The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

Chapter Eighteen

EXETER GRABBED HOLD OF AMERICA only to have her break apart in his hands. Whoosh. Vanished into the Outremer. The darkness had just reached out and swallowed her up. He whirled around to find Mia and the Nightshades right behind him. “And the Moonstone?”

“Right here, mate.” Tim held the incarcerator under his arm.

Exeter exhaled a sigh of frustration or relief—maybe a bit of both. “I’m quite certain those two odd blokes dragged her across. We must follow them, in haste.” Exeter retrieved from his pocket the portable iDIP, which Tim had given him the day before in the train station. “How do I work this?”

“I wouldn’t, mate.” Tim grimaced.

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t be sure where she is. We need to get back to the hotel room, see if the bugs have located the hideout—pronto.”

Mia grasped Exeter’s arm. “Earlier this evening, I heard a voice. Ping heard it, as did America. I believe it was a warning from Phaeton, but there may have been a message, as well.”

Exeter turned to Ping. “What did he say?”

“If any of you tire of sin, you can always dash next door for a bit of Heaven.” Ping repeated the words verbatim.

Exeter stared. “What do you think it means?” A waiter dressed as Satan took obvious delight in shouting his order to the bartender. “Three seething bumpers of molten sin, with a dash of brimstone intensifier!”

Exeter tapped the waiter’s shoulder. “What sort of establishment adjoins l’Enfer?”

The devil snorted a laugh. “How can there be a hell without a heaven, monsieur?

As the Nightshades encircled the man, Exeter pressed the question. “Another café?”

The waiter retreated slightly. “Oui, Cabaret du Ciel. Everyone knows this, monsieur—”

Exeter placed Mia’s hand through the crook in his arm. “We break up into two groups,” he tossed the directive over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “Mia and I will go after America. They can’t be far ahead of us, not with a pregnant captive in hand.”

Exiting Hell’s Café, they were mysteriously plunged back into 1889 Paris. It appeared the veil between worlds was less stable in Montmartre. Mia wobbled a bit—disoriented by the sudden shift in time and space. “A bit of hysteria is all—breathe deeply—you’ll soon shake it off.” Exeter steadied her.

As they waited for their carriage, he unfolded a square of paper that contained a small amount of white powder. “Derived from an alkaloid obtained from the leaves of the coca plant, valuable as a local anaesthesiant, also used as a stimulant.” He took a pinch of the powder and held it under her nose. “Inhale, Mia—as if it were snuff.” He passed several packets around. “We are likely to cross over several times tonight—this will help keep our heads clear.”

Almost instantly, Mia appeared brighter—more alert. “You will likely experience a kind of visual and mental clarity.” She rubbed out a tickle in her nose. “Better?” he asked.

“Rather splendid, actually.”

“I’d like Jersey to come with Mia and me.” Exeter turned to Tim. “Mr. Noggy, the communication devices?” While Tim dug in his pocket for gadgets, they finalized plans. Tim, Ping, and Valentine would return to the hotel, mark the likeliest spots for Prospero’s underground chambers, and promptly relay the locations via the communicators. “Here we are.” Tim produced a handful of small devices. “Just like Star Trek, only better.” One never completely understood what the cherubic young inventor was talking about. Exeter was quite sure he spouted the esoteric vernacular for his own amusement.

Ping removed his spectacles. “You will likely descend into a sketchy bit of old quarry tunnel, which means you’ll run into a number of passages that lead nowhere. Some were dug as tests for the Métro. Paris will not have an underground train system for another ten years—so, if you happen to run across tracks or hear trains, you’ll know you’ve passed into the Outremer. Also, anarchists store weapons down there. They often plant explosives to protect their caches. Keep a lookout for trip wires.”

Tim handed Exeter a small, curved device. “Two buttons. One is the on/off switch, the other—press to speak, release to listen. Hook it over your ear—that’s it.”

Exeter pressed the on/off switch and practiced.

“The headset is also a homing device, so leave it turned on. Press when you want to talk and release to listen. These things can communicate across time and space, so they should be fairly reliable underground.” Tim swept back a riot of curly, unkempt hair to adjust his own communicator. “Stay in touch—every half hour or so, give us a call.”

Exeter helped Valentine into the waiting carriage and gestured for everyone to gather close. “Once we locate the hideout, we’ll designate a staging area. Ping will approach Prospero alone, lure him out of his den, so we can move in and collect America and Phaeton.” He turned and studied the enigmatic young man. “Hopefully, you have prepared a seduction. Will it be Ping or Jinn?”

The jinni offered quite a mesmerizing smile. “As you advised, I have a bit of both in mind.” Regardless of one’s sexual proclivities, one would have to be dead or blind not to see the allure of the androgynous creature. “Make your move with Prospero as soon as possible.” Exeter returned Ping’s grin. “Beguile him until we are well away from the hideout.” He removed a pistol from his pocket and spun the cartridge. A bullet in each chamber. Six emergency shots—just in case there was no aether to draw upon. Exeter crooked an elbow toward Mia. “Shall we look for a few devils in Heaven?”

Inside Cabaret du Ciel, they were greeted by a self-styled Saint Peter, who anointed the inebriated crowd from a basin of not so holy water. “Prepare to meet thy great Creator and don’t forget the garçons!”

Gauzy wings fluttered and brass halos bobbed as waiters flitted about the room in white robes. Exeter wove a path through a throng of intoxicated customers. “Heaven appears to be as popular as Hell with the boozy crowd—who would have thought?” Mia murmured.

He spotted a wraith at the end of the bar and nodded to Jersey. “In the alcove behind the bar.”

The Nightshade moved ahead. “I see him.”

Exeter tucked Mia behind him, protectively. A cloaked specter stood in the shadows in a coat of gossamer rags—tattered and war torn. The elusive apparition reminded him of the hooded Nightshades, who also wore cloaking devices.

“Prospero?” Mia’s whisper tickled his ear.

“Possibly.” Without taking his eyes off the creature, Exeter reached back for her hand. The wraithlike figure turned, then hesitated. Pinpoints of silver light, where eyes might be, looked back at them. The entity was actually beckoning them to follow. Cheeky phantom.

Skirting the bar, they found no sign of the sorcerer. Exeter examined the alcove for a possible trapdoor, nothing but a shallow niche with a painting of cherubs frolicking in the clouds. “Hold on.” Jersey felt around the edge of the gilded frame. “This side is hinged.” Exeter pressed the opposite side and the painting separated from the wall, revealing a hidden passageway.

Jersey climbed in first, then Mia. Exeter took up the rear guard. They crawled along in relative darkness, until Jersey fired up a bit of dagger light. “The passage grows larger up ahead.” Jersey lengthened the dagger into a sword and increased illumination. “Looks to be part of the old limestone quarry.” Jersey crawled out and helped Mia and Exeter down.

Pivoting in a circle, he counted two passages, traveling in opposite directions. Straight ahead, a set of stairs led one way—downward. Strange harmonics echoed softly up the stairs from the lower substrata. Jersey pointed his sword toward the echo and something fluttered in a dark turn of the stair. “Looks like we go below.”

They descended into more quarried caverns and narrow passages. Occasionally, they caught sight of a tattered wisp of fabric or heard a faint shuffle of footsteps. Reaching a blind turn, Jersey turned to them. “You two wait for a bit, then follow after me slowly—” Jersey halted his speech as a swirling column of dust came toward them. He motioned them all against the wall as the hissing rush of air passed them by. Jersey held up a finger and they waited in silence.

Exeter broke the stillness. “What was that?”

The Nightshade nodded into the blackness. “It’s still out there.” He’d learned to trust Jersey’s instincts—the half-breed demon had invisible feelers. How else had he known about the wraith attack on the train to Paris?

Jersey lowered his voice to a craggy whisper. “Every time we lose sight of this spook, we get some kind of clue—a sound, a footprint in the dust . . .”

Exeter nodded. They were being led. “If we have to run, I’d rather it not be into a trap.”

“As I was saying—I’ll scout ahead. Make your way forward, slowly. I’ll find you.” Jersey slipped around the corner and was quickly enveloped by darkness.

Mia stood with her back to the wall of the passage. Exeter pressed close. “How are the two of you?”

“She is present—no headaches—as yet.”

“Any urges?”

She didn’t have to answer. The hot, smoldering desire in her eyes said everything. She slanted her gaze away.

“Hold her close, but don’t let her shift—make her wait. Do you remember what I told you earlier?” He took a few steps forward, and stopped abruptly. Mia nearly ran into him. Instinctively, she flattened her hand against his back. Her touch so stimulated him, he moved her against the wall, and covered her with his body. “Answer, Mia. What did I tell you, earlier?”

“If we run into trouble, I’m to shift—get away and find help.”

“First make sure you are safe—then you may seek help.” He pulled her to him—so close he located her lips by a gasp of sweet breath. Bracing her face between the palms of his hands, his mouth sought hers with soft, hungry kisses. And she invited his tongue to delve deep and tangle with hers.

His cock rose with each soft, sultry caress. “I want to kiss your navel and move lower . . . to your lips.” Exeter broke off the affection before he lost all control. “Know this, Mia. I am coming apart inside.” His breath was harsh, labored. “I desire you much more than I can safely . . . control.” He exhaled, chastising himself silently. He had seen it coming—this forced intimacy had changed everything. Never in his life had he been this captivated by a woman. Mia’s courage and fortitude, the startling combination of physical beauty, brilliance of mind, and purity of heart. It was enough to drive him near mad with want for her.

Something hissed in the dark. Exeter jerked upright.

“What was that?” she whispered.

He rummaged around in an inside coat pocket for the battery-powered torch. “Let there be light,” he whispered and flipped the toggle switch. “And there was light.” He winked at her.

He shined the beam down one side of the corridor. No creatures. He turned in the opposite direction and shined the beam directly into the face of a hideous fiend he’d never seen before—one that grinned . . . and drooled.

Mia screamed, and they both backed away.

The strange being was human-like. Beady grey eyes, bulbous head, the limbs were skeleton thin. Was this a Skeezick? He remembered a description America had once shared. Gaping mouth filled with needle-like teeth and a good deal of drool.

“Hold on, Mia.” He picked up a large rock and tossed it. The figure broke up into shimmering particles and then reformed farther down the passageway. An image, one of those projections called holograms—likely used to frighten people away.

So . . . they were close.

Exeter pressed his communicator button and kept his voice low. “This is Exeter, I believe we may have stumbled upon Prospero’s den.” Footsteps echoed from behind—running footsteps. Exeter released the button and squinted down the corridor. A pale blue sword bobbed in the dark—it was Jersey and he was coming up fast. “Run!”

“Pick up your skirts, Mia.” They ran, half stumbling, toward a fork in the passage. Exeter caught Jersey’s eye. “How did you end up behind us?”

“The passage to the right doubles back—go left.” The Nightshade pointed with his sword into the dark. No time to ask who was behind them. He urged Mia forward. Rounding a blind corner they both sprinted down the corridor and nearly fell over.

Trip wire.

A bolt of energy shot up his spine. Using potent lift, he tossed Mia far forward as the bomb went off. The shock wave blew them all farther down the passage buffeted by an eerie squall of dust and a blast of orange-red flame. Skidding along the floor, an avalanche of rock and dirt descended on him, forcing air from his lungs. His hearing cut out as debris of all sizes and types rained down in silence. For a moment, everything sparkled—dazzling stars, then a quick fade to a gray haze populated by ghostly figures. He collapsed under the weight of the rubble.

Mia stretched her neck and moved forward, cautiously. She uncurled a pink tongue and licked the dust off his face. He groaned, and she sprang back—her survival instincts raw and edgy. A quiver ran down the length of her body, lifting a cloud of dust off her coat. She sneezed.

Exeter—I know you can hear me. He groaned again. His head, shoulders, and one arm were free; otherwise he was covered in stone. So why hadn’t he been crushed to death? The cat raised a paw and rubbed her face.

I have wrapped myself in a field of potent energy.

Mia sat up straight, on her haunches. Wake, Exeter.

Mia—can you—see Jersey?

She remembered now—there was another. Perhaps he was caught in the rubble farther back, or he was behind the collapse of the tunnel. I do not see him.

Any of Prospero’s men about?

No one but you and I.

His eyelids fluttered. Exhaling another groan, he turned his head enough to see her. “Mia—” With his free hand, he reached out. She lowered her head, and nuzzled his open palm. “Can you see the communicator anywhere?”

Cats don’t fetch, Exeter.

Still, she rose up on all fours and sniffed through the surrounding rubble. Exeter appeared to be making a great effort. Grunting and straining, he managed to pull his other arm free. A silver leash attached to an emerald collar was looped around his hand. Come to me, Mia.

She dipped her head and after a few attempts, he managed to buckle the collar. Try to pull me out—use potent force.

Mia tugged and pulled over and over, but couldn’t muster enough lift to move the ton of rock above Exeter. The cat’s breath became harsh and labored. Save your energy to hold off the rocks, and I will go for help.

“It’s too dangerous, there could be more cave-ins.”

You must trust me enough to let me go.

He offered a weak smile. I thought cats didn’t fetch. His fingers opened and he released the chain.

There was a small tunnel opening—an air vent that traveled high above the passageway. Before Exeter could change his mind or talk her into staying, she sprang to the top of a pile of rubble, dragging the silver leash behind her. Eventually, the small shaft would lead aboveground. Mia hunkered down, jumped, and slipped neatly into the opening. Once she reached the surface, she would find her way back to the hotel, and bring back the others.

A chattering, or more like the sound of angry people yelling, drifted down the air duct. Yes, she was almost certain they were human voices. Curious, the cat moved closer.

Be careful, Mia. The cat sent him a purr. The fact that she and Exeter could communicate so well emboldened her exploration. She crawled into a connecting passage that angled down, not up.

“Tell him anything he wants to know—he won’t get what he wants, regardless.”

She recognized Phaeton’s voice. The cat crouched, inching down the shaft until she came to a slatted louver covering. Mia narrowed her eyes.

America sat on a crude wooden bench, her hands bound by leather cuffs. Chains ran through her bindings, attached to rings mounted to the wall. “You must trust me when I say it won’t be long now.” On the other side of the small space, Phaeton was slumped in the corner of a cell. Heavy iron bars obscured some of her view, but he appeared to be brooding.

“What is—or was this place?” America tugged at her bindings. Mia wholeheartedly agreed, imagining the Bastille a more hospitable situation.

Mia—be very careful. Is there anyone else in the dungeon?

No use hiding her thoughts, Exeter apparently heard them all. The cat froze. A door creaked open. A man of striking appearance entered the room. His head was shaved, or nearly so—she supposed it was more of a close-cropped stubble. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Tall and broad shouldered like you, Exeter.

He wore a long silk robe that was frayed along the hemline and cuffs. The hair along the cat’s spine stiffened. He also held a whip—a flogger with a number of knotted leather strands at one end—a cat-o’-nine-tails. As the wizard approached America, the cat pawed restlessly, ready to spring. No one would lay a hand on America—not if she could help it.

Mia, what is happening?

Prospero.

Phaeton rose from his cot and spoke up. “America is prepared to tell you whatever you’d like to know, aren’t you, dear?”

The wizard scanned the room for a prolonged period. “No doubt you are both wondering about the explosion—the boom and rumble.” He spoke quietly, as he had in the hologram. Rather unnerving, the voice—soft and husky, like Exeter when he was aroused. The imposing man turned from America to Phaeton. “Sorry to rattle your cage.”

Phaeton returned his captor’s stare. In fact, she had never seen him glare at anyone like this—as if he would tear Prospero limb from limb, rip his eyes from their sockets, then grind him into small bits for the crows to pick over. Phaeton often played his enemies for fools, but she wondered if seeing America so close to her time—her belly large with their love child . . .

“If you touch her, I’ll have to kill you.”

Good God, Phaeton has lost his wits.

He’s in love. Exeter’s whispered answer caused her heart to race. It was obvious Phaeton loved America—truly and dearly. A shiver ran through the cat as she shook off his words. The very sentiment Exeter would never feel for her. She instantly quashed the thought.

“It would seem your friends have arrived.” Prospero swung the whip handle around. The leather straps whined, stirring the stale air of the chamber. “No body count . . . as yet.” Pivoting toward America, Prospero lifted the whip above his shoulder, and let it fly.

The tails wavered above her shoulders. America cried out and Mia burst through the air vent. She landed on Prospero’s back, teeth gnashing, and her claws digging into his shoulders. Prospero roared in pain and flung her off. The wizard clutched at his robe and gasped in agony. Mia retreated to a dark corner and blinked. He must not see me yet—he continues to pivot—looking. She had never seen Prospero’s powers at work—but she suspected he was not so injured that he couldn’t gain mastery over her.

Careful, Mia.

The back of his garment was torn to shreds, blood dripped over a back covered in hash marks, most of them old lesions—layers deep. And they weren’t battle scars—they were marks made over a prolonged period.

Prospero suddenly whirled around and came directly for her. His fingertips burned with light, the same kind of energy Exeter used to arouse her. But this light was different, it crackled and sparked with hurtful, blinding light. Was Exeter a wizard? The thought flashed and she soon received her answer.

If I was a wizard, would I be stuck under this pile of rock?

The cat leapt past Prospero and sprang off the opposite wall. She added a bit of potent lift and pushed off—only the lift wasn’t there. Someone had grabbed hold of the silver chain as she jumped. Despite the violent yank to her neck, she struggled against the leash. Her throat constricted as she stretched, claws splayed, to reach the safety of the air shaft.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” Another hard jerk forced her into the arms of Prospero.