Exeter frowned; this strange wind whispered in riddles.
“No, that won’t do—we need to get
somewhere,
” Mia insisted adamantly.
“Oh, you’re s-s-s-sure to do that,” mocked the wind. “That is—if you are contrary enough.”
Mia checked with Exeter. “Contrary?” she mouthed silently. He shrugged. Mia must have felt as though she was getting nowhere, because she tried another tack. “What sort of beings live here about?”
“In
that
direction,” a breezy zephyr blew by their noses, “lives an old rock troll and in
the other
”—the whisper abruptly reversed course and rushed down the passage they’d just come from—“there is a magician. I don’t advise you visit either one—they’re both mad.”
A whimpering moan whirled into a cyclone of wind, tossing up a screen of dust particles. Mia squinted—they all did—as sand and dirt swirled around them. In warning, Jersey pointed his sword at the twister. Using all the seeing power he could muster, Exeter made out the shredded robe of an ethereal being. The creature turned tail and vanished down the narrow corridor.
Exeter suspected a deception—something whimsical and unthreatening—to distract them. He broke the silence. “What kind of down-the-rabbit-hole trickery was that?”
Jersey slashed his sword as he started down the corridor. “One of Prospero’s hirelings. We’d better move on—in a hurry.”
He checked his compass. “Magnetic north has returned.”
“Humor me for a moment, gentlemen.” Mia blew a few strands of hair off her face. “What if she . . . the entity . . . was trying to be helpful?”
“She?” He and Jersey asked in unison.
“Whatever it was, it felt like a she, though I suppose it might have been a he.” Mia shot them a bug-eyed “pay attention” look. “When I said—‘but we need to get somewhere,’ the wind answered—”
“If you’re contrary enough.” Exeter repeated the zephyr’s words.
“Exactly!” Mia’s eyes brightened. “What if your compass is not reading true north? What if, in effect, we have been traveling northeast, instead of southwest?”
Exeter’s gaze rose from the instrument in his palm. “You’re suggesting we follow a course contrary to the compass.”
Mia pivoted in place, peering into the blackness of the crudely carved passage. “It’s possible we missed a much smaller tunnel—one that heads in a northeast direction.”
“Why don’t you two have a look about,” Jersey grunted. “I’ll double back to the round room—get to work on the next gate.”
Exeter reached in his coat pocket and produced the experimental torch. He toggled the switch. Nothing. “Hold on, Jersey.” He slapped the metal cylinder against his palm and a circular beam of light spread across the tunnel. “Open every gate you find, and keep a sharp eye,” he called after him, “we could be walking straight into a trap.”
“May I?” Mia tugged on the torch.
Exeter didn’t let go—not at first. He just wanted to take a moment and admire her.
That was rather brilliantly intuitive, Mia.
No compliments—not yet.
She smiled up at him. “If we rendezvous with Tim Noggy you can buy me breakfast at the
crêperie
on Boulevard Saint-Michel.”
“It would be my pleasure.” She had read his thoughts, again. There was an intimacy in knowing another’s thoughts—as well as a disturbing invasion of privacy. Exeter released the torch, and followed close behind Mia as she swept the beam across the corridor, from one wall to another.
Taking their time, they explored a few smaller tunnels that either grew too small for passage or turned back on themselves. Up ahead, the spit and hiss of Jersey’s sword reverberated through the passageway. Mia stopped to examine a makeshift scaffolding constructed over a chasm. Joining her, he peered into the depths of the pit. Some sort of cave-in had collapsed the floor. When combined, both maps had shown quarry tunnels dug at different depths—he sensed another passage directly below.
Mia glanced back at him. “I’d like to have a look under these boards.”
They found an open spot that led down into the cavern—not steps exactly, more like a few toeholds. Using potent energy, Exeter jumped first and waved her down. Following right behind him, she lost her footing and began to slide.
Exeter brought her down the rest of the way, wrapping his arms around her possessively. “You might have used a bit of relic dust and champagne,” he murmured. She nuzzled his neck and purred—yes, he was quite sure of it. “And how is pussy this evening?”
“She wants Exeter.” A hint of cat whispered in her throat.
He pressed his mouth against her temple. “Good God, Mia, not here.”
Mia pushed away. “Then help me undress, for she is coming.”
Exeter quickly weighed his options. Bring her to climax or chance letting the panther loose to roam the catacombs. Both were inopportune choices, but one was also unthinkable. There were hundreds of miles of tunnel—layer upon layer of ancient limestone mine. If the cat emerged and darted off she could easily get lost. He might never find her again.
He backed her into a wall of crumbling rock, and held up his index finger. The tip sparkled with warm light. “A bit of potent energy—set on pulse.”
Chapter Twelve
“W
HAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO WITH THAT FINGER
?” Mia snarled as he pulled off her trousers and yanked down her pantalettes, She was so close . . . so close. She might shift any second. But she didn’t—instead, she let him tear at the lace edge of her camisole.
He plunged into her labia and she jumped from the sensation. His finger was warm, almost hot, and the tip vibrated against the place he called clitoris. She arched away from the wall as her eyes rolled back in her head. The sensation was so intense, she thought she might climax on the spot.
“Open to me—wider.” The panther’s tamer used his finger like a whip and chair. He roughly parted folds, exposing more of her to pleasure. Whimpers deepened into moans as her stomach fluttered with arousal. “Exeter,” she gasped, pushing against the finger that hummed and flicked, coaxing her raw need to the very edge. He reached under her camisole, rolling a nipple between his thumb and index finger.
Dropping to his knees, he hooked her leg over his shoulder. “Bloody gorgeous clitoris,” he groaned, and buried his face in her. She was completely exposed from the waist down—deliciously naked and vulnerable—and completely open to him. “Exactly the way I want you, Mia.” She rocked with each stroke of his tongue, urging him on as he licked his way around her swollen spot using that wickedly skillful, tormenting finger of his.
This was only their fourth intimacy—was she counting? Yes, she was. It was if he already knew the secrets of her pleasure. How to make her whimper and beg for more—grind into him like a wanton shameless hussy. He reached behind and cupped her buttocks, pressing her into his mouth as he flicked his tongue and sucked her throbbing clitoris.
On the verge of climax, he rolled back on his haunches. He was teasing her—leaving her pleading for one more stroke—the one that would send her over the edge. “Please, Exeter,” she begged. He shook his head, breathing hard. His beautiful eyes, slightly glazed—his mouth and chin wet from her arousal. She had done that to him.
“Lift your camisole above your breasts.” She did as she was told, as he angled the torchlight against a large rock—his lips moved from her glistening thighs and lingered on the hollow, trembling curve of her belly. He moved his hands higher, over her ribs to the peaks of each mound—he rubbed softly at first, and then harder—tweaking both nipples into hard points.
He rose to her chest and swirled a nipple into his mouth—he nipped and she cried out. The fingers of one hand raked through her hair—pressing her head back so he could kiss . . . the tip of her nose. “You are near paroxysm, Mia, and I will watch your pleasure.” Two fingers massaged a nipple, while his other hand—the one with the devilish, vibrating index finger—delved between her legs. He kept the magic finger on her clitoris, while two fingers stroked the length of her—toying at her entrance. Her virginity was still very much intact. He had not entered her yet, but she wanted him to.
“Look at me.” His whispered.
Her eyes locked with his golden green gaze. Eyes that had turned into burning embers. Her arousal was climbing in force, pounding through her, pooling in her womb. God, how she loved him for this—not just because he gave her such astounding pleasure, but because he risked relieving her here—in the middle of the catacombs.
“Exeter—Mia, are you down there?” Jersey’s voice filtered down from above.
His finger did not stop, but continued to pulse. “There’s another tunnel, lower down,” Exeter called up. Then he leaned close to her ear. “Come for me, Mia.”
Aroused to the point of climax, she drew in gulps of air as quietly as possible. “We’ve found a tunnel—be right there.”
There was a silence. “Is everything all right?”
“Answer him.” Exeter insisted, as his finger insisted she climax. With each stroke, the cat readied to make her leap—unless she held the great cat back. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, and tossed her head back. “We’re fine—I just want to get a bit closer.”
She glimpsed a hint of a grin on Exeter. “You couldn’t get any closer.”
“You wretched man—you’re enjoying this.” She thought about his penis as she crashed over the edge of her pleasure—the great length and width of him—the arousing fantasy of him inside her. As sheer bliss consumed her, she bit into the fabric of his coat to muffle a cry.
“You think you’re the only one this is hard on?” His words rushed past her ear, causing a second shudder. She reached down and found a rock-hard shaft straining at his trousers—proof of his discomfort. “Obviously not.” She stroked him lightly as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“You’re sure you don’t need me down there?” Jersey called again.
Exeter shoved her hand away and pushed back. He was a most inscrutable character, often hard to read, but tonight his breath was harsh, and he wore a look on his face that spoke of agony and ecstasy. If she could put words to his expression it would be “what did I ever do to deserve such torment?”
He helped her back into pantalettes and trousers. “Button yourself.” Exeter removed a pocket square from his coat and wiped his face. Stepping away, he brushed against the torchlight and it fell off the rock, illuminating something they’d missed—a good-sized hole in the wall of the pit. Mia could make out less and less in the dark as her panther vision faded—still, she sensed something at the far end of the passage. Their own shadows, perhaps?
“Exeter,” she whispered, nodding to the newly exposed hole in the ground. “There’s something moving beyond the end of this shaft.”
Jersey landed between them, with a thud. She was quite sure he paid particular attention to her. “Before I venture into that hole in the ground, please assure me the cat is sated.”
“For the time being,” she murmured, grateful for the cover of darkness, as a flush of color swept over her cheeks.
Exeter frowned. “How long were you up there?”
Jersey almost never smiled, and rarely laughed. But he released a dry, throaty scoff. “Since bloody gorgeous clit—”
“Never mind.” Exeter swept the flashlight off the ground. “Why don’t you fire up that sword and forge the way?”
They entered the hole in the ground single file, on hands and knees. At one point, the ceiling lowered, forcing them to crawl on their bellies. Mia balked, as a sudden sensation of panic nearly overwhelmed her. She tried to reverse gears and run—only she backed straight into Exeter, who sensed her alarm. “Your hysteria is temporary—you’re experiencing a bit of claustrophobia. Take slow breaths—rapid shallow breathing causes your heart to race. Slow down and push on, Mia.”
Mia managed to squeeze a look back at Exeter. He rubbed her leg. You’re doing fine.”
She exhaled and faced forward. Jersey had already cleared the passage. Up ahead she heard talking, she was sure of it—and something that sounded like a bit of backslapping. Overcome with curiosity, she ignored her anxiety and moved forward. Thankfully, the ceiling of the tunnel was also growing taller again.
“Hey—cheers in there.” A familiar voice greeted them.
“Is that you, Tim?” Up on all fours, she shuffled toward the voice at the end of the shaft.
Jersey reached in and pulled her out. It was Tim Noggy, all right—in all of his largeness. A wonderful sight, indeed. Mia dusted herself off as Exeter crawled out of the tunnel.
“Gadzooks, it’s good to find you all. My compass is broken.” Noggy pointed to a small device that flashed illuminated numbers and letters.
Exeter passed his compass over. “When the needle isn’t spinning it appears to point in the opposite direction.” Tim studied the dial as he pivoted in a circle. “Which would make sense if we were in the Outremer.”
“Is it possible we
are
in the Outremer?” Mia asked.
Tim shrugged a shoulder up and down. “I’m pretty sure I just came from there.” Their large inventor friend checked his portal device. “December eleven, eighteen eighty-nine.”
Exeter glanced at the date. “Have you any idea where Ping and the young ladies are?”
Tim shook his head. “I just got here, mate.”
“What about Prospero? Any sign of him?”
Tim’s gaze crinkled and his grin widened. “I’ve got some news on him, all right, but first let’s find the others.” From one of the many pockets in his greatcoat, the young inventor pulled out yet another contraption. “This will set off the bugs—they’ll find our missing party in no time.”
“No need to waste battery power.” They all whirled around to find Ping standing in the middle of the cavern. Valentine and America peeked around the corner of a passage that led south, that is, if south truly was . . . north. Good God, they really were down a rabbit hole.
“I do hope your tour of the catacombs was as interesting as ours.” America smiled, as she and Valentine joined them.
Exeter sucked in a breath, exhaling quietly. They had managed to find each other more by accident than by design. Still, he was greatly relieved. “I promised Mia I’d buy her breakfast—shall we debrief?”
Tim brightened. “I almost forgot, we’re in Paris—
Croque Monsieurs
!” He gazed at the raised brows surrounding him. “It’s kind of like a grilled ham and cheese—only better.”
Mia lead the way out, with Exeter right behind her. They found the ancient brewery without much trouble, and the third secret passage. Tim ushered them ahead while he set off the miniature locators. As it turned out, they had surfaced in the basement of an apartment building just south of the Luxembourg Gardens. Finally, Tim poked his head aboveground and declared: “The bugs have been animated.”
It was well past dawn before they tucked themselves into a corner of Le Procope, 13 rue de l’Ancienne Comédie.
“Bonjour, mademoiselles et messieurs.
Café or tea?” Their waiter was wonderfully patient with Tim as he struggled to describe a
Croque Monsieur,
a café staple that hadn’t been invented yet. “A jovial French waiter at this hour of the morning.” Exeter winked, and ordered savory crepes. Once everyone had ordered and settled in with tea or coffee, he encouraged Mia to relate her encounter with the chatty creature he called the breath of lost souls.
“We conversed in Lewis Carroll speak,” Mia poured milk into her tea. “Oddly diverting—and I’m almost certain I saw a cloaked figure recede into a maelstrom of dust.”
“An entity unknown to me nearly abducted America.” Ping shared. “I was distracted momentarily by a strange gust of wind and debris—not unlike the one you describe, though we had no conversation. Whatever it was, came and went quickly.”
America’s almond shaped eyes grew round for a moment. “Prospero?”
“Very likely.” Exeter exhaled an impatient sigh. “It seems to me we know very little about Prospero—just the most cursory of facts, actually. For instance, we know that he is a titan of industry in the Outremer—part scientist, part wizard. You have often described him as a tyrant and a hoarder of aether. I assume that operation is gone now that Victor’s rebellion blew up Prospero’s refinery plants.” Exeter scrutinized the young inventor. “What do you know of Prospero, the man, Mr. Noggy? For instance, is he well known for his exploits with the ladies?”
“There are reports he’s bisexual—not like Ping—not sure what to call it in 1889,” Tim shoveled a spoonful of sugar into a second cup of coffee.
“He enjoys the company of men as well as women,” Exeter clarified.
Tim nodded. “Victor obsessed on it for a while. He thought he might be able to get to Prospero using prostitutes.”
Exeter suspected Tim Noggy knew more than he was telling. Originally, Tim had identified himself as an Australian, but as it turned out, he was brother to two very powerful men in the Outremer. Tim’s twin, Oakley, ran a highly successful technology company called Black Box, and the dwarf, Victor, self-proclaimed conscience of the three siblings, was a wily political tactician and rebellion leader. Exeter remained convinced the brothers had not revealed half of what they knew about Prospero, nor the history of the troubled, unraveling world they hailed from. He had shared his concerns about the brothers with Mia on several occasions. “Is Victor still in self-exile?” Exeter queried.
Tim slurped his coffee. “He checks in from time to time—he’s planning an outright assault on what’s left of the wizard’s resources. Victor believes we’ve got him on the run. Prospero is down to rationing his aether, and since it fuels everything in our world, including his own powers, he’s been forced underground.”
“Into the Paris catacombs.” America mused aloud.
A round face bobbed up and down. “Looks like it.” Tim’s eyes shifted back and forth, with a sparkle of mischief. “I’ve got something to show you when we get back to the hotel—something Victor recorded.”
Mia had ordered eggs scrambled in butter and chives. The corner of her mouth glistened—tempting him to taste. Instead, Exeter reached up and dabbed a napkin at the edge of her lip. “A bit of butter—” he winked, as his gaze swept across the table to Noggy. “So you do manage to communicate with Victor.”
“You asked about Prospero’s proclivities. They’re sort of . . .” Tim rocked his head back and forth. “Pornographic .”
Exeter stared at Tim. “Sort of?”
Tim eyed the young ladies at the table. “Okay, not sort of.”
America swallowed. “Have you . . . received any word of Phaeton?”
Tim nodded. “He’s holding his own—for the time being.”
“How long will it take the bugs to home in?” Exeter forked up a bit of ham and crepe in Hollandaise sauce.
“I expect to see some bug clusters by late afternoon—hard to say for sure. There’s a hundred and eighteen miles of quarry tunnel. And those are just the ones on the map.”
“You believe there’s more, off the map?” Exeter asked.
“I know it, mate. The bugs are going to find more than one or two warm bodies, especially the bugs I laid down in Outremer Paris. There’s an underground nightclub, art galleries—all kinds of illegal stuff going on in the catacombs. Prospero will have a hideout in both worlds—likely close together.”