Chapter Thirty-Four

MICHEL-LEON TOOK the lead and headed down the winding staircase that plunged into the heart of Paris. The heart of hell. It opened into the first of the narrow, dark tunnels of the old quarry system. There was a hushed quality despite the crackle of the torches and the stamp of the soldiers’ feet behind him as they followed. From somewhere deep within the tunnels came muffled screams of pain and fear.

That’s all the trail he needed. They reached a junction where the corridors branched in several directions. Michel-Leon consulted his map and compass. He sensed a faint whisper of a song but wasn’t sure if it was memory or reality.

“Mon Dieu, what is that?” a soldier whispered and Michel-Leon jerked his head up, searching the shadows. At first he didn’t see anything. Then the shadows undulated near the top of one corridor.

Michel-Leon crept closer, motioning for more light as he pulled out his sword. For a moment he saw it, the impression of a limb or snake, something long and eel-like stretched along the ceiling. Then it blended in again perfectly with the surrounding rock. He listened down the corridor. The screams sounded louder in that direction. He checked the other corridors as the soldiers fidgeted with nerves.

“We’ll take the first one,” Michel-Leon announced and led the way without a backward glance. There was a soft moan of fear behind him, but the soldiers fell in line. Michel-Leon kept an eye on the surrounding walls and ceiling. On occasion, he’d see a flicker of movement overhead that told him whatever they’d seen was still with them, but there was no sign of the nest.

Partway down the tunnel, the mists began, lying low and wispy on the ground. The sight confirmed they were going in the right direction but made it harder to see. Again he heard the song, louder now and still so faint. Old and rich, the melody lacked the power it once had, though it still tugged at his heartstrings.

“Put on your filtering masks, in case. We’ll need them anyway, with the amount of smoke we will produce in these tunnels.” Michel-Leon fitted his over his face, and then as they went deeper, the mist thickened until they were feeling their way down the corridors. The tunnels spilled into the catacombs, and grinning skulls layered in rows stared out at him through empty sockets. “Is that thing still over us?” a soldier asked in a low voice.

“I would hazard oui.” Régine glanced up and then at Michel-Leon for confirmation. He nodded, resisting the urge to hunch as the ceiling lowered. “Let’s not agitate it at this point.”

The screams died to whimpers of animalistic agony. Tension thrummed in the air as a steady, slow thumping started up, like the heartbeat of a dying god.

“Stay back,” Michel-Leon ordered. “The mists haven’t affected us, but I’m not sure what we will find. I’ll move forward ten feet. The next crypt should be near. When I give the order, move to me and I’ll inch forward again.”

“I’ll take the rear and make sure that creature above us doesn’t try anything once we pass a certain point,” Régine said, and Michel-Leon smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it. He knew how much she wanted to be first, but she was right. That was a weak point, and he trusted her to stay steady.

All his instincts screamed the danger wasn’t past, even though the ancestors were silent. They observed, nevertheless, and their presence screamed caution. He moved forward the ten paces. The tunnel abruptly ended, and Michel-Leon froze in the entranceway. He could make out the cries of pain. Most of them seemed to be concentrated in this area, and shapes shifted in the swirling mists, but they were too nebulous to define. He waved his torch over the area, feeling the damp on his skin that made his flesh crawl as black threads reached out to surround him.

No one coming down had ever stood a chance. Not if they hadn’t been inoculated or, in the case of Vautrin’s creatures, forcibly mutated. The nest reacted to the presence of food and used the mists to lure them closer. It was still a hypothesis, but it stood to reason that if the swarm fed off the population after hatching, it would crave the same sustenance while incubating.

Michel-Leon called the others forward. In the gloom and mists, with the masks distorting their faces, they were a chilling sight. He called for more torches and set them up in close intervals, hoping it would make the damp recede some. The light reflected off the mists and illuminated the ceiling, where the shadows shifted and wriggled. The beating drum and song were directly over them.

“Help me,” an agonized reedy voice croaked from somewhere in the crypt.

“What is that?” a soldier asked sharply, and Michel-Leon threw up an arm to keep him from moving closer.

“The Boar is dying. Dying badly in pain and despair at what he’s done. We understand now.”

Michel-Leon threw up a mental wall before the ancestors could share the details with him. He’d take the time to understand later. He did not need to be incapacitated now. “It’s Vautrin. He’s dying. Stay put. The mists are clearing up some, and I don’t want any of us to make a misstep.”

“The pain in his voice,” Régine said with a wealth of sympathy. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Michel-Leon swung his torch back and forth as he inched forward. He made out the bodies of Vautrin’s creatures first, some struggling on the rocks in which they lay, others inert and appearing to sink into the stone. It took several moments before his brain registered what his eyes were seeing. It wasn’t a pile of rocks at all. It was the start of the nest.

“Be careful, but come forward. Don’t touch anything that looks like a rock. It’s an egg.” Michel-Leon stepped forward again and the closest victim rolled his eyes around, his gaze filled with terror and pain. The harder he struggled, the quicker he sank into the eggs until his body disappeared and his face remained. He cried out one last time before he vanished completely.

Someone behind Michel-Leon retched.

“We need to put them out of their misery,” someone else whispered. “Here, help me pull him free,” the soldier ordered, his voice gaining strength.

“Don’t touch them!”

The force of the command pushed through Michel-Leon’s shield and blossomed with a headache that radiated pain out from his temples. “Don’t!” Michel-Leon snarled harshly. “Give me a moment. Let me clear some of this mist out and see if I can get us better light. The torches aren’t dissipating the mists.”

He’d prepared the spells, as much as he hated using them, because they often attracted other things. Who knew what else might lurk down here in the catacombs? But it was a risk he needed to take at this point before they blundered into a trap.

He muttered under his breath, steeling himself for the strain it would put on him to hold the spell in place. Light splashed across the roof of the cave, spilling out in undulating, colorful waves and with it came a dry heat that pressed down on them. The ceiling appeared to flinch, and the thudding picked up in speed. “Stay steady,” the commandant ordered as the soldiers cast anxious glances upward.

The mists retreated, curling around their feet in a thick soup. The horror before them was revealed, and Régine gasped. Michel-Leon forced himself to examine it dispassionately. The eggs looked like natural rock striated in yellows, creams, and grays to blend in with the limestone and grinning skulls. They were vaguely ovoid, and the mists seeped out from them, growing thicker on the ground but unable to engulf the group.

He may not have much of a use for magic usually, but he praised it now. The nest had many defensive mechanisms. They were designed to survive. Vautrin moaned again, and pity twisted Michel-Leon’s heart.

“Will I be safe if I use my sword?”

The ancestors were quick to reply. “We think so. Don’t touch him with your bare skin.”

“I believe they came down here to do their master’s bidding to pick up the eggs and carry them to the ship. They were immune to the mists, but whatever immunity they had wasn’t enough when they handled the eggs,” Michel-Leon said to the waiting soldiers, and they stirred uneasily.

“The mists lure their victims to the nest and once they contact them, they are absorbed and consumed.” Régine shuddered, her eyes dark with horror. “We have to do something.”

He pulled out his sword. “If anything happens to me, burn the nest and get out.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to use our pistols?” Régine asked with a restraining hand on his arm.

“Non. Something may splash and we don’t know the effect it will have if it touches skin.” And Michel-Leon couldn’t imagine the din that it would create in these close tunnels. Once one started shooting, others would follow. That could also attract trouble.

“We should try to help them now!” A soldier pushed past Michel-Leon and dodged his grab. He approached the eggs cautiously and halted beside one of the mutated men. Its leg stuck out, still wiggling and jerking. The soldier grabbed ahold of it in both hands, braced himself and pulled.

Michel-Leon held his breath as it began to slide free with a squelch.

“It’s working!” the soldier cried. “Help me.”

A darkness rose, an oppressive feeling more of the mind than reality. On the edges of his consciousness, Michel-Leon thought he sensed a roaring of wings and a vast chittering cry as the song increased in magnitude. But before he could examine the sensation, the solider screamed. He dropped the leg, holding his hands to his ears, his eyes mad as he screamed again.

“Michie.” Régine’s hand tightened on his arm, and she yanked him back into the dubious safety of the corridor as the ceiling undulated again. Black and silver limbs uncoiled down and grabbed ahold of the screaming man. Before Michel-Leon or anyone else could react, they flung the soldier onto the nest. A convulsion went through the eggs, and the ones in contact with the man appeared to soften as he sank in. The screams began again, this time filled with agony, and the rest of the soldiers fired up at the creature over them. The caverns echoed with the roar of gunfire. More limbs came down, and Régine shouted for a retreat as she dragged Michel-Leon deeper into the corridor.

“The mother guards and feeds her young,” Michel-Leon said softly, struggling to keep himself in the present as the ancestors converged on him.

“She is old and tired, weak from starvation. All the food went to the eggs.”

The ancestors babbled at each other as they experienced Vautrin’s dying agony and compared it to experiences in the past. It was a sound theory that made sense, but Michel-Leon didn’t have time for theories and suppositions. He struggled against the voices as Régine shouted his name, and he dimly felt the sting of her slap. Not now. He could not let them overpower him. With a wrench, Michel-Leon staved off the voices.

“Be silent!” he ordered savagely, and to his surprise, they obeyed.

Régine’s tight expression eased as Michel-Leon focused on her. “If you ever have the leisure, consider lecturing your ancestors about their horrible sense of timing.”

Michel-Leon grimaced and raised his hands into claws. The necessity pained him, but they could not deal with the nest without first dealing with the mother. He muttered words under his breath and felt the drain on his energy, and electricity sparked between his fingers. Then lightning lashed out, stabbing deep into the wounded creature clinging to the ceiling. It shuddered once, hard enough to shake the ground, then fell.

He glanced around at the remaining soldiers. The corridors were eerily silent; the heartbeat gone. The commandant gave him a grim look, blood running down his face from a slash. “The monster is dead. It’s over.”

“Non, it’s half over,” Michel-Leon corrected. He approached the nest, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword. Régine fell into step beside him. The carcass of the creature half buried the nest and the eggs quivered as they accepted the new offering.

“She’s beautiful,” Régine said softly. The camouflage ended with its death, revealing the creature in its entirety. Natural black armor encased most of it, though the undersides gleamed like moonlight underneath. A bulbous head had sunken in on itself and sprouted near a dozen limbs that tapered down to points. Lacy wings covered it like a shroud.

Michel-Leon agreed and wished he had an opportunity to study her more, but the fresh food was having an alarming effect on the nest. The nest shivered with a low hum as it pulled pieces off the huge carcass that disappeared into the eggs.

One of the soldiers was still alive, his nails dragging along the ground as he struggled to pull himself free from the devouring nest. The light was fading from his eyes and Michel-Leon pulled out his sword. It was too late for him. They only thing he could do was provide mercy.

“Wait, allow me.” Régine laid her hand on Michel-Leon’s wrist. Her expression filled with grim resolve as she witnessed the soldier being consumed. “We cannot risk you. If it doesn’t work, burn it down before it gets me.”

“With the mother dead, it should be safe.” Knowing she wouldn’t back down, Michel-Leon passed over his sword. “I warded the blade, for what it may be worth.”

Régine nodded. The blade flashed in the undulating light, and the soldier’s screams were silenced. This time, the eggs closest to them rocked. Michel-Leon yanked Régine back in case another attack was imminent.

“They appeared withered,” Michel-Leon said, crouching down for a better look. “If you observe closely, the ones that have the bodies attached are sleeker. I suspect Vautrin might have inadvertently been starving them when he diverted the nest’s victims for his own purposes. I suppose my inoculations added to the process.” Michel-Leon said as he examined each body for signs of life, but most were already gone. “Which would explain why the mists were so erratic. Their life cycle had been interrupted.”

“They are starting to crack,” Régine said urgently. She pointed to minute striations appearing across the shells as Michel-Leon paused in front of Vautrin.

The tortured eyes opened. He was still alive, barely. “Raul?” Vautrin asked with a gasp.

“He’s with my men. We’ll keep him safe,” Michel-Leon promised.

“Non!” Vautrin cried out weakly as Michel-Leon raised his sword. “Let it be through the fire.”

Michel-Leon nodded and raised his hands again. “Step back into the corridor, all of you. I’m not sure what will happen, but there are a lot of eggs. This will take some doing.”

He waited until the soldiers stepped back, though Régine stubbornly remained by his side. “Someone needs to guard your back,” she said in an undertone. “You’re going to be vulnerable while you’re working the magic.”

“I have learned not to argue with you.”

Régine gave him a tight smile. Michel-Leon locked eyes with Vautrin as he muttered the words to alter the spell. The light on the ceiling pulsed, then lanced down, striking through Vautrin and into the nest.

Vautrin’s scream cut off mercifully quick as fire burst through the eggs, incinerating the closest and racing back through the rest of the nest. A roar of wings filled Michel-Leon’s mind, followed by a vast chittering. The song this time was young and filled with an unrelenting hunger. The sound overwhelmed him, knocking him down to his knees. In the distance, humans shouted with terror, and he struggled to get to his feet again, to see, but wings and tentacles and teeth blotted out the world.

Michel-Leon drew his pistol and sword, striking out against the horde, but it was impossible to get a bead on any of the monsters attacking him.

“It’s in your mind! It’s not real!”

The voices of his ancestors shouted through the din, barely heard.

“Don’t lose the fire. Don’t falter.”

Michel-Leon struggled to hold his concentration. A terrible fear pressed down on him, and he sank to his knees under the weight of it. In the background, the soldiers screamed. Régine’s breath came in sobbing pants. The ancestors reacted to the psychic attack with a roar of their own that partially shielded him and gave him a moment to think.

He narrowed his eyes and forced himself back to his feet. The catacombs were a nightmare of grinning skulls and smoke as the eggs turned to ash. He pushed forward down the corridor, dragging the light and fire with him through a pure effort of will as he continued to burn them out. Smoke filled the long dark hallways and the screams from his past echoed with the renewed screams of his family in his head.

Fear flashed through him and then eased back as the spiritual wounds Constantin healed didn’t have the power they once did. Michel-Leon blocked away his family and concentrated on the fire. He had to get through this. He had to see it to the end. When he emerged, he was going to kiss Constantin senseless.