Part 8 (1/2)

The others dove into the smoky fog, attacking the creatures-demons-hiding there. As Izzy looked over her shoulder, a wolf tossed a demon into the air. The demon reminded her of pictures of French gargoyles she had seen-its face distorted, twin horns curling from its forehead, leathery wings flapping and hind legs kicking at nothing as it tried to fly away. Too injured, it fell to earth, and the wolf pounced.

Behind the zombies, a fog boiled up, churning and rolling over itself. It was tinged with blue, and it reminded Izzy of the fog she had seen in her dream, when she had first laid eyes on Jean-Marc.

For a moment she dared to hope that she was about to see him again, magically restored. But as she and Maurice continued to bombard the zombies with fire, the blue fog coalesced into a figure-the same one she had seen before. The color bleached away to gunmetal, and this time the figure spoke aloud.

Izzy couldn't make out the words, but beside her Maurice laughed and said, ”We're saved!”

”Good!” she shouted at him, laughing too.

From behind them a gush of blue light arced into the air and hit the line of zombies, all of a piece. The creatures flew into the air, skulls and clavicles and rib cages shattering into hundreds of fragments. They burst apart, raining dust.

The werewolves ran back toward Izzy and Maurice, their howls like cheers of victory. They flashed through the curtain of zombie dust and approached the hill where they had first appeared.

”Georges!” Maurice yelled, waving.

Izzy spotted him. Georges was slogging onto the sh.o.r.e, his submachine gun slung over his back. He was sopping wet, and his face was slick with blood.

He trotted up to Izzy and Maurice, said, ”Pardon, madame, but I never thought I would see you again,” and kissed Izzy hard. She tasted his blood, but she didn't care. She kissed him back, l.u.s.tily, rejoicing that he had survived. That all three of them had survived.

Then Maurice slapped him on the back and the two embraced. They spoke in French and roared with laughter.

The enormous gray figure hung in the sky. The trio stumbled up the embankment toward it, kicking up layers of zombie dust.

Now they stood on the hill, Izzy leaning against a tree as she tried to catch her breath. The figure, floating above them like a gray cloud in the field of stars, inclined its head toward them.

Without a sound and without warning, it vanished into nothingness.

Although Izzy cried out in surprise, neither man seemed to be perturbed by the event.

”Et voila,” Maurice said, pointing.

Izzy looked down. In the moonlight she could make out several cabins and figures racing around them as the wolves pursued them. A silver wolf leaped onto one figure, throwing it onto its back, and Izzy had to look away. Other figures fled into the trees; the wolves were close behind.

Georges and Maurice began to slid down the steep incline, Maurice saying to Izzy, ”Please, wait there.”

The h.e.l.l she would. She pushed off, sliding as best she could after them, but her reserves were spent. Exhaustion made her sloppy; she fell more distance down the hill than she actually slid. She was grateful for her protective clothing.

From her vantage point above them, she watched the men's progress. Preceded by two wolves, they dashed into one of the cabins. They were inside a long time. When they came out again, a man was slung between them. He was wearing a suit. His head drooped forward, and he could barely walk.

When she approached, Maurice looked at her wryly and said, ”You're no better at following orders than Jean-Marc.”

As he spoke, he and Georges eased the man down onto the wooden porch. He was dark-skinned, like Georges, and deep cuts criss-crossed his cheeks and forehead. His eyes were puffy, nearly swollen shut.

When he saw Izzy, he brightened.

”He did it,” he said in heavily accented English, his words slurred. ”Jean-Marc got you to New Orleans in one piece.”

She guessed he was Alain de Devereaux. He looked nothing like Jean-Marc. ”Yes,” she replied, ”he did it.”

Deep within the bayou, Georges and Maurice debriefed Alain. They described Izzy's arrival and her presentation at the elaborate state dinner.

”Then the mansion was attacked,” Georges told Alain.

Alain nodded. ”Oui, I know. My kidnappers were in on it. Followers of Le Fils. They fully expected to take the mansion. When the bokor, Esposito, was killed, they were shocked.” Alain smiled at Izzy. ”You killed him. My congratulations.”

”Thank you,” she replied, finding no joy in the killing, just grim satisfaction, and the knowledge that it had served only as a reprieve, not an ending.

”Were they Malchances?” Maurice asked Alain. ”The ones who kidnapped you? How did it happen?”

Alain wearily shook his head. ”I was leaving the mansion to speak to Gelineau about madame's arrival. When I left the compound, I was attacked with heavy mortar fire.”

”They got through your wards?” Georges asked, clearly shocked. When Alain nodded, he said, ”Did you recognize anyone?”

”Non. They were masked. Did you find Matthieu?” Alain asked.

”Non,” Georges said.

”Merde.” Alain's face was slack with grief. ”Matthieu was my driver,” he told Izzy. ”He can't have been in on it.”

”But the enemy got through the wards,” Maurice argued. ”Devereaux wards. If they had an inside man...” He trailed off, perhaps seeing Alain's despair.

”I'm so sorry,” Izzy told Alain. ”Maybe he'll be found.”

No one replied, and she realized none of them expected to see Matthieu again.

”Gelineau,” Georges said, spitting out the name like a curse. ”What about him? He knew you were coming to see him. Was he in on it?”

”I don't know,” Alain said.

”They found some fragments of Esposito,” Izzy told him. ”I tried to partic.i.p.ate in the reading but I got sick or...I don't know. I wound up unconscious. Michel went with a search party to find you at a convent. I had a vision that you were here.”

”A powerful vision, for which I thank you.” Alain looked to Izzy, c.o.c.king his head as he gazed at her with large, sad brown eyes. ”I hope it won't alarm you if I tell you that my cousin half hoped he wouldn't find you.”

”No,” she said. ”I'm well past the alarmed stage.” She turned her attention to Maurice and Georges. Maurice was stanching the blood on Georges' forehead with a flow of blue energy from his fingertips.

”Before I go anywhere with any of you, I want to know exactly who you are. And who Louise and Mathilde were.”

Georges said, ”Our House would never consent to allowing Jean-Marc and Alain to come to New Orleans alone. We're undercover special ops a.s.signed to guard the regent and his cousin.”

Maurice took up the thread. ”When all this happened yesterday-Alain's disappearance, the attack, Jean-Marc's injuries-we went on high alert. Then Louise handpicked Mathilde, Bernard and Hugues for this mission. We already had cause to believe that Louise was up to something. So we took out Bernard and Hugues-we couldn't get to Mathilde-and used glamours to impersonate them. We don't know the details of the plot, but your trip out of the mansion was intended to be one way.”

”Took them out,” she repeated.

”Yes.” He gazed at her without blinking.

More deaths. The world of the Gifted was filled with them.