Aeromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 3)

“Okay.”

He hovered, as if he wanted to say something, but then he pursed his lips and left the room.

In case he was testing her, she lay down and waited five minutes. When nothing happened, she jumped from the bed, grabbed her coat from the armoire, hastily threw it on, and grabbed her bag. She opened the door a crack and peeked around the frame. The hallway was empty. Instead of taking the stairs, she rushed to an elevator, and pushed on the button. Nothing.

“Come on,” she mumbled, repeatedly stabbing the button.

Several precious seconds passed before the elevator arrived. Hopping inside, she prayed she wouldn’t run into Eve, but the floor was deserted when she exited. It wasn’t difficult to retrace their steps. Within minutes, she was at the side exit. Thankfully, the door was unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped outside. A blast of cold air hit her.

Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she hurried through the back garden and found a gate that gave access to the street, but it was locked. Disappointment and anxiety rushed through her. Adrenaline flushed away the cold, replacing it with a wave of nauseating heat. She held her breath as she followed the path around the building to the front. A few people exited through the main entrance. She fell in behind them and hid her face in the lapels of her coat as she followed the small group through the front gates. The security guard didn’t even look up. Sagging with relief, she forced herself to walk normally until she rounded the corner. Only then, when she was out of view, did she run. She rushed into the streets of Paris with no idea where she was going.

She walked for a long time, until she ended up in a neighborhood with cobble-stoned alleys and sand-colored buildings on either side. Shops and bars dominated the ground level, their doors closed against the cold. People huddling in coats and hats pushed past her, their faces cast down. Most of the clouds had dissipated, and strangely, now that the sky was clear, it was colder. The sun was no more than a glow that threw long shadows over the pedestrians. Their heels echoed on the stones, a loud clattering that encroached and surrounded her. She was moving up-stream, caught by elbows and shuffled by shoulders. Then, just like that, the mass of people dissipated. The footsteps faded around a corner. Dusk swallowed the shadows. All of a sudden, she was alone in a cold, dark alley.

Looking over her shoulder, she walked faster. She saw no one, but she kept moving farther, trying to outrun the fear that seemed to follow on her heels. For how long had she been running? Where was she? No shop lights burned in the windows. The buildings were quiet, their doors shuttered. Graffiti marred the walls and the stench of urine lifted from the pavements. The wind had picked up. She was shivering with more than cold. She had to get out of the alley and find shelter. Shoving her hands deep into her pockets, she followed the snaking alleys from dead-end to dead-end, panic propelling her feet faster despite her exhaustion.

She rounded a corner and stumbled onto a square only big enough to stage a fountain. Two other streets ran out from its center. Blindly choosing one, she hurried left, right, left again, and exited on the same square. Tears burned in her eyes. She’d been impulsive and stupid.

This time she took the other street, making her way down the alley not wide enough for a car to pass. A short way up front, a movement caught her eye. She stopped. Three figures leaned against the wall. One of them pulled a match and lit a cigarette. It was too far to make out their faces, but judging by their height, and their hats and coats, they were men. She felt trapped. If she turned back, she’d end up by the fountain. Going forward wasn’t an option. She looked left and right. No shops or brasseries. In the arch of another side street hung a sign for a hotel. It would have to do.

She moved toward the dim light illuminating a portion of the building. The outside was painted red, the original stonework showing through the flaking color. When she rang the bell, the door to the street clicked open without delay.

She slipped into a dark entrance with a reception desk lit by a lamp. A thin, bald man sat behind the desk. He stared at her without offering a greeting. The front door shut behind her with a click. Floorboards creaked under her soles as she crossed the lobby.

“Do you speak English?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head.

She pointed at the keys hanging on the wall behind him. “How much for a room?”