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ZAN OPENED HER EYES. She fixed them on the early morning light framed by her bedroom windows and immediately remembered what had happened to her.
You’d think I get a few seconds respite.
Now she had to get up and go to work. She laughed at the absurdity. She imagined if she replied truthfully to the usual pleasantries.
How am I? Ah well, you know, I had a bit of a rough night. Emptied my gun at some monsters, found out my boyfriend is a superhuman warrior from another dimension. And you?
She laughed again, but this time she was crying. She willed herself into the shower. When she had finished she leaned in close to the mirror. She inspected her puffy eyes, her deliberate lack of expression.
Do I look terrified? Do I look crazy? Because I sure as hell feel both.
She dressed, slurped down a yogurt and coffee and put on her gun. She placed her hand on the textured grip as it sat on her hip in its holster, hoping its hardness would make her feel some measure of security. Instead, her small kitchen induced claustrophobia. She hustled out the door to walk the mile or so to her office, desperate to sink herself into some task so she could stop ruminating on the implications of what had happened to her. Stop obsessing over the likelihood that Rainer had something to do with the murder of Emanuel Morales. Stop worrying about that 911 call, how it could come back to haunt her. Her mind lurched from heartache to confusion.
I feel like I don’t even know who I am.
Once at her desk, she gulped coffee and launched into the massive year-end report they had to compile for her boss, James Nguyen. The end of the federal fiscal year was September 30 and the report was due a few weeks after that. She knew it was best to get a jump on it, but she couldn’t even manage the data entry. Her mind kept sliding into terror. Into images of demons in the sewers. Images of Rainer rushing in to save the day, which made her angry with herself. When Mel came in, she was staring at her computer screen with unseeing eyes.
I can’t even control my own imagination.
“Good morning!” Mel said. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch. The regional rail is all fucked up this morning. Some kind of explosion at 30th Street Station knocked out the system’s power.”
“Terrible,” Zan muttered, still pretending to be absorbed by her screen. Mel looked at her curiously.
“Zan, what’s wrong?” she asked. Zan could do nothing but blink her eyes. “Zan? What the hell is wrong with you?”
What do I tell her?
“I, I broke up with Rainer.” Zan tried to hide her face by tilting it more toward the screen as she began to cry.
“What? Why?” Mel hurriedly closed the office door. She pulled a chair up next to Zan. “What the hell happened?”
“Oh, Mel, he lied to me. Everything he told me about his life was a lie.” The sound caught in her throat as she tried to stop herself from sobbing.
“I can’t believe it.” Mel put her hands in her lap and gazed at the floor. “I can’t believe it. The way he looked at you, he—you were so happy. I can’t believe it.”
Mel shook her head, then raised it to peer in Zan’s face.
“He’s a criminal, isn’t he?” Mel’s voice was probably louder than she intended. “Those offshore companies. I knew he was up to no good. Then I let the charming son of a bitch win me over.”
“He’s not a criminal!” Zan blurted.
How the hell do I know? What is wrong with me?
“I, uh, I don’t think he’s a criminal, but I can’t talk about it. Not right now.”
“I’m so sorry, Zan. Men suck. Come here.” Mel pulled her into a hug. Zan squeezed her, hard, but broke away a few seconds later and wiped her eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” Zan said. “I’ve cried enough. I cried for hours last night.”
“You should’ve come to my house. Better not to be alone.”
“I couldn’t be around anyone last night. Not in the state I was in. Obviously, I’m not much better this morning.”
“Well, you let me take care of you until you forget that man.” Mel’s last words caused Zan to convulse in a sob.
That will never happen. Whatever he is, I can still feel his hands on me.
“I’m sorry.” Mel rubbed Zan’s back. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
After a few seconds, Zan quieted down and sat slumped in her chair. Mel moved away from her but kept glancing over as she moved things around on her desk.
“You take your time, Zan. Let me know if you want to talk about it.”
“I will,” Zan said. “Help me get my mind off this. Give me a job to do.”
Mel told her she had the right idea, getting a jump on the year-end report. For an hour or two Zan managed to achieve some level of productivity reviewing case files. She didn’t grumble the way she normally did about the report, although everything was taking her three times longer than usual. Shortly before noon, she got a call from Harry, the white-haired guard down at the security screening area in the lobby. He told her she needed to get down there, that flowers had been delivered for her, a lot of flowers. Zan said she’d be down in a minute.
Oh god, oh god, I can’t handle this.
“Uh, Mel?” Zan said. “I have to go downstairs. Some flowers were delivered.”
“Fucking typical. Thinks he can lie and flowers will make it all better.”
Zan struggled not to cry.
“You know what we should do?” Mel said. “Let’s take a nice long lunch, starting now. We have nothing pressing to do. We have plenty of time for that report. Let’s go over to Chinatown.”
“Thanks, that would help,” Zan said. They headed down to the security desk together. They could smell the flowers before they turned the corner from the elevators and saw them. Dozens and dozens of ivory blush roses. They sat all over the security desk and on the floor in front of the desk. They could barely see Harry for the flowers.
“What the?” Mel said.
For Christ’s sake, Rainer.
“Sorry about this, Mel. I’ll get these out of here,” Zan said.
“How? I have never seen so many roses in one place in my life.”
“I don’t know,” Zan said, throwing up her hands. She was in danger of crying again, so when she addressed Harry she stared over at the entrance. “Uh, Harry, any idea how I can get rid of these?”
“Don’t you want to take some up to your office? We can run them through the machine. I mean, I know you can’t fit that many,” Harry said.
“I don’t want any of them.”
This left poor Harry bewildered. He stuck his hand out. “Here’s the card.”
Zan took it. She knew she should hand it back to him and have him throw it in the trash, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She stuck it in her pocket.
What can you say to me, after last night?
“Please, Harry.” Zan looked at him hopefully.
“Hey, can you ask the maintenance people to take the roses in the back, into the loading area?” Mel asked. “The guys who have to hang out in that grubby spot can enjoy them. Anyone who wants them can take them. They’re beautiful.”
“Sure, Agent Romani. I’ll tell them.”
“Thanks, Harry! You know what would be a hoot? Maybe we could put a few bunches in the holding area for the defendants who come over from the detention center for their court hearings. I’ll make a call.”
Harry smiled. “I’ll run a few through the machine, Agent Romani.”
“You’re the best, Harry! We’ll remember this.” Mel said. “Let’s go, Zan. Those noodles at Nan Zhou are the cure for all ills.” Zan followed Mel out of the building, slightly dazed.
In the restaurant, they sat at a table near the front. They ordered their noodles and sat without talking. The place was filled with big black and white prints of skylines. Zan stared at the print of Paris without really seeing it.
“Zan, talk to me,” Mel said. “This can’t be good, just sitting and staring.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Anything.”
“I know you, Mel. You’re dying to know what happened.”
“Of course, I am. I’m completely shocked. You know I love Rainer. He saved my baby girl,” Mel said, her voice a little wobbly. During a camping trip that summer, the wind from an approaching thunderstorm had caused a limb of an old maple to break free. The massive limb would have fallen on Mel’s child, but Rainer shielded her. The limb gouged Rainer’s shoulder, leaving a bloody gash, but he was otherwise unharmed. When Zan and her friends expressed their amazement, he claimed the limb had only glanced off him.
“I thought you met the man of your dreams,” Mel continued. “I was over-the-moon happy for you, but if you don’t want to tell me what happened, I accept it. Let’s talk about something pleasant. When’s your next gig? Maybe Emmett and I can come out.”
“You’re an awesome friend, Mel.”
“I know.” Mel smiled. Zan took a deep breath and forcibly expelled it.
“I might as well tell you what little I’m going to tell you,” Zan said. “I feel like shit anyway. If I get through this horrible day I sure as hell won’t want to revisit it.”
“What do you mean, ‘What little you’re going to tell me’?” Mel asked.
Why’d you say that, you idiot?
“I mean, I don’t know much myself. I discovered that I don’t really know Rainer. Everything he told me—being from Germany, inheriting wealth, his parents dying when he was young—I think it’s all lies.”
“You’re kidding. You sure he’s not a criminal?”
“He’s not a criminal!” Zan said, so loudly the people nearby turned to look at her.
“I don’t want to think that either,” Mel said, her eyes misting. “But he lied to you, didn’t he? Is Rainer Barakiel his real name?”
“Probably not.” Zan looked up at the rectangles of glowing blue light on the ceiling of the restaurant. She had always found it curious, that fancy flourish in an inexpensive restaurant, but she liked it. Ordinarily, she found the quality of the light soothing, but nothing could soothe her today. She put her hand in her pocket to feel the card folded there. Her stomach churned.
Can I risk reading your words?
“Zan, are you all right? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
“Sorry. Yeah, hanging on.”
“How did you find out he was lying to you?” Mel asked.
“I, he, um,” Zan squeaked. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” She covered her face with her hands and hunched her shoulders. Mel laid a hand on her arm.
“Do you want to investigate him?” Mel asked. “Who cares if Nguyen finds out? We’ll take the heat. We’ll find out everything there is to know about that motherfucker.”
People like you always want to know, Mel, but if I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.
“Please, don’t do that. As a favor to me, please leave this alone. He’s not a criminal, but I can’t be with him. I’m obviously not going to stay with someone who lies to me, but that’s all I can manage to say. I’m sorry.”
“Is it another woman? Does that asshole have a family hidden somewhere?”
“No. Nothing like that. Please, leave it alone.”
“If he’s not a criminal and it’s not another woman, I can’t imagine why you would react like this.” Deep grooves appeared between Mel’s eyes. “Whatever happened, I have to believe that Rainer is a good man.”
Oh, Mel. He’s not even a man.
Zan knew Mel was surprised and hurt that she would not confide in her. “I’m sorry. I have my reasons for not telling you the whole story. I need you to trust me.”
“Okay. If that’s what you need me to do, but you let me know if you need me to do something else.”
“I will,” Zan said. The waiter brought their noodles. Mel was about to tuck in, but Zan remained motionless.
“Aren’t you going to eat your noodles?” Mel asked. Zan pulled Rainer’s card from her pocket.
“Should I read it?”
“Are you going to freak out?”
“More than likely.”
“Read it later, when you’re alone.”
The morning was nearly gone, and still, Barakiel had not emerged from his bedroom. Pellus heard him listening to news reports about the loss of power on the regional rail. He heard him talking, presumably on the telephone, but he thought it best to leave him alone. Pellus fixed the doors to the weapons room. He made some coffee because he knew how much Barakiel liked it, then poured it down the sink because he thought it was only good if it was fresh.
He paced the open kitchen then wandered through the rest of the airy space looking at the beautiful objects Barakiel had collected through his long life in the Earthly Realm. Abstract paintings and rugs in bold, bright colors were set off by brown leather couches and chairs. The flooring, the piano, and the antique tables added the warm tones of wood. Sculptures offered the gleam and texture of metal. The space was an expression of balance and symmetry, from the placement of the windows to the arrangement of the furniture, but Barakiel had never called it home until he met Zan. Once again, Barakiel had lost his home.
I should be pleased. Her inevitable death would be much worse. Why am I not happy?
When Barakiel finally came downstairs, his face was a grim mask, his eyes puffy.
“Good morning,” Pellus said. “Please tell me you slept a little.”
“No.”
“I made you coffee, but it sat there for so long I poured it out.”
The warrior set about grinding more beans. Pellus watched him.
I am afraid to ask about what he told Zan. Should I bring up other business? Would that be good for him?
“We need to find the false monks’ followers and kill them,” Barakiel blurted, before Pellus had the chance. “I will use no blade. I will rip them apart with my bare hands.” He stood there seething. It was an odd sight, the murderous look on his face combined with the coffee grinder in his hand.
“I beg you, Barakiel, do not kill them,” Pellus said. “You will lose Balance, you know that. You will not survive it a second time. You saw how weak you became, how you were no match for the Corrupted.”
“You would leave Zan in danger?” Barakiel said, his voice low, his eyes locked on Pellus, who swallowed hard.
Warrior, I am not your enemy.
“I did not say that. Of course, we will find them, but I have been thinking. We must let local law enforcement handle them.”
“The followers must be killed,” Barakiel said. “Obviously, they were observing me and passing information to Lucifer. Zan will not be safe until they are dead. If you do not help me, I will cut a path of destruction through this city until I find them.”
“That is not necessary!” Pellus said, uncharacteristically raising his voice. “We do not have the same problem we had with the false monks from the Camargue. The followers are most likely still here, where the crimes occurred. You can safeguard Zan without paying the terrible price you paid for exterminating the Frenchmen.”
“What crimes? What can we prove they have done?” Barakiel said, pacing to the sink and grabbing its edges. “I can imagine it now. ‘Yes, officer, these men, they are in league with hideous beasts from another dimension. They vandalized your rail system. Yes, we know no one saw any such thing. Evidence? Why no, we have no evidence. We destroyed all the evidence.’”
“Obviously, the followers are vile individuals,” Pellus said. “We will find them and observe them. Is it not possible they will be engaged in the same illegal activity as the others? Those images I discovered in the Camargue, those depraved films and photographs of women being raped, tortured and killed, it was their business, Barakiel. The followers are most likely involved as well. I do not know much about earthly laws, but I believe the harm was real, not staged. The police will want to stop them.”
The warrior nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“So, please,” Pellus continued. “If you ever felt any impulse of friendship or gratitude toward me, honor me now. Do not act in haste.”
“Do not try to shame me,” Barakiel said, looking at Pellus as if he wanted to squeeze his brain out of his skull.
“I am not trying to shame you!” Pellus said. “I do not want you to die! You are like the son I never had. I hate to see you suffer, but I will not apologize for trying to keep you alive.”
As Pellus spoke his eyes grew bright with emotion. Barakiel’s expression moved from menace to surprise as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He took several heavy breaths, his eyes never leaving Pellus before he returned his attention to the coffee.
“With my help, you have more options,” Pellus said in a gentle voice. “With my help, your success is more likely. All I ask is that we try some other way before we resort to killing.”
“Any other way will take time!” Barakiel shouted, slamming his container of ground coffee onto the counter, sending a plume of granules into the air. “I will not leave Zan in danger.”
“No demons can come through until the winter solstice. We have time.”
“Do we? How did the followers know where the axial rift would open? They should not have known. I need to force them to tell me how they knew.” Barakiel walked rapidly back and forth in front of the counter. “Has Lucifer enlisted the help of a traveler? Zan is in danger every single day if that is the case.”
“I know, Barakiel. I have considered the possibility, but to tell the followers the location of the axial rift would carry no price for a traveler, whereas harming Zan would surely result in a loss of Balance,” Pellus said. “Yes, it would be slight from harming a single human, but the traveler would need the assistance of the healers nonetheless. There would be questions.”
“That is thin assurance.” The warrior’s skin was splotchy. He grimaced as he spoke. “What if the traveler has no intention of harming Zan?” he continued. “What if the traitor brings demons through a kinetic rift? Or the Corrupted? They could appear at any time!” He brought his fist down on the granite countertop with such force that a thick crack spread from its edge. Barakiel stared at the crack as Pellus stared at him.
The adept considered the possibility. Unlike the axial rifts, which opened only at a solstice or an equinox, the kinetic rifts ceaselessly appeared and disappeared. However, the demons could not detect them. Only traveler Covalent could perceive and navigate these rifts. Travelers studied for an age until they could use the kinetic rifts to move throughout the cosmos.
Pellus had always worried that Lucifer would gain access to a traveler, but he saw no reason to jump to the conclusion that a traveler would soon be shuttling the malevolent lord’s minions to the Earthly Realm.
“If indeed we have a traitor on our hands, this does not mean it is possible to bring demons through a kinetic rift. Why would the beasts have attacked Zan at the equinox when you expect them to appear, if the traveler could bring them through at any time? They could have abducted her when she was completely unguarded and used her as bait.” Pellus willed his own calmness onto the suffering warrior. “They did not. In fact, we do not know if a traveler can form the bond with a demon necessary to travel through a kinetic rift. It has never been done.”
“And the Corrupted?” Barakiel asked. “They were Covalent once.”
“But the question remains, why use the demons at the equinox if the traveler could bring the Corrupted through? Why lose the element of surprise?”
Confusion played over Barakiel’s face as he rubbed his forearm. The adept knew him so well.
He does not think he deserves hope.
“Bear in mind that no traveler has ever transported the Corrupted, either,” Pellus continued. “While it may be possible, it may come with a price. We do not know. To form a bond with a Corrupted could poison the traveler even more than killing a human.” He took a step closer to Barakiel, desperate to get him to realize this. “It would be difficult for an imbalanced traveler to avoid detection. The Guild would ask questions. I do not think a traitor would take this risk. I avoided detection when I lost Balance after killing the false monk because my duties as your traveler gave me cover, and because the Sylvan Three are my friends and kept my confidence. These are the only reasons.” Pellus spoke with as much assurance as he could muster. “I believe Zan will be safe until the winter solstice.”
We will protect her, fine warrior. I will do everything in my power.
“You must also consider that the followers may understand nothing about this,” Pellus added. “You could pull out their eyes, and they would still have nothing useful to tell you. If a traveler has indeed turned traitor, we need to approach this issue with care, with stealth. You must give me a chance.”
“What if the followers themselves try to harm her?”
“I doubt they would. She is hardly an easy target. She killed two demons.”
Opening and closing his fists again, Barakiel shut his eyes and leaned his head back.
“I know I should defer to you if a traveler has turned traitor, but I am terrified, Pellus. I must protect her,” he said. “What I have done to her?” He leaned on the counter and covered his face with his hands.
“She is safe for now. I am confident we have time. The followers would not dare to make a move against her.”
Barakiel straightened and ran a hand through his hair. “You may be right. Shuttling demons is hardly the same as abducting a federal agent. If something happened to Zan, the FBI would not rest until the perpetrators were found. Perhaps the followers know this.”
The warrior trailed his finger through the grains of coffee on the cracked counter. “I cannot lose Balance. I must stay strong,” he said. “I must protect her. I will guard her. With my every free moment, I will watch to make sure she is safe.”
“I think that would be hard on you, Barakiel. Nor do I think Zan would like it.”
“I must protect her!” The warrior shouted so loudly Pellus winced.
“You will, you will, and I will help you.”
“You have already helped me, Pellus,” Barakiel said, as he brushed coffee grains from his fingers. “I do not even have the good sense to treat you with the gratitude you deserve.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I remember being shielded. Were the police here last night? Is that why you shielded me?”
“Yes. They said they had received a call from a woman who reported she was being attacked, and other reports of gunfire.”
“Demon take this mess!” Barakiel went to the sink, dampened a sponge and returned to wipe the coffee from the counter. But then he violently jerked his head and threw the sponge, the grounds and the coffee machine in quick succession. The glass decanter shattered against the far wall, raining shards upon the floor.
“I took care of it all,” Pellus said. “The police found nothing. The whole incident is nothing more than a mystery.”
“You do not understand.” Barakiel leaned his head back with his hands on his forehead, groaning. “The police keep records of 911 calls. They will trace it to Zan. They will question her.”
“Can she not tell them it is FBI business?”
“I do not know. A lie like that could be easily exposed.” Barakiel rubbed his forehead. “What have I done to her?”
“I can break into the system and delete the record of the call,” Pellus said. “Point me in the right direction.”
The warrior showed the faintest of smiles. “At least one of us is not useless,” he said.
“Please stop being cruel to yourself.”
“If only I could be cruel to someone else! I want to destroy something, anything, anyone! What I feel, it is unreasoning. I can barely contain it.” Barakiel strode over to the window. “When do I fight next in the Turning?”
“Unfortunately, not for several days. You always have some time after the change of seasons.”
This blinding power, this lust for killing, it devoured his father.
“Let me take you to the mountains,” Pellus said. “That usually makes you feel better.”
“What about the Council? Remember, you are no longer allowed to stay here as long as you want, part of the price you paid for saving me from the Corrupted.”
“Ravellen will not scrutinize the reasons I offer for my time here. She only went along with that condition to appease the other members of the Council. I will tell her I was attending to your financial affairs. While you wander in the mountains, I can visit Archibaud.”
“Balance help me, I forgot about Archibaud.” Barakiel closed his eyes, his fury gone. At that moment he looked ancient, as weary as a warrior who had seen a million battles. “All right. Work your magic with the 911 call and then we will go, but I must return by this evening. Zan might come. I sent her flowers. I asked her to let me explain. Perhaps she will come here. Some of her things are here.”
Pellus turned to his task, eager to leave that place where Zan’s presence clung to Barakiel like a miasma.
I will take you to the highest mountain. No stain of humanity will appear there. Forget her, warrior. She holds only pain for you.
The day neared its end as Pellus waited in the alley near Philippe Archibaud’s shop in Aix en Provence, concealed under his curtain of refracted light. He had left Barakiel to wander in the Austrian Alps. He wanted to savor the few moments he had to himself. He enjoyed the spicy air gently moving among the sand-colored buildings and the way the lights of the city seemed to grow brighter as the sun retreated.
The task before him was unpleasant. He and Barakiel had visited Archibaud in his shop several months before after they discovered he’d crafted a set of daggers used in ritual sacrifices in Philadelphia. Pellus had hoped Archibaud would willingly answer their questions, but he refused, causing Barakiel to threaten him. Since then, Zan had discovered Archibaud as well. After the FBI began to work with the French police, Archibaud had told them the same thing he’d told Barakiel and Pellus – that the daggers were made by a group of sinister men who called themselves monks. They lived near the ruin of the medieval Abbaye d’Ulmet, in the Camargue.
Demon take that relentless woman and her colleagues.
As far as the Covalent knew, Archibaud had not told the French police about their visit. Pellus assumed that the feel of Barakiel’s hand on his throat was still fresh in the man’s mind. He also assumed that when the police discovered the scene in the Camargue — the monks gone, rotting food on the table, the repugnant images of tortured, raped and murdered women — they would question Archibaud again. While the authorities could never prove that Barakiel had killed those fiendish men, or even that the Covalent had been in France, Zan would know. Pellus was desperate to avoid the resulting scrutiny, so here he was, to offer Archibaud a large sum of money to keep quiet. If necessary, he would remind him that Barakiel was dangerous and could return at any time.
The sky was full dark by the time Archibaud emerged from his shop. Pellus trailed him through the narrow streets onto a boulevard lined with dapple-barked trees and boisterous cafés. He intended to follow Archibaud home and speak to him there. Lacking Barakiel’s talent for menace, he thought his sudden appearance inside the man’s house would accomplish the same thing.
Archibaud’s three-story house was made of the same sand-colored stucco as the other structures in that part of town. Large windows with light blue shutters adorned its face, along with thick clumps of red bougainvillea affixed to a trellis on the south side. Pellus watched Archibaud enter. He peeked in the window until the front room was clear. The adept solidified the air inside the locking mechanism on the door and tapped the front plate to move the tumbler.
Once inside, Pellus cursed the persistent presence of Archibaud’s wife and children. He had no desire to frighten them. He settled in to wait, running over French phrases in his mind.
His opportunity came two hours later, after dinner, when Archibaud’s stout wife ushered the children upstairs and Archibaud headed to his study. Through the door, Pellus watched the moving bundle of atoms as Archibaud walked through the widely spaced molecules of the air and settled in front of the dense lattice of a solid, most likely a desk. When Archibaud bent his head to some task, Pellus entered the room, momentarily blocking the light from the vicinity of the door and disrupting the sound waves produced by his movements. Archibaud heard nothing. If he’d raised his head, he would have perceived nothing but shadow.
The Frenchman paged through a thick catalog, making notations. Pellus moved to a dark corner. He dropped his curtain of refracted light, then stepped out of the shadows into the bright circle created by the lamp near the desk.
“Good evening, Monsieur Archibaud. Lovely to see you again.”
Archibaud jerked in his chair with a loud exclamation. Pellus condensed the air molecules at the edges of the room, bonding them tightly enough to halt the domino movement of the soundwave and send it rippling back in the other direction. The look of terror on Archibaud’s face deepened when he heard his own shout as if he were standing next to himself. He grasped the arms of the chair and pushed back against the wall.
“You, you,” he said, before looking wildly about the room and then out the window along the street.
“He is not here, monsieur,” Pellus said. “If you and I can conduct our business like sensible people, there will be no need for you to see him again.”
“How did you get in here?”
“That is not important.”
Archibaud swiveled in his chair. He yanked open a drawer to remove a pistol. He cocked the gun and pointed it at Pellus.
How tiresome.
“Get out of here now or I’ll shoot,” Archibaud said, his voice wavering despite his evident attempt to sound dangerous. It took Pellus a fraction of a second to render the powder in the bullets inert.
“We have things to discuss, monsieur. Please do not be difficult.”
“Help! Help!” Archibaud yelled. “Inez, call the gendarme!” He swung his head in big loops, bewildered by the redirected sound waves.
“No one can hear you, monsieur.”
With a cry, Archibaud pulled the trigger, which resulted in an ineffectual click. He stared at the gun in his hand, then back at Pellus, trembling.
“I am not going to hurt you. I only wish to speak with you.” Pellus removed a packet wrapped in white paper from the shoulder bag he carried. He took a few steps and placed it on the desk as Archibaud cringed in terror.
“That is €10,000, monsieur. It is yours. My colleague and I appreciate that you did not tell the police about our visit. We would like you to maintain your silence. We will pay you even more for the favor. Those men who bought the daggers, they will no longer trouble you or anyone else.”
Archibaud never took his eyes from Pellus, seeming to have no interest in the packet of money.
“Do you understand, monsieur?” Archibaud did not move. Pellus leaned forward. “Monsieur! Do you understand?”
Startled by the loudness of Pellus’ voice, Archibaud raggedly nodded. Pellus smiled and held his hands out. He moved them in front of his body in a soft curve.
“I am sorry to frighten you like this, monsieur. I promise, if you maintain your silence, no harm will come to you or your family. If you maintain your silence, my colleague will have no reason to come here again. If in six months, I am satisfied that you have held to your end of the bargain, I will return with €40,000. Just think how useful that money could be for your children. After all, monsieur, none of this has anything to do with you. You do not need to get involved.”
“No, no. Nothing to do with me,” Archibaud mumbled. He set the gun down on the desk.
“Do you agree, Monsieur Archibaud? I would like to hear you say it. That you agree to stay silent in return for a generous payment and to ensure that my rather large colleague does not darken your door again.”
Archibaud looked up at Pellus with red-rimmed eyes. “I agree. I agree.”