I cried, "Fight! Les monstres, fight for your very lives!" even as Josephine, outraged, demanded, "Where did the Italians come from? It was only the Germans, Amelia, it was—!"
From the fascist faction's midst swaggered Signor Panterello, whose small stature allowed him to slip through the struggling soldiers with relative ease. "You did not imagine I would let you go after so thwarting my plans, did you?"
"The motorcycle, Josephine, where is it—?"
"Khan—!"
All was well, then; freed from the fear that Mussolini had acquired the beautiful bike, I could turn my disgust and loathing upon the thieving Signor Panterello, at whom I purposefully strode. "I imagined never to see you again, Panterello, but it seems you are even less clever than your larcenous ways suggested. If you were wise you would have taken the money and run—"
"When I have a platoon of soldiers at my back? I'm not afraid of you, Stone—"
"You should be."
It had been no time at all since le Monstre had fallen, since I had killed Kiera in a strange and terrible justice for his death. In that tiny space of time, I had known agony and ecstasy, but neither had offered the sweet simple release of action. Panterello did not speak again, for I had forgotten I wore the crown, and my word was law; he had not been afraid, but now he was, knees locked and eyes popping as I stormed toward him. It was not a fair fight, nor did I care; in a moment I was upon him with one fist seizing his shirt as the other struck his jaw in a mighty, silencing blow. He fell without protest and I turned to the nearest doppelgänger, thrusting Panterello's limp form toward him. "Carry him out of here," I ordered. "Bring him to the police; tell them he is the instigator of the street races and that he is a gift from Amelia Stone. Then go and live your life, mon—" I seized upon the word, reluctant to name a freed man monster, and instead substituted, "monsieur. Be a good man; that is all I ask of you. Now go!"
L'homme, for I would not now allow myself to think of him as a monster, gazed at me with astonished, beautifully green eyes, then snatched Panterello from my hands and ran, not toward the door through which fascists poured, but another egress I had not previously noticed. Josephine, who had wisely remained behind when I strode into the fight, watched him go, then turned to me with wide eyes. I pointed imperiously, but it appeared the crown did not work with silent commands; the corner of her mouth turned up and she deliberately located a still-upright laboratory bench and sat upon it, waiting on and challenging me.
There were a dozen doppelgängers and at least four times that number of soldiers; I weighed the balance and found the lives of les monstres worth less than that of Josephine Baker's, and with some, but not debilitating, regret, began my retreat. Gunfire was not yet in play—there were too many soldiers still forcing their way through the narrow door to have begun shooting—and I chose not to introduce it, merely forcing my way back through the growing crowd until I broke out of its back and pursued Josephine.
She had left the bench and stood in front of one of the unbroken cabinets, its door open as she took great handsful of the vials and stuffed them into unlikely locations: her bosom, her waistband, even her garters. When I came to her side she smiled brilliantly at me. "These are the potions he was using, aren't they? I thought they might come in handy."
I could not argue, and seized as many of the vials as I could, filling my pockets and my waistband until they overflowed. Then, with a glance back at the erupting battle behind us, I caught her hand. "I would like to propose something to you, my queen."
Josephine's sultry smile slipped over her lips and she purred, "Oh? I await your proposal with bated breath," causing me to regret the prosaic nature of my suggestion: "I propose we run, Josephine."
"Oh." Her smile turned to a laughing pout. "Yes, that might be a good idea."
Hand in hand we fled the laboratory after l'homme I had set free; behind us, gunfire echoed, and I knew we had not bought ourselves as much time as I might have hoped. When the shots behind us stopped, so did I, though I urged Josephine onward. "Go, mon amie. Let me deal with these ruffians."
Josephine instantly released my hand and took a dozen running steps before whipping back toward me, fire flashing in her eyes. "You used that crown on me!"
I clapped a hand to my head, surprised to find the pschent still there, and said with genuine remorse, "Forgive me. I did not mean to."
"Then take it off!"
"And carry it how?"
Unable to find a satisfactory answer, she changed the subject: "How many shots have you got?"
"Eleven," I replied reluctantly. I could see already where her argument would lead, and I had very little ground upon which to stand against it.
"And how many vials?"
"Je ne sais pas, Josephine. Perhaps two dozen?"
"And how many Nazis are there?"
"Nazis? Two dozen." I gave a pedantic sniff and felt I had earned the dour look Josephine bestowed upon me. "Blackshirts and brownshirts both, I don't know. Forty, or as many as fifty."
"And so with eleven bullets and two dozen vials you intend to defeat fifty men singlehandedly? I don't think so, Amelia, and we're wasting time standing here when we could be running. Let's go!"
Able to argue—able to win, no doubt, as I still wore the crown—but also reluctant to lose her in the catacombs, I succumbed to Josephine's demands. "You can always order them to run the other way if they catch us," she said breathlessly as we loped down a well-trodden path together. The idea had merit, though as the first bullets zinged behind us I wondered how I was meant to command metal to stop its flight through the air.
I did not have to, of course. I shouted, "Cease fire!" in a carrying voice and in three languages; immediately the bullets stopped, and, with a flash of childish delight and hope, I called, "Stop chasing us!"
We ran without pursuit for almost a minute; then footsteps began to pound behind us again. "Stop following us!"
Once more they stopped. By the fourth iteration of such commands, laughter, bordering on the hysterical after a day of too-high emotion, was breaking from my chest. "What else can they be doing?" Josephine asked. "Chasing, following, pursuing, hunting...stop running!" she suggested, and I echoed that order back in a powerful shout.
The footsteps faded again, but in no time the echoes began in a quick-time march. Exasperated, I stopped trying to vary my commands and instead rifled through my pockets, examining the vials of emotions as we ran. "Hatred, Fear, Despair—"
"That one will be of use." Josephine seized it from my hand and flung it behind us; it crashed upon the stones and splashed free, causing me to be grateful for the general lack of breeze in the tunnels.
"Good Nature—" She seized that one as well, while I fumbled through the remaining vials, trying to separate the dangerous from the helpful. "Lethargy, Peacefulness—" We left behind us a trail of elixirs wafting in the air, and the sounds of pursuit grew less and less alarming. "I have no more to dissuade them," I finally said. "We'll have to fight those who remain."
"You can fight. I'll throw my own elixirs." Josephine dipped her fingers into her bodice, retrieving a rose-pink bottle. "This one has no label."
"Best not to risk it. There can't be that many of them left." I took her vial and tucked it into my pocket with the other dangerous items as I turned to face the last few of our enemies who had fought their way through the clouds of emotion elixirs.
The men who came toward us had all masked themselves by covering their faces with a jacket or a sleeve. When they saw us making our stand, they cast away those masks in favor of seizing their weapons. I pressed Josephine against the wall and, trying to provide some cover, began to fire my own pistol.
My aim was true; most of my bullets met their mark, and several of the fascist dogs fell to the catacomb floors to join the dead who already lay along these halls. The rest scattered, pressing themselves to the walls, and Josephine seized her chance, leaping out to throw her brightly-colored elixirs. Her aim was true as well; one vial broke against a black-shirted shoulder and the Italian's eyes rolled up as Calm overtook him to such a degree that he could no longer stand. The man nearest him mellowed as well, then sank in shoulder-shaking sobs as Resignation landed on the floor before him and did its work.
"With these I could be the greatest actress in the world," Josephine whispered to me; despite the predicament, I once more could not help but laugh. Her ambitions barred none, and I loved her for it, a thought which brought heat to my cheeks. She hugged the wall again as one of the fascists began to fire wildly at us, clearly hoping for luck rather than trying to aim. I fired back and missed, and then my pistols were empty. I turned to Josephine, guns dangling from my fingertips in a display of uselessness before I tucked them back into my holsters. She sorted swiftly through her remaining vials, muttering dismissals of most, and finally selected one of pulsating red. She held it up, winked at me, then screamed, "Mon dieu! Amelia, she is dead!" with such conviction that I clutched my own heart, wondering if I had been struck and simply had not yet noticed.
Without hesitation, two men raced down the hall toward us: two and no more; we had conquered the rest. Josephine, still screaming, turned toward them as if they were her salvation. I saw sly cruelty sluice across the face of one before Josephine threw her final useful vial with both speed and accuracy. It broke to pieces on the catacomb floor before them, and the two men stumbled, then turned and seized one another in a passionate embrace.
Josephine's screams turned to surprised laughter, trilling through the catacombs. "That was Romance. If I'd known it worked that well, I might have kept it! Quick, before it wears off!"
Hand in hand, laughing at the nearness of our escape, we ran through the catacombs and out into the bright Parisian afternoon.