't found its way back yet, but that was no surprise. I was in a taxi, and poor Jim was hoofing it.

  Three hours later, however, I had paced every square inch of the apartment, no doubt driving both Ophelia and Perdita nuts, although both were too polite to tell me. I felt awful, not just guilty about leaving Jim to fend for it­self, but physically drained and depressed, as if a horrible black cloud hanging over my head was leeching into my body. The apartment, at first so bright and lovely, was now oppressive and bleak, a prison rather than a haven. Perdita and Ophelia had offered to search the streets for Jim, but I knew that wasn't necessary. Jim was a smart demon; if it was at all possible for it to make its way home, it would.