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I waited until he lifted his head again, then grabbed his hand and pulled him down the alley and around a corner to the Metro. It wouldn’t take Ines long to figure out we’d changed taxis, but I was betting she’d assume we switched to another taxi. Syndicate vampires rarely took public transportation.
I didn’t relax until the Metro pulled out of the station, heading for northeast Paris.
It had taken me two days to come up with the plan to extricate Zaq from Philippe’s lair, and another two to implement it.
But in those four days, Zaq’s condition had deteriorated still further. Now he could barely make it down the Metro steps, let alone to the United States.
I’d decided to hide him for a few days in the bolt-hole I kept in Père Lachaise Cemetery. The 100-acre graveyard was one of Paris’s most popular parks, with tombs and headstones crammed together beneath the leafy trees, and a steady stream of tourists who came to view the graves of the celebrities buried there.
But at night, Père Lachaise belonged to the vampires, the outcasts who didn’t belong to a syndicate or even a coven. A hangout for outcast vampires was the last place you’d expect to find a slayer, which was why I’d chosen it for my bolt-hole. A bolt-hole no one, even Crow, knew existed.
Zaq fell asleep as the subway left the station, his head against my shoulder. He didn’t open his eyes even when the train lurched into the next station and he slipped off the seat.
I managed to grab him before he hit the floor. This time, I guided his head onto my lap. He remained there for the thirty-minute ride to northeast Paris, my hand on his shoulder.
From time to time, I stroked my hand down the back of his skull. His hair had streaks of every shade from brown to gold: walnut, pecan, wheat, corn. It felt like rough silk under my fingers.
It’s all right, I wanted to tell him. You’re safe now.
But that would be a lie. All I’d bought him was a reprieve.
We arrived at Gambetta station. I shook Zaq’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
When he didn’t move, I pulled him upright myself. Yeah, he was exhausted and half-starved, but if I coddled him we’d never get to Lachaise, and I was growing increasingly anxious to get off the streets before a Paris vampire saw us.
I didn’t trust Moreau. He’d agreed to Zaq’s release a little too easily. I’d thought he was involved in Op A only as a favor to Victorine, but I was starting to wonder if he was playing some deep game of his own.
Hell, maybe he’d let Zaq go so he could take him out and blame it on someone else, even de Froulay.
Zaq stumbled to his feet and looked around, wild-eyed, until his gaze settled on me.
“We’re here. Get going.” I steered him off the subway car.
“Where are we going?”
I put my arm around his waist and urged him up the stairs. “Somewhere safe where you can rest up until you feel better.”
At the top of the stairs, he shook off my arm and looked around, eyes narrowed. “This isn’t the way to the airport. Where are you taking me?”
“You’re in no shape to do anything right now. You have to take a few days to heal. Then we’ll go to New York.”
“Fuck healing. What about my brothers?”
“They’re okay for now. I’ll let my alpha know you need a couple of days.”
Sweat had broken out on his forehead. He placed a hand on the wall, head bent and visibly queasy.
“All right.” He drew a breath. “But only because I feel like shit warmed over. And not a few days. One day. I want to leave for New York tomorrow.”
“If you’re up to it, sure.” I moved to put my arm around his waist again, but he held up a hand, stopping me.
“I’ve got it.”
I shrugged and backed off.
He made it the two blocks to Lachaise on his own, but when we reached the edge, he halted and slumped against the cemetery’s tall stone wall.
“Need…a minute.” His eyelids drooped.
