I left the perfume shop and checked my phone to see if Antoine might have texted. He’d not, so I sent another message that I was available, then walked toward the Seine. Any other time the beauty of the river and the serenity of the surroundings would have soothed me, but not today. My phone vibrated and I checked the display, hoping to see a message from Antoine.
But it was Cotton.
Have you learned anything yet about your hallucinations?
On the train ride north I’d called and told him about the dreams, sharing my plans for Paris. He wasn’t thrilled with the decision to purposely inhale from the bottle, but he trusted my judgement. As I did his. Another of the reasons we made a great team.
I replied that I’d seen Jac and typed out an abbreviated version of what the Sabbat Box contained then asked what he thought someone might do with such an assortment.
I’ll have to think on that one. Keep in touch.
He wasn’t much help, but he was also a long ways away and out of the loop. That was the thing about men. They were fixers. They liked to make bad situations better. Probably harkened back to the Stone Age and hunter gatherers and all that crap. But I rarely required a fixer. I preferred to solve my own problems. Which was another reason I loved Cotton. He was more a listener. That I could use and Cotton was really good at, as he put it, “keeping his mouth shut and his ears open.”
I hesitated putting the phone away, allowing my fingers to linger on its surface. Though only symbolic, it was still a connection to him. Even though we were used to being apart, I missed him. It had been over two weeks since we’d seen each other last, and it would be at least that much or more before our next visit. I many times wondered what it would be like to be with him all the time. I’d never had that level of closeness with anyone. But, I’d already decided that he was the one man where that might be possible.
One day.
I crossed the Pont Carrousel. Though only late morning there were couples already out on the arched bridge, lingering, holding hands, some kissing. The city of lovers, right? Cliché, but true. I’d always felt comfortable here. I thought again about Cotton, still missing him, and the strange dreams. I still didn’t want to call them memories.
So what were they?
I continued on into the Tuileries Garden and came out on the Rue Rivoli. I walked from there to Place Vendôme, home to the famed Ritz hotel and some of the most exclusive jewelry shops in the world. I’d been known to spend a little money there. Turning on Rue Danielle Casanova, I walked halfway down the block and found the entrance to the Du Lac Auction House.
* * *
My meeting with Claude Mantte was disappointing. I gleaned little that I didn’t already know and I left in a black mood. For the third time I texted Antoine, who still hadn’t responded. But this time I got an answer.
By way of a call.
“It’s time we meet,” he said.
“Are you all right? I left you on the ground to get help. But when I got back you were gone.”
“Nicodème told me where you were headed. Go back to the perfume shop and wait outside. I’ll be along shortly.”
His tone bristled, but I ignored it and agreed to be there. It took me less than fifteen minutes to retrace my route. I stood outside the shop, across the street, watching for him. Finally, a black Citroën eased to the curb and the passenger-side door opened. Antoine was behind the wheel, with a bandage on the right side of his forehead, and another around his left wrist.
“Hop in.”
I did and he drove off.
“I’m here,” he said, without preamble, “because my brother, Denton, is in Paris. I think he was behind the attack on us both.”
“Are you okay?”
He gestured to his hand. “Banged up for sure. A hiker came along and helped me. They took me to the hospital in Monaco.”
I had checked only in Nice.
“And you’re all right?” he asked.
“I had some hallucinations after, and a headache.”
“You mean like dreams, but more, as if you were actually there, living it out?”
I nodded slowly. “You too?”
“I’ve experienced it before. As I told you, the Sabbat Box belonged to my father. He kept it in our home for many years. Once, curiosity got the best of me, and I explored its contents. I sniffed from one of the bottles and passed out. I woke up with a memory of another time. I had been on a battlefield during World War I. In the trenches. A horrible place. There was shooting, death, then poisoned gas. It was so real. Almost overpowering.”
“My dreams were more benign. I was a woman named Morgan le Fay. I was in a forest, with rain. There was a fortress that belonged to me, given to me by my half-brother, but he’d decided to take it back.” I was a little embarrassed to continue, but knew I had to. “And I was making love to a man, there to protect me.”
There had to be some logical explanation but, for the life of me, I couldn’t think of one.
“Is that why you wanted the box back,” I asked. “To experience more dreams.”
He nodded. “And to find some answers. It’s bothered me for a long time.”
He navigated the traffic and I explained everything I’d learned about the box’s ingredients, then I asked, “Why do you think your brother was behind the ambush and robbery?”
“Denton knows about the box and what the mixtures can do. He smelled them once too. He also knew who bought the box and that I was going to get it back. We spoke a few days ago.”
“Why not just help you? Why attack you?”
“Because he knew that I wasn’t going to hand it over to him. I don’t trust him.”
I was amazed. “But to attack you? Is he capable of that?” I had no siblings, but the idea of one doing anything so violent seemed inconceivable. “How did you know it was him?”
“He left a calling card.”
He held out his wrist and showed me a blue string wristlet supporting a small metal charm.
“It’s an evil eye,” he said. “Our grandmother gave us each one.”
He reached into his pants pocket and brought out an identical wristlet, the string circle severed. “It was lying on top of me when I woke up. His way of telling me to back off.”
“Why does that box matter so much to him? Do you think he’s planning on using those ancient oils?”
“I truly don’t know.”
He was quiet for the moment. I recalled what Cotton had told me about Denton Lussac. “Does your brother work for Lydia St. Benedict?”
“He does. And that’s what’s worrying me. I’m wondering if all this has something to do with the election.”
Which I knew was only five days away. The campaign between President Casimir and his challenger, Lydia St. Benedict, had been one of the worst in French history. Charges and counter-charges had been flung by both sides. The polls were deadlocked, the country split 50/50 in a dead heat.
“The final debate is tomorrow night,” he said.
“What could the Sabbat Box have to do with that?”
“My brother was once a wonderful person. But something happened to him, five years ago, after our father died. He was excluded from the will, banned from inheriting, and he took that hard. He resented me and our older brother and blamed us for Father’s rebuke. He became unscrupulous, power hungry, and a liar, all of which makes him unpredictable and dangerous. He didn’t follow me to Eze and take that box merely out of a sibling rivalry. Something is happening here and we have to find out what.”
“We?”
“I need your help. This is way beyond me. Nicodème says you’re a woman of skill and means. And that’s exactly what I need.”