Flight of the Crow (6 page)

“What's he asking in return?”

“Nothing, my dear. You must not trouble yourself with such details.”

“You're lying to me, Bryn Sahir. I'm not a child. I remember how you treated me in New Orleans and I will not be packed in lamb's wool and treated like a small child.” She leaned forward, her red-gold hair falling across her shoulders. “Tell me right now. What does he want in return?”

Bryn took a deep breath. Apparently Fenix did remember everything. She hated putting her sister in danger. Fenix was young and heedless, often impetuous and thoughtless about her own safety. “He wants me to steal a dagger.”

Fenix leaned back and nodded. “And who has this dagger.”

Bryn turned her head as Fingle entered the room. “Where is Quinn?” She asked.

“Master Quinn was called away by the Prefect of Police, Monsieur Bernard.”

“Did you hear why?”

“I may have overheard the messenger mention a murder in the
Pigalle
. A prostitute, I think he said.”

“Did you by some chance hear how she was murdered?”

Fingle pantomimed strangling.

“Rosary?”

“I believe something of the sort, madam.”

“Priest is killing again,” Bryn said. “And he must be living close to the district so he can find victims easily.” That Priest was once again killing women was terrible, but the murder was a clue that could help her find him. She had only three days to get that dagger. She needed to begin immediately. The cost of failure was not to be considered.

“Where did they find the body?”

Fingle made a wry face which pulled his large mouth and ears down so he more than slightly resembled a hound. “Behind the club, Miss.”

Bryn's heart raced. “What club?”

Fingle's mournful eyes rolled. “
The
club.”

“
Le Rouge
? My club?”

“Yes, Miss, that very one.”

“He's taunting me,” she snapped. “He did this to send me a message. He must know about my bargain with Lazarus.”

“He could just be a doing it for the pure devilment.” Fingle's voice held a mournful note.

“True,” Bryn mused. “I will have to go down there myself. Mistress
Chat
will be beside herself.”

“We own that club, don't we?” Fenix said.

Bryn wiped the worried expression off her face as she turned to face Fenix. “Do not concern yourself, my dear. You must rest. You've been through a dreadful ordeal.”

“You're always trying to make me rest, or lie down or ignore what's going on. I won't this time. I remember New Orleans. I remember all the way back to when I was a babe in London. You can't exclude me. If you're going to the club, I want to go.”

Bryn patted her arm. “Of course, after you've rested.”

Fenix sighed. “Fine, I know when to quit. Arguing with you is an exercise in futility. Just take me to my room.”

Bryn laughed and hugged her sister. It was a good thing she was so biddable and easily distracted as well. “There's no place in your room for you to sleep unless you fancy a crib.”

Fenix returned the hug with a warm squeeze. “I know, I was most recently a baby. I can even remember my birth; rising out of the flames to be thrown into Lake Pontchartrain.” She shivered. “Everything you told me was true, Bryn. Somehow I could never believe it actually happened to me; that I turned into a golden Phoenix, burst into flames and was reborn a babe. I doubted you. Your story seemed outrageous.”

Bryn patted her shoulder. “Come upstairs. Your old bedroom is empty. You've stayed here many times with me. I will have Fingle move your trunk.”

“Did you not prepare for me to be restored to my adult form?”

“I guess I didn't think Lazarus could do it. I thought what he proposed was impossible.”

“Who is he, Bryn? Is he indeed
the
Lazarus? He seemed so familiar to me. As though I had known him before. Did we know him?”

“Not that I was ever aware of, though he may have crossed our paths over the centuries. It seems likely that could have happened.”

Fenix tilted her head and looked thoughtful. “It was almost as though we'd been lovers. Isn't that strange?”

“Yes, my dear, very strange, He is a most dangerous and powerful enemy.”

“Allow me to help steal the dagger, Bryn. You must.”

“Of course,” Bryn promised, though in her heart she knew she would protect Fenix from any danger. It was impossible for her to change a behavior developed over centuries of caring for her as a child and young adult who'd never lived beyond thirty.

“What is the penalty he spoke of? What happens if you fail?”

Bryn had to stop and think before replying. It was dangerous to lie to her sister. If she discovered the falsehood, she would go berserk. “He gets you.”

“Me?” Fenix laughed. “Why does he want me?”

Bryn shook her head. “For nothing good, I'm sure. He said he would turn you into a creature like himself.”

Fenix stopped at the door to the bed chamber. “Then we must acquire this dagger at all cost.”

When Bryn had tucked Fenix into her bed and watched while she fell asleep, she hurried to change into her riding dress and ran down the back stairs to the mews. Fingle had her mare saddled and waiting. The man could read her mind. He tossed her into the saddle. “Have a care, Miss Bryn. It be late and that be a dangerous neighborhood.”

“Did Sam return from the Exposition?”

He nodded. “Her and Mr. Tomlinson came in right after midnight. They both retired for the evening.”

“Well don't bother her. I shall speak to her in the morning.”

He nodded and released the mare's reins. She waved once and took off at a brisk trot for
le Rouge.

The club was in the
Pigalle
district, famous for its prostitutes, houses of ill repute and secret sex clubs. She avoided eye contact with the seedy element frequenting the streets at this hour of the night. It was close to three in the morning. A man in a frieze coat and plaid trousers grabbed her reins and tried to stop her horse. He reeked of onions and body odor. She quickly held up her hand and froze him. Ice dripped off his scraggly beard and hooked nose as she kicked him away from the dancing horse and continued on at a canter. No more day dreaming. This part of Paris was dangerous.

When she reached the club, a large building taking up half the block with a plain façade and a red door, she rode down the side alley. Police vans were pulled up behind the club and the place swarmed with
gendarmes
. She spotted Quinn's bay gelding and urged the mare toward him. The mare, sensing her stablemate, shouldered her way through the throng of people from the club and the streets. Bryn slid to the ground and tied her reins to the same wrought-iron fence as the gelding.

She saw Quinn speaking to a short man in a black suit. The man's hair was slick with pomade and his handlebar mustache waxed. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a concerned expression. When she reached Quinn's side, he glanced down and frowned. “What the Deuce are you doing here?”

Bridling, she straightened her back and narrowed her eyes. “This is my club, remember?” She slapped her boot with her riding whip. “Remember?”

She had the pleasure of seeing Quinn's handsome face redden and smiled. “I see you do.”

“There's no need for you to be here, Bryn. Really, this scene is most sickening.”

“Was it Priest?”

“Without doubt.”

“Then I would see the body.”

He held her arm. “My darling don't, it's the worst one yet.”

She shook him off and pushed through the circle of
gendarmes.
She saw immediately that Quinn was completely right. The sight that greeted her was horrific. A young prostitute with sad, wide-opened eyes lay draped over a barrel. She was naked and displayed in a grotesque manner.

Bryn edged close enough to close the woman's eyes. The communion wafer was plain on her swollen tongue and the marks of the cross and the red dots left by rosary beads stood out on her throat. Her breasts had been hacked off, slashes covered her thighs and there were multiple bite marks on her belly. The hilt of a dagger protruded from her vagina. The message for Bryn was clear. The woman's red-gold mane was fanned out around her like a cape. Her mound was covered with more red-gold curls. She looked about twenty and obviously represented Fenix.

Bryn covered her mouth and backed away. Quinn caught her in his arms as she wavered. “I told you not to look.”

“He meant for me to see this. Look at the dagger. Look at her hair. He knows about Lazarus and he's taunting me.”

“Don't let him get to you, my darling. He's trying to upset you so you make a stupid mistake. The stakes are too high, Bryn. Don't allow him to have power over you.”

She turned into his embrace and buried her face in his coat. “I must find him. He shall pay for this.” She sobbed. “That poor woman.”

They rode slowly back to the house side by side. Bryn could not stop thinking about the dead woman. Priest had dropped the gauntlet. He'd challenged her. She'd never backed down from a challenge before. Did he think her so poor a creature she would quit and forfeit her sister?

“They plan to make plaster casts of the bite marks,” Quinn said. “The Prefect believes he can match them with the killer and prove his guilt. It's a new crime scene technique they're using. He seems positive it will help them find the murderer.” He reached across her horse and took her hand as they rode down the alley to the mews. “This is not the first one.”

She stopped her horse in front of the stable. “What do you mean?”

“The Prefect told me there have been two other dead prostitutes…both with reddish hair.”

She slid off her horse and walked into the house through the door in the alley. Priest was more than taunting her. Just as Quinn had said, he was trying to make her so angry, she made mistakes. Fingle met them on the landing. His sad face was even more morose. He said nothing and she was forced to ask. “What is it Fingle?”

He sighed and she longed to shake him. It must be bad news because he obviously didn't want to tell her. “Just tell me.”

Quinn added his bit. “Speak, Fingle.”

“Babbette just came downstairs crying and threw herself on me chest sobbing fit to bust. Mistress Fenix ain't in her bed.”

Fenix knew about
le Rouge Derriere
. She knew what it was and remembered her part in its operation. She had a secret, something she hadn't confided in her controlling sister. She could remember more than her most recent incarnation. Fenix remembered back through the Middle Ages. She remembered living in Rome under the Medici. She remembered tying up beautiful masked women in the club and whipping them.

Dressed in her most revealing gown, a high-wasted dress in the empire style, with a low bodice and scandalously transparent skirt, she ran down the street to the corner. Over the dress she'd thrown a gold-velvet cape. The sun would soon be rising above the city. She must hurry if she wanted to catch Mistress
Chat
still in the club. Though if the murder had happened close to it, the dominatrix would undoubtedly still be there.

She caught the tram, a steam-powered form of transportation unique to Paris, and found a seat. At this hour, it was empty save for a night watchman and an old woman holding a shopping bag with a
baguette
sticking out of the top. Her heart raced with excitement. She remembered so much. Her mind was bursting with memories. She scanned them, reliving great and terrible adventures, getting to know Draak Priest more thoroughly. She felt as though she understood him better than Bryn ever would. While Bryn was pure and filled with light, Fenix knew she possessed a dark side. Perhaps it was because she never grew old and was always learning about life, while Bryn was old. She didn't age physically, but she aged mentally. Fenix was eternally renewed as a child with childlike ambitions, thoughts and an innocence Bryn could never possess again.

When the tram reached the
Pigalle
, it stopped and she climbed out. For a moment, she stood on the street corner beneath the gas light and twirled around. She breathed deeply of scents unique to Paris; the smell of the ever present river, sewage, bread baking, croissants and strong coffee brewing in hundreds of shops and homes. It was like a drug. It filled her with energy and nostalgia. For the first time in her life, she had memories of scents from long ago. It was wonderful.

The
Rouge
was only a short walk. She saw the police vans were still parked in the alley and behind the building. She felt sure there were no customers because of the presence of the police so she entered through the red door, walked through a luxurious entryway and reception area, and down a long corridor to the back. She smiled because this was familiar. So few times in her life had she had that feeling of knowing where she was and remembering experiences she'd had in that location. As she passed a door studded with sparkling stars, she smiled. Behind that door, she'd spanked a French princess and received pleasure from her lips and tongue. Bryn must have this feeling all the time.

At the end of the corridor was an elevator. The cage door was brass. She opened it and entered. The operator was a wizened gentleman. He'd been napping on a stool in the back corner. When he heard the clang of the door, he woke with a start. “Who are you?” he asked in French.

She giggled because she knew French. How marvelous. She told him to take her to the third floor and leaned against the wall. She'd suddenly realized she knew hundreds of languages.

When the elevator stopped, the old man in the black and gold uniform opened the door for her and stood back so she could exit. Without hesitating, she turned left and walked to the office in the rear of the building. She knocked and the door was abruptly flung open. “What now?” A harassed voice demanded in French.