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“No one escapes.” He looked let down. “Are you not here to avenge Françoise’s death?”
I was getting a little peeved. I don’t have a lot of patience anyway, and what I’d had was pretty much gone. “I’d rather she didn’t die in the first place. Are you going to help me or not?”
Something I said got through to the young man, because he began to speak rapidly to his companion. The woman came around while they were arguing back and forth, and I patted her arm, since there was nowhere below her wrists that I could touch without hurting her. She looked at me with wide eyes but didn’t say anything. That was just as well; neither of us was in any shape for twenty questions.
The older man turned to me, looking disapproving. “Even if we help you, she may die as others have done. Would you forgo vengeance because she lives a few days?”
I lost it. It had been a long day and I was absolutely not standing there getting lectured by a pain-in-the-ass ghost. I already had Billy Joe for that. “I am not the freaking angel of death, all right? I’m not here to get revenge for you. If you want it, go get it yourselves. That’s what ghosts do. Now either help me or get the hell ou
t of my way.”
The older man drew himself up indignantly. “We cannot avenge ourselves, or we would already have done so! This castle has been used for torture for centuries, and something has been done to it, some spell laid, making it impossible for us to interfere. Do you really believe we could have stood by, letting such atrocities happen, if we had a choice? If you are not a spirit, then you must be a powerful sorceress. Help us! Help us, and we will be your slaves.” He got down on one knee, and suddenly, the whole group was kneeling. This was completely unfair.
“Um, what’s your name?”
“Pierre, mademoiselle.”
“Okay, Pierre. I’m not a witch; I’m a clairvoyant. You probably know more magic than I do. I can’t undo a spell for you, any spell. All I know is that woman is going to die very soon if we don’t get her out of here.” He didn’t look satisfied, but the young man beside him had had enough. He darted forward and started pulling on my hand and babbling so fast that, even if I’d known French, I probably wouldn’t have understood him.
Pierre regarded me unfavorably, but he did agree to translate after some prompting by the younger ghost. “There is an underground passage, mademoiselle, from the foot of one of the towers to the river Aude. It has long been an escape route in times of trouble. Etienne can show you.”
I looked dubiously at Tomas. “Can you carry her?” He nodded and moved to pick her up. His eyes widened slightly and he stumbled before getting to his feet. “What is it?”
“She weighs more than I expected.” He frowned. “We must hurry, Cassie, or my strength may fail entirely.”
I agreed and tugged at the door handle. It finally opened after a few false starts—I kept putting my hand through it. I could solidify enough to manipulate things, but Tomas was right—it was getting harder. I was panting by the time we made it to the corridor, but there was nobody to hear. Guess all the torturers were on a coffee break. Unlike at Dante’s, though, I knew for a fact that people were around, and that they were coming soon.
The young ghost faded in and out as we started down a different flight of stairs from the one I’d used last time. This one wasn’t any brighter, but the yellow feather in his hat had that good old ghostly luminescence and we followed it as if it was a candle. I didn’t stub a toe this time, although I was soon wishing I hadn’t skipped my jogging session so often. Simply walking down the stairs was starting to feel like running a marathon. I began to have sympathy for Billy Joe’s bitch sessions every time I asked him to bring me something.
By the time we got to the bottom of the staircase, I was whipped. I started to lean against the wall but stopped when I almost fell through it. “How much farther?” The young man didn’t reply, only motioned me forward desperately. I looked around, but the chorus hadn’t come along. I wasn’t upset. They seemed more interested in hurting somebody than in saving a life, something that didn’t endear them to me.
We stumbled into a passage so dark that the only light came from the bobbing feather on our guide’s hat. It became steadily more damp as we continued, to the point that we were soon sloshing through puddles we couldn’t see, which I hoped meant we were getting close to the river. The damned tunnel seemed endless, and decades’ worth of cobwebs caught in the woman’s hair, but I didn’t have the energy to brush them off. Finally we emerged on the other side, but only a tiny crescent moon and the spreading Milky Way arching over us gave the scene any light. Night without modern electricity is damn dark, but it seemed almost bright to me after the tunnel.
Tomas’ strength gave out a short time later and I had to help him. We put the woman between us and all but dragged her along narrow cobblestone paths. I didn’t want to risk hurting her, but sticking around wasn’t a good idea, either. I knew what that psycho jailor had planned. Even if she died in the escape, it beat the hell out of burning to death.
The city that surrounded the castle was seriously creepy at night, with the rows of houses leaning so far over the road in places that neighbors on opposite sides of the street could have shaken hands. We jumped whenever an owl hooted or a dog barked, but we kept going. I tried not to look back at the hulking outline of the castle, with its conical roofs making ominous black shadows against the dark sky. I hoped whatever destination Feather had in mind was close. It took a lifetime, it took forever, to the point that all I could do was concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. Finally, when I was about to have to call a halt or collapse anyway, I saw a tiny light in the distance, so dim that I thought I’d imagined it at first. It slowly grew brighter and coalesced into a candle sitting in the window of a small house. Feather didn’t materialize, maybe because he was as worn out as I was, but I summoned enough energy to knock on the door instead of putting my fist through it. Finally, it opened and light spilled out, looking unbearably bright after the darkness. I scrunched up my eyes and, when I opened them, I was looking into Louis-César’s worried face.
Chapter 8
I was lying on the ground. It took me a second to realize that I was both back in my correct time and back in my own body. I would have cried with relief if I’d had the strength.
Billy Joe coalesced over me and he looked pissed. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do that? I got trapped in there! I could have died!”
I didn’t try to sit up, since the asphalt seemed to be doing a pretty violent version of the hula beneath me. “Don’t be a drama queen. You’re already dead.”
“That was completely uncalled for.”
“Cry me a river.” Billy Joe was about to say something else but had to move because Louis-César bent over me and he wasn’t about to get caught in any more bodies.
“Mademoiselle Palmer, are you all right? Can you hear me?”
“Don’t touch me.” I decided I wanted to sit up after all, mainly because my skirt had ridden up to the point that my pink lace undies were showing, but no way did I want him near me. Every time we touched, I ended up thrown through time. My senses had been trying to warn me earlier, but it had been impossible to tell the difference between the fear caused by his nearness and the general terror of being captured by the Senate. In any case, I’d had all the out-of-body experiences I needed for a very long time. “Where’s Tomas?” I was still unhappy with him, but the thought that I might have accidentally killed him wasn’t pleasant.
“He is here.” Louis-César moved away about a foot, and I could see Tomas standing behind him. He was looking at the Frenchman with a weird expression, sort of stunned, almost like he didn’t recognize him.
“Are you ok?” I asked him in concern. I hoped somebody was home, since I had no idea how to go about finding some wandering spirit. After a long moment, Tomas nodded, but he didn’t speak. I decided that wasn’t good. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Billy Joe pushed in between us, careful not to touch anybody, and glared at me. “He’s fine. He came around a few minutes ago when you decided to rejoin us.” He scowled. “What’s the idea of going on vacation when there’s a crisis on?”
