Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order) (21 page)

The vision shifted and swirled until I lost hold on the control over my mind and fell into dreams.

I saw Will walking some distance ahead of me in the shadowy dark. It was as if we were back in the tunnel once more. I didn’t know how I knew it to be Will, something about his walk and the way he held his shoulders. There was no mistake; I simply knew it was him.

“Will!” I called, but my voice caught in my throat and
wouldn’t come out. I tried to run, but my feet felt stuck in mud. All the while he kept walking, drawing farther and farther away from me.

“Wait,” I shouted, though the sound died in the darkness. I pushed forward, trying to drag myself toward him, but the invisible murk that had captured my legs stole up through my body and would not release me. I couldn’t move.

Then I saw a light—warm and flickering at the end of the tunnel. My throat constricted as I tried to scream Will’s name, but no sound would come out. The light was fire.

The flames reached up, growing and stretching until they became a massive wall of flame. Will continued to walk as if he didn’t see it.

“No!” I screamed. I fought at my bonds. “No. Will, stop! Turn back!”

I fell forward onto my knees as Will reached the flames. I fought and fought, throwing myself on the ground and clawing forward, but it was no use.

He stepped into the inferno.

“Will!” I screamed. I watched the blaze consume him. The wall of fire circled around him, and he writhed in the center of a maelstrom of flame. He twisted and reached back to me, but his hand and arm had turned to ash. His
entire body became gray, breaking apart and crumbling before my eyes.

He blew away in a ravaging wind.

I sat upright in my bed, sweat clinging to my chest and soaking the hair at my brow. I panted in fear as my heart raced. My throat felt dry and strained, as if I hadn’t had a drink of water in years.

I threw my cover back and swung my feet to the floor. Without thinking, I padded across the room on my bare feet without a candle and cracked open the door. The wood floor felt like ice, but I still felt hot in spite of it.

Without hesitation I snuck down the narrow hall until I found the door to Will’s room.

I had to see him. I lifted my hand to knock, but stopped myself.

If I were caught in front of his door—or worse, in his bedroom—my reputation would be in shambles and we’d be forced to marry under inauspicious circumstances. I opened my hand and pressed it to the wood. I leaned in close until my forehead touched the door as well.

A tear slipped from my eye as I forced myself to calm the lingering effects of my panic. In the quiet of the night, I could hear Will snoring softly while he slept.

I hated the separation. I hated all the blasted barriers that stood between the two of us. I wanted to pound on the door in frustration, or forget all bounds of respectability. I wanted to crawl into the warmth and safety of Will’s arms and finally find my peace.

On shaking legs I turned away and crept back to my own room.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I felt I had survived ten full years by the time the sun rose again.

WE LEFT NOT LONG AFTER
dawn for the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Thankfully, there was no snow, but it was still a bitterly cold morning. I could see my breath floating in the air as we climbed into the small open carriage Gustave had borrowed from a friend. He took the reins, and I sat beside him, while Will swung himself up onto a small luggage platform on the back.

I gripped my satchel more tightly. Marie Marguerite had been kind enough to lend me her dress for a second day, as well as a proper bonnet, but the skirts had no pockets. I was reduced to carrying around a satchel with my things instead of having both my hands free. I couldn’t seem to get used to the hindrance.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how one
looked upon it—Marie Marguerite woke feeling quite unwell, and so she didn’t accompany us. Perhaps she was already carrying her first child. It was an unsettling thought, though I didn’t know why it should be. Besides, there was no room for her in the carriage. We would have had to take a taxi. That would have been quite expensive, considering Gustave’s house was on the west end and we had to cross the whole of the city to reach the eastern side.

In spite of the cold morning, I loved the carriage ride. We followed the Seine east through the city. The river shone, silver in the cold morning light. To my left the entire city seemed to be made of nothing but palaces. There was a fine and elegant air to Paris that made it uniquely romantic. I wished we could have stopped so I could take in all the sights, especially as we passed near the island that was home to Notre Dame. I strained to see the roof of the cathedral, but couldn’t make it out over the rooftops of the city.

Gustave snapped the reins next to me. “The city is beautiful this morning, no?” he asked, clearly pleased with my infatuation.

Will shifted behind me, then crouched on the platform, twisting so he could speak softly between us. “I think we are being followed.”

I immediately turned my head, but Will stopped me with a sharp, “Be still!” It was hardly more than an urgent whisper, but I froze. “If you turn around, they’ll know we’re watching. It’s a covered coach, not far behind us.”

Gustave straightened but didn’t give any other indication that something was wrong. “How long have they been behind us?”

“Since we came along the river,” Will said. He adjusted his position so his arm looped lazily over the back of the seat, not a care in the world.

“They may be touring the city. It’s natural to follow the river,” I said. I really hoped that was the case, but even I doubted my words. Will was cautious, but he was hardly ever wrong about these things.

“Let’s hope so,” Will said.

An unsettled feeling consumed my middle as I gripped the edge of the seat. During the summer the man in the clockwork mask had proven himself a patient predator as he’d waited for moments of confusion or distraction to strike.

If he’d discovered our presence in the city, he would have the clear advantage in a game of cat and mouse. He was familiar with Paris and we were not. I pulled a small round mirror out of my satchel and used it to peer behind me. There was
a fair amount of traffic on the streets, and the jostling of the carriage made it impossible for me to hold the mirror steady enough to get a good look.

My nemesis had planted a bomb in my toy shop to try to flush me out into the open. There’s no telling what he could do to poor Marie Marguerite if he knew where we were staying. She was alone in the home.

Gustave turned to the left so suddenly, it jolted me into the side of the seat. I braced myself as he snapped the reins and urged the horse into a brisk trot. At a wide boulevard we turned again to the right, and the force of it pushed me into Gustave’s side. I righted myself as he snapped the reins again. Will had managed to hang on and was now on his feet on the platform, crouched behind us again. “They’re still following,” he said.

Gustave didn’t look away from the street before him. His eyes squinted into the sun and he scowled. “When we reach the gates, go inside the cemetery quickly.” Gustave raised his voice so that we could hear him above the clatter of the wheels. “Will, be on guard. I’ll do my best to draw whoever it is away. The grave you are searching for is near the tomb of Héloïse and Abelard. When you enter the promenade, turn to the right. It is not far. The grave you seek is a black stone on the ground. You will know when you see it.”

We passed by a tall pillar, green with patina, with a winged golden figure atop the high column. We continued straight on past the monument, driving faster up a long straight road that passed between two ominous fortresses. They loomed over us like great castles, except the air around them was heavy with misery and death. Before the gate to the building on the left was an open area. Only then did I realize that we had crossed between two prisons, and the area was meant for crowds of onlookers to watch those doomed to the guillotine.

I ducked down, as if I could escape the heavy feel of death in the air, but it only thickened as we reached the high wall of the cemetery. Gustave turned the carriage sharply into the open curved area before the main gates.

Will leapt off the back of the carriage before it had fully stopped. He held his arms up to me, and I jumped to him without hesitation. He swung me to the ground, held my hand tightly, and we ran.

At the center of the curve in the wall stood a gate flanked by two enormous stone pillars. The top of each was a circle carved from arched blocks. In the center of each circle, a winged hourglass had been carved in relief. Large carvings of eternal torches decorated the sides of each pillar, with a garland defining the lower edge of the circle. Beneath the garland
something had been written in Latin. We ran through the gate and turned immediately to the right.

“Do you think it’s the man in the mask?” I asked breathlessly as we stood in the shadow of the massive pillar. A wide promenade cut straight into the heart of the cemetery, flanked by elegant mausoleums and young trees.

Will fought to catch his breath. “It must be.”

A chill came over me. Yes, we had been searching for him, but now that I was faced with him, I only wished to run.

“Come on,” Will urged. We ran together up the promenade, then squeezed between two of the mausoleums, hiding in the gap. He put his finger to his lips and a protective arm in front of me.

He backed us both up, and we hunched behind a narrow mausoleum. I tried to peek through the gap, tucking myself close to Will’s side. A man passed on the far side of the promenade. He had a dark cloak with an unusually high collar and a brimmed hat that dipped low over his face.

He walked with slow, carefully placed steps. I held my breath, and Will pressed closer to me. He urged me back behind the mausoleum, but not before I saw a glint of light beneath the dark brim of the man’s hat.

That was no monocle.

His face was wrapped in cloth, but I could see the edge of gears turning around a cold mechanical eye. My blood turned to ice.

“It’s him,” I whispered, pressing my body against the smooth stone of the crypt. “How did he find us?”

Will didn’t answer. Instead he watched the man with the intensity of an alley cat. The man in the clockwork mask passed us, continuing on along the promenade. “I’m going after him,” Will said.

I grabbed his arm. “Will, he’s a murderer. He’ll kill you if he sees you.”

He took my hand and held it before glancing back toward the man walking steadily away from us. “He doesn’t know where we are. This is the first time we’ve ever had the advantage. If I follow him, he could lead me to where your grandfather is hidden.”

An image flashed through my mind of Will walking away from me and into the fire. It terrified me. “Will . . .” I wanted to tell him it wasn’t worth the risk, but he was right. This was our one chance.

Will reached up and brushed a loose tendril of hair across my forehead. “He’s not after me. He’s after you. I will not wait around for him to strike any longer. He won’t be watching
for me. If I stay close to him, it will give you the chance to find Haddock’s grave. If I am following, he can’t sneak up on you the way he has before.” Will reached down and removed the short blade he always carried in his boot. Then he took another quick look over his shoulder. “This place is a labyrinth. We’re going to lose this chance.”

“Don’t you dare confront him.” My heart was in my throat.

“I won’t.”

“How will I find you again?” I asked as he pulled away from me, skillfully concealing himself in the shadows behind another crypt.

“I’ll meet you at the tomb of Héloïse and Abelard. He’s turning. Meg?”

I closed my eyes against my terror. “Go.”

Will surged forward and shocked me with a quick and passionate kiss before he pulled away. “I’ll return soon.”

I blinked, touching my hand to my tender lips. He darted through the tall monuments and mausoleums that lined the main promenade. I sent a quick prayer to the dear Lord for his safety and gathered my skirts before turning down a narrow lane lined on either side by trees. I hurried through the shadows, grateful to sink deeper into this quiet part of the cemetery.

When Haddock had been buried, the cemetery had been new and not crowded, but in the time since, the popularity of the cemetery had swelled, like a flood of the dead. I turned around. There were tens of thousands of graves, many elegant monuments to wealth and prestige.

The graveyard was full of faces, sculpted visages both beautiful and haunting, portraits of the dead in stone. Even in death, this was a place where one would wish to be seen, and I was searching for a shadow.

I reached a dead end, the wall cutting off the lane in front of me, so I turned to the left down another neat tree-lined path. The mausoleums began to feel like a village of tiny houses whose doors never opened.

A large building loomed to my right, so I walked alongside it, trying to keep to the wall. I found myself in front of another small gate, and the exit to the city made me nervous. I could see the towers of the prisons in the distance. I had to remain hidden, and I had to hurry.

My path had taken me in the opposite direction from Will, and though I glanced back over my shoulder, I knew every step took me farther from him. To my right was a narrow path lined by thick trees that had grown taller than the others in the cemetery. I darted down it and found myself
in a crowded corner of graves. Many of the ones tucked into the corner by the wall weren’t as ornate or as monumental as some of the ones near the promenade.

To my left I could see the crossed peaks of the roof of the Gothic chapel that held the remains of Héloïse and Abelard. I was in the right place. I just needed to find the right stone.

I picked up my skirts and stepped around and among the graves.

“Black stone, black stone, black stone,” I whispered. Finally my gaze settled on a plain black slab resting on the ground. There was no name, no date on the marker.