Prologue
Paris, 1827
Sorelli hurried down the poorly lit streets of Paris clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders. The grey cobblestoned streets were nearly empty; not many people were out at this time of night, and those who were were far from respectable ladies such as herself. Her pale blonde hair had come loose from its bun and now fanned out beneath her hat. The slight wind coming off of the River Seine pushed crinkled brown leaves into swirling piles at her feet and tugged on her hair. Moonlight bathed the street in an eerie glow as she continued on. She turned off of the main street onto a darker, narrower alley that began to slope upward. It was the fastest way back to the Institute, though not an ideal route at night. She only took it because she was in a hurry. It met up with the main road not far ahead. About halfway up the alley Sorelli glanced quickly over her shoulder, thinking she heard a noise, but there was no one. She pulled her shawl closer around her and quickened her pace slightly. The clicking of her shoes echoed off of the walls of the buildings that rose up on either side of her.
Upon reaching the top of the hill the alley widened slightly and branched off to the left and right. Sorelli rounded the corner and nearly bumped into a very tall man in black. "Excusez-moi, Monsieur," she murmured, keeping her head down and hoping it was not someone she knew. What would they make of her wandering the streets at night? She made to move around him, but he extended his arm to block her path, causing her to come to an abrupt stop to avoid hitting him. She looked at his arm with astonishment, but quickly turned on her heel to go down the other street. She did not want to get into a spat with this man, but would not sit idle should he attempt to abduct her. She hadn't walked but three steps before nearly skidding to a halt with a muffled gasp. Coming toward her from all three streets were tall men who, now that she looked closer, appeared to be wearing long black cloaks. Demons. She thought initially, though the closer they got, the more obvious it became that they were neither demons nor men. Towering at nearly eight feet tall, they appeared to glide across the ground rather than walk. They were much to controlled and graceful to be demons. It was impossible for Sorelli to see their faces for they were covered by the hoods of their cloaks.
Sorelli found herself with her back pressed against the wall of a building, the cold from the stone seeping through the thin material of her shawl and dress and into her back. "Que voulez-vous?" she demanded, glaring between the three hooded beings. When she got no response, she tried in English: "What do you want?" she repeated, her pale blue-grey eyes flashing with determination. Again, no response.
The figures all stopped in a semicircle around Sorelli, trapping her. Sorelli slowly reached into the folds of her skirt for where she hid her knife. "Who are you?" she asked, looking at the one she'd nearly run into. She closed her hand around where the hilt of her dagger should have been, and, for a fleeting moment, was unable to keep the surprised look from her face. She was certain it had been there not five minutes ago.
"Looking for this?" a voice echoed in her head. The first one held up a thin dagger, easily recognizable as hers by the elaborate engraving of her family symbol on the blade. Sorelli looked at the blade in his long delicate fingers with confusion. He must have taken it when she turned from him, but how did he know that it was there? She never told anyone where her weapons were hidden. Sorelli could almost feel the satisfaction at her confusion rolling off of the hooded figure. "Well, you shan't be needing it," came the voice again as he slipped the dagger into what must have been a pocket, though she saw none.
"Keep your hands off me!" Sorelli warned, shifting with the ease of practice into a defensive crouch. All three figures seemed to laugh darkly, their voices reverberating through her. With that, they all moved toward her. Sorelli backed as far against the wall as she could, preparing to break through them and run. Then they reached out their hands. Each was slightly different, but they were all equally terrifying. On one, each finger was replaced with five gruesome snakes; each had a round mouth lined with rows and rows of teeth. The second had long, slim claws extending from his finger tips. The third, the one who had spoken to her, had hundreds of suction cups on each hand, not noticeable from a distance. With wicked laughter, he reached for her.
And then Sorelli screamed.
