Chapter XVIII: The Questioning

Paris, France.

6:07 am. Thirty-six hours later…

"Where are they?"

She breathed. "I do not know."

"Where are they?" The lycan-woman drew her arm back. She was standing in front of a gas-lamp, her face a vacant silhouette looming above.

Reinette closed her eyes, preparing for contact. She understood that her interrogator was evil…that this tawny-eyed woman was just beating her. That it did not matter what she said. "I do not…know."

The back of her head struck the floor, causing her to spit blood, the liquid running down her neck. She wished it had gone farther. She wanted to spit in that woman's face. She no longer cared that one of her eyes was caked shut. The room kept drifting in and out of focus. Stars. How could she be seeing stars? She knew they were in a sewer. Paris, city of sewers and concrete and lying on a floor for twenty-four hours after being dragged out of a box, stripped and beaten. They had taken the time-piece…the clothing. Everything. It was a wonder that her teeth were still in.

"From the beginning." The woman was speaking Latin…very badly, she might add, but then she should not complain. It had taken them almost half a day to believe she spoke no French. How many times were they to go through this? How could she have had anything to do with their disappearance? They had nailed her inside a box for bloods' sake. The woman was raising her hand again…her thoughts costing her.

She swallowed, answering quickly. "We were…travelling from Vienna. Lyosha, Raze, Sabine, Kolya, and I." She had no qualms about giving names; she would have sold her own mother at this point. She had sold Kolya already. She had told them everything she knew about him…his past, his murder. "There is a woman in Vienna…a lycan woman named Allegra. She can confirm my…"

The hand slapped her across the face. Spots. She saw spots this time. Please…stop…hitting me, she thought, suddenly disoriented…unable to focus on her assailant. How did they expect her to answer? What was the point? These lycans were sick. Whenever she seemed about to pass out, they fed her…first a goat, then a hen…now a rat. They had pushed it in her face, but she would not drink. Never another rat…

"Start again."

He had promised her…never another…rat.

"We were travelling from Vienna."

He had given her a time-piece.

"Again!" Slap. "The beginning. Use different words."

Different words. She began to laugh. At the start, she had feared for her secret. She had feared they would find out she was a blood-seer… but these lycans were clean…careful around vampires. They kept their blood to themselves. If anyone were to stumble on this place, they would only find her body and the pair of gloves this bitch was beating her with. She knew…when she woke, it would start all over again. The lycans had all day…and all night. "We were t-travelling from…"

Another slap.

"…Vienna." She was on her front now, slipping on the blood. The floor was freezing… She no longer cared if she was naked. That dignity was gone. Stripped. She had been so sure of herself…planning to poison him when the time came…and then the train…that bloody train happened.

Slap!

She blinked, unsure whether to trust the sound. The wet sound of skin hitting against skin. She could no longer tell the difference between numbness and pain. She was lying on her back now. "We…all of us…together…we were travelling…" Her head was starting to weave and dip, like a music box, playing the same bloody music over and over again. They did not care whether she looked the part of an old woman. To these animals, she was a vampire. An enemy. A creature on the other side.

"Start again."

"We came f-from Vienna."

"Again."

No…

…more.

She was ready to pass out now. "We came from…Vienna…" Pulling herself up on her knees, she managed to spit towards the woman, most of the blood landing on the floor. "…and when Lyosha gets back here, you bitch, he's going to make you…" The rest of her sentence ended with a blow to the head. She sank to the floor and then deeper…the black took her.

No more stars.

o…o…o

Butte Montmartre, Paris. 6:07 am…

Leaning on a doorstep with a bottle in his hand, Lucian took a healthy swig, easily swallowing the cheap, grainy taste of whisky. Even though it was early in the morning, he stayed where he was, hidden among the street-walkers of Butte Montmartre. It was the 18th arrondissement of Paris, a veritable maze of narrow streets, the criminal-strewn safe-haven of lycans trying to move unseen through the city. The sun had just risen, but the place was crowded with drunks making their way home to the poorhouse, whores flitting about workers on their way to church. The Sacred Heart, or whatever they were planning to call it, looking down at them from the hilltop. Twenty years they had been working on it and the outside was still incomplete. Much like his entry into the Parisian den.

Last night, they had expected to slip inside the city from the Seine…but they had missed the daylight. Paris was not a small city…but all the entrances had been crawling with deathdealers. No entry through the Seine. No entry through the catacombs. No entry through Montmartre. Raze was no longer with them. About an hour ago, they had split up within the city-limits, Raze choosing the more clandestine route through the cemetery…and therefore the more dangerous. The lycan was on his own now…

…as were they.

He stood, taking another swig before carrying on his way, searching for a front-runner to give him the entrance-key. Past the grunting beggars, the crazy man drawing circles with chalk, the catcalls of the drunken dancer wearing too much make-up. Playing the drunk as well, Lucian gesticulated woozily at her before continuing on his way, deeper into the crowd, through the merchant stands, past the rotund woman trying to sell him her wares.

Wares.

"For the little girl," she said, pointing to one of the ribbons. He paused, looking hazily at the trimming. It was a pitiful thing…probably ripped off the hair of a whore, and before that, off the hair of someone who could afford it. With only the top of her head showing, Sabine was on his back, fast asleep and wrapped in a blanket they had scrounged from a doorstep…she was not used to hard travelling.

"How much?" he asked wearily, the question of a travel-stained, drunken father trying to do right by his daughter. She named a price…far too high. They bartered until it came down to something approaching sense. He paid with a coin worth two centimes, and then, eying the crowd, he ambled into an alleyway and through a short door to his left, entering the barebones of a poor-house now running as a bakery. If the ribbon she pointed at had been blue, he would have searched for another entrance. As it was, she had chosen red. It was the all-clear.

Inside the bakery, one of the workers, a small boy covered in soot, took the ribbon and led him into the back. The walls were filthy, a mixture of flour and coal dusting the air. They walked past an old furnace no longer working and then ducked through a door behind it, the stairs steep and bringing them down into a second cellar. Lucian followed the boy, but he was using his nose to tell him where they were…the scent of barley, figs, iron, birch, and honeysuckle. The first three scents signified a lycan haven…the fourth indicated safety…and the fifth told them they approached the French den. Of course, the French would use honeysuckle for their calling scent. Inside the cellar, they entered a tunnel passing directly beneath the buildings above. Dug in the eighteenth century, the walls were still scratched with slogans from the revolution… The Nation, the Law, the King! Liberty, equality, fraternity. It was like reading history on stone…and he remembered. He remembered living in this den once; he had left before the guillotine could steal his head.

Having drifted in his mind, he made himself focus on the space in front of him, realising the walls were getting lighter. They were approaching the boundaries of the den and as they walked, his guide, the small boy, raised the ribbon up high in front of their path. It did not surprise him. There were holes in the brick walls surrounding them and though he neither saw nor heard them, he knew both he and the boy were being watched, targeted by those whose job it was to protect this tunnel. After sixty paces, they reached the end, an iron door with a bowl lying on the left side. The boy bowed to him and then to the door, placed the ribbon on the bowl and left him there. Ridiculous how formal things had become here, but then the Parisian den had always been sticklers for ritual. After a moment, he heard the sound of the door unlocking. Blinded, he had to shade his eyes to the light before entering, and then nodded in thanks to the grimy man who let him across the threshold. The lycan locked the door and then bowed his head, indicating his respect for the alpha before returning to his post.

There was still another door to pass through, but this time it was unlocked. When he shut it behind him, for the first time in about two weeks, he felt a sense of security. The entrance hall stretched out, built on the same level as the sewers, but not in the bounds of any map. The walls were a yellowish-tan colour, the same brick from the tunnel, but now bathed in light. Three furnaces, almost two feet high kept the hall warm, but contrary to how it had been in the past, there were now gas-lamps overhead. Excellent…Auguste had started modernising. Candles were from the dark ages. He stood observing the ceiling until from a hallway to his left, a comely, russet-skinned woman came forward to take Sabine from his back. She looked familiar, though the name escaped him. She was dressed in the garb of a serving-woman, yet it seemed she had taken pains to make sure her bosom had overstretched her corset. Perhaps to her disappointment, he feigned lack of notice when her hand passed over the back of his breeches as she took Sabine.

Obviously they had met before…

…but he could show interest later. For now, all he cared for was that Sabine would be cared for in the women's quarters, while he slept elsewhere… Thanking the woman respectfully, he turned into another passageway, searching for the men's quarters, using his nose to find his way. Predictably, the place was almost deserted, a bruised lycan sleeping on one of the twenty-four beds and another cleaning the storage cabinets. The cleaner ducked his head. During the day, lycans did not loiter…they worked. They had lives…secret ones albeit, but lives nonetheless. Only a portion of them lived in the den where communal living was the rule. Lovers had to find their own rules. Only Auguste was there to greet him, the short pack-leader stalking forward to welcome him with a bowed head. He had a bowl-cut, his beard shined to a point, standing bow-legged like a bronze Napoleon of the lycan fleet.

"Lyosha," he said in French. "…my God, Lyosha, it is you."

"Auguste." Dropping on one of the beds, he allowed the pack-leader to take his bag and the whisky-bottle. Bloods, he needed a bath. "Has Raze come?"

"No…but by God's grace, he will make it through." The man smiled with gusto. "My spies watch their spies…a game of cat and mouse where the true adversary is the wolf. But thank God, you are well, Lyosha…thank God," he said again. Auguste had been a priest in his youth. The lycan must be visiting the basilica to be making claims on religion again. "When you did not arrive, we assumed the worst. No one could get on the train, and the damn cars were taken during the night. One of my scouts was there, but he could not approach. People spoke of blood-stains, murder taking place. They said there was a body, Lyosha, but…thank God, you are well."

"The containers…"

"We have them, but…" The pack-leader indicated that they should stand, perhaps move towards the farther end of the room. "…they were questioned, Lyosha. We could not risk taking them to the exiles' quarter without…being certain."

Lucian felt his throat tighten. He had hoped it would not come to this. He did not move from his place on the bed…and he did not lower his voice. "You interrogated them?"

"You were not there to vouch for them, Lyosha. These people rely on me. We have never been broken…what would you have me do? Welcome a…" His voice lowered. "…a vampire into my den when the safety of our leader is in question? Without daylight, there was no way of knowing if your cargo had anything to do with your ambush."

"Did you contact Allegra?"

"Of course, but…perhaps we should speak on this in my quarter. We did not know if you were alive or dead, Lyosha…you must…" The small man eyed the cleaner at the far end of the room, choosing his words carefully. All lycans knew that Aleksey Itzhak was the alpha…they knew, but the younger ones were not privy to the details of his origin. Vampires could force information…and if a lycan was not old enough…strong enough, he might let information slip before his death-rattle. "…be more careful that this."

"Do not harp on me, Auguste." It was a simple order, and the pack-leader immediately bowed his head. They were all wary of his moods. Envious of that bruised lycan, Lucian let his hands rest on the bed-cover a moment longer…damn, it would be good to sleep. "Damn," he said aloud. "Damn…damn…damn, Auguste. I comprehend the need for your actions, but which part of high-priority content did you not understand?" The pack-leader put his hands together like a priest, gracious enough to start on his explanation again, but he waved it aside. It seemed he still had to pick up his luggage. "Where are they being held?"

The lycan pointed to the east. "The Chambers. Not far from here. The 11th arrondissement…"

"You will take me there…" Lucian stood, stretching his neck, hearing a crack as he did. He would need a massage when this was all over. He would have to find that serving-woman.

"Of course, Lyosha." The lycan held up his arm, indicating the direction they must go, one of the countless tunnels leading from this place. "Though may I suggest we send my manservant in your place, lycan-master. You must be tired, and it would be good for morale if the lycans saw you after you have…"

"The scent, Auguste." He started into the tunnel, knowing the pack-leader would follow. "Follow it."

"Very well, lycan-master. As you say."

o…o…o

The 11th arrondissement. Twenty minutes later.

Kolya was in a bad condition when they arrived, his features marred, his nose broken. "Friends," he whispered to the three lycans holding him. They had not held back. "I am his friend …you see." His teeth were red. He did not complain when Lucian told him to follow the same three men back to the exiles' quarter…though he had to be carried. The vampire would be in the infirmary until he healed.

Dens always maintained an exiles' quarter, an underground district far from the lycan quarters, but within the jurisdiction of the pack-leader. If the quarter was ever attacked, its inhabitants would have no way of finding a den they had never entered. For the length of their stay, he had intended Kolya…and eventually Reinette, to be housed in the French exiles' quarter, located in the 9th arrondissement…

…Pigalle, they called it above ground.

He inhaled…and then turned the handle of the second cell. He signalled Auguste to wait outside, smelling Reinette the moment the door opened, her blood, her bitterness. He closed the door behind him, aware that she could not see him yet. Above, there was a single light, a gas-lamp swaying in the air, throwing shadows in the corners, illuminating her where she lay on the floor, naked and bruised. Rena standing above her, tawny-eyed Rena who hated the vampires. Silence…utter silence that told him how deep they were beneath the ground. How thick the walls were. At his appearance, Rena bowed her head, lowered her fist and then stepped back to the wall, hands behind her back, her eyes facing forward. She had been an exceptional soldier once…a fine creature before the skirmish. Now she carried stone inside of her. She was not at fault for what happened here. No one was at fault. Not himself… Not Auguste… It was merely the outcome of war. Like Allegra had told her, they were at war. Vampires and lycans…exiles and non-exiles. This was not his fault.

He almost changed his mind when she rolled onto her side. She had caught sight of him. Disturbingly enough, she did not weep. She did not cry. She had been stripped of more than just her clothing. There was a hardness in her scent. One of her eyes refusing to open, but the other… blue. The sharpest blue, her scent thorny enough to pierce the nose. She stared at him and then spat, a spray of red melding with the pool on the floor. It smelled of goat's blood. Bastard, she had said. Across the room, Rena glanced at him. It was a cold-iron question of whether she should step in, her hands unwinding from behind her back. Lucian merely shook his head, holding up two fingers, signalling her to hold as he slowly walked forward. He stepped over the pool and crouched beside Reinette's face, neither frowning nor smiling.

"Can you stand?" he said.

"F-fuck you."

He exhaled, having expected this…but still considering how best to approach the situation. Rena should not have taken it this far…but then deathdealers had taken it further when they had held Rena. Her sons had died during that skirmish. All of them. "I am aware you are bitter, Reinette…" he said quietly, removing the laudanum from his pocket. By no means did he feel the need to apologise. "…but it was not my intention for you to be questioned on the eve of your arrival." That was as much as she would get from him. "As it is, I can do nothing but have Rena take you to the infirmary." He held up the bottle so she could see it. "With laudanum or without it…your choice."

Her eye narrowed.

"My choice?" She began to crawl away from him, the red smear following her. "This has never been about my choices, Lyosha." Too exhausted to move any further, she let herself onto the ground. "I did not ask for this…I did not ask for you. For your den…for your…" Swallowing, she directed her words to the lycan-interrogator. "…p-pig of a questioner."

"Rena is not under my jurisdiction," he said, giving her the facts. Welcome to the politics of lycan living. "She was told to question you and she did so in a manner that kept you alive." He removed the drop-cap from the laudanum bottle and made to take her jaw in his hand. "…now I suggest you drink this. It will numb the pain."

"No." She started crawling toward the door. "I like the pain, Lyosha…it reminds me of you." She hissed, her teeth covered in blood still. "Why are you here anyway? I am certain Lyosha has more important things to do. I am certain, Lyosha has places to be…"

"We were delayed," he said curtly. Reinette had stopped slurring her words…and it seemed as long as Rena was not beating the skin off her back, she had enough energy for back-talk. Again, Rena looked questioningly at him, her arms unwinding, but he would have none of it. He would deal with this himself…

"Wait outside, Rena…" he ordered. "…and give my regards to your pater." He had not seen her father in some years, but the man had been a good soldier. Years ago when Rena was just a girl in an apron, the man had saved his life once. He had never forgotten.

Rena bowed her head and idled towards the door. 'Idled' was a strong word. She took her time with each step, obviously keen to hear the rest of the exchange. It was always interesting when a prisoner attempted to tongue-lash a lycan-master…

…and Reinette was doing it from the floor.

"You were delayed?" she said scornfully. "Maybe if I had a time-piece, Lyosha, I would have noticed your absence…except…" Cynical, she touched a hand to her neck, searching for the absent piece. "…oh, yes, of course. That bitch confiscated it."

She was repeating him now. Mistresses repeated him…fancy women repeated him…not prisoners. But then twenty-four hours under Rena's hand could turn anyone scornful. So she was bitter. He could understand that…but after the night he had just had, it was beyond aggravating to hear the tone in her voice. Used to respect, he had almost forgotten people could speak to him in this manner.

"We will find the time-piece," he muttered, starting to grow irritated by Rena's presence. She was expecting him to allot punishment for Reinette's behaviour, and instead she was witnessing what looked like a man indulging his mistress.

"I do not want it!" Reinette was yelling now. "None of this is mine, Lyosha…not the clothes. Not the time-piece. Not even my name…"

"Reinette…" He was getting angry. There was a warning in his voice. "…that is enough."

"Is it?" She kept crawling to the door. "…are you going to kill me? Beat me? Whatever you do, Lyosha, I hope you're sleeping with that ignorant bitch because if someone's getting their grave dug tonight, I want it to be her."

"For bloods' sake, woman!" He was shouting at Rena now. "…how long does it take you to get out?"

Rena shut the door.

The moment she did, he turned back to Reinette, his volume lowering to a hiss. "I will not tolerate this any longer, Reinette. You cannot speak to me in this fashion, not in the den. We were delayed, and there is nothing I can do about that. Count your blessings that you are alive."

"Shall I count this one," she sneered, pointing at her eye.

"What are you looking for…sympathy?" He stalked in front of her, blocking her way to the door. "You were questioned, you were beaten. I cannot change that."

To his distaste, she began to laugh. "Then Allegra was right, Lyosha. I should be joyful, I was only beaten. You must have mistresses just begging to be let out of the ground. Good for me. Bad…for…them."

The laudanum smashed against the wall, breaking into tiny pieces, the liquid dripping down to mix with the red. How dare she act as if she were privy to the details of his existence. Allegra should never have spoken to her on that account. His hand was bleeding. He lowered it, knowing he would strike her if he raised it again. "You know nothing of my life," he said icily.

"And yet somehow I know you are failing at it." Pure spite coming out of her mouth, she was a demon when she was angry. Raving like an opium-hinged lunatic. And when the hell did this become about his life…his mistresses…his choices? What was behind all of it?

"Is this about your lost youth," he asked suddenly, smiling viciously. She was not the only one who could hit low. "What do you want me to do? Pick up the pieces? Put you back together again?"

"No, Lyosha…you break things."

"Did I do this…no!" He was roaring at her now. "Will I pick up the pieces…yes! You will be bandaged. You will recover, but there is only so much I can do for you, woman."

"What is the point in doing anything?" She truly had lost her final dignity. Losing her steam, she managed to get to her feet, swaying naked and covered in blood. "If I am a prisoner, Lyosha, treat me like one, but do not coddle me with dresses if you plan to stone me in the next instant."

"I…did…not…plan this," he snarled.

"Neither do you regret it," she spat, a fleck of blood landing on his cheek.

Blood. A vampire had spat blood in his face. He breathed, slowly using his thumb to wipe it away. His eyes had gone silver. She was right…he wanted to stone her. Did she not see the irony in what she was asking for? Raving for equal treatment when he ought to thrash her for insubordination. They were always getting it wrong. Mistresses. Women. Pack-leaders. Was it wrong to treat someone well? Was he such a monster that he had to beat everyone into ground, live up to the legend, be the creature they all assumed he was.

"Reeena!" He bellowed the name.

The door opened. "Yes, Lyosha?"

Clearly, Rena had not strayed very far from the handle. His anger made the shadows behind her as clear as daylight, Auguste watching him with a perceptive look on his face. Let the man watch…he had probably heard enough to make him think twice on what had occurred in this room. "Get her to the infirmary. Once she is healed, every item is to be returned to her in the space of an hour. You will treat her as if she is made of glass. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Lyosha."

…but Reinette hissed angrily, letting herself fall back to the floor, backing away on her palms. "Do not touch me," she warned. "Do not ever touch me."

Looking to him rather than her, Rena's face was expressionless, as if she had no opinion on the matter. Her voice was without tone or feeling, her words loyal to the alpha. "May I touch glass, Lyosha?" She had been alive during the Revolution. Back then, everyone had an opinion.

"Yes, Rena, you may touch glass," he said, smiling warmly, touching her shoulder once before stepping past her into the hallway. "…and I will see you in my quarters later tonight. We must catch up." They were comrades. He had never slept with Rena and he never would…but it pleased him for Reinette to think that tonight, he might be screwing the woman who had just beaten her skin off. Before Auguste could open his mouth in question, he shook his head and started down the tunnel, using his nose and memory to retrace their steps back to the den. He needed sleep. Reinette was shrieking something behind him…but the words were muffled. Rena was covering her mouth.

Good.

"Lyosha…"

He kept walking, annoyed at the pestering sound of Auguste catching up to him for a brief word. Brief. Auguste was never brief. And he did not want to speak on this matter. "Auguste, as you say, I am tired. Therefore you can deduce I am not in the mood to discuss that ranting demon of a…"

"Good God, Lyosha…" The pack-leader grinned, clearly amused at his alpha's incessant belief in his own ability to predict words. "…you do not know everything. I am not a priest for nothing. Now confess. Tell me…I must know how long you will stay. The morale of the troops…it will be raised."

"Not more than a…"

"A week is not enough, Lyosha." Auguste made a sound of laughing disgust, raising his hands in protest as they walked, stilling his tongue with a disclaimer. "Always you pass through the dens…you are like a ghost, but this time…this time, your prisoners must heal. The child must rest. And think of the deathdealers, Lyosha…they are everywhere. They could fall out of the ceiling above us." The lycan was obviously exaggerating in his attempt to connive an official visit from the alpha. "Truly, you must lie low, lycan-master. You must stay with us." His hands came together, the priest beseeching the sinner.

Lucian stared. "Two weeks," he said.

"Three," exclaimed Auguste. "I will inform the chef."

"Auguste, there is no need for…"

"The chef, Lyosha…" Smelling sharp suddenly, the pack-leader was clearly offended at the prospect of not demonstrating how magnificent and formal his den was. If they had been speaking of anything but food, he might have labelled the smell as dangerous…but then the lycan stalked off, his good humour returning in an instant. "We are not French for nothing, you know. This will be a grand visit, Lyosha. A grand visit."

A chef…

They were at war…

…and the Parisian den had a chef.

Lucian swallowed, feeling a mite concerned…

…and then followed.

God help him.

A/N: Hope the new chapter works. Thank you for the latest reviews, favourites, and welcome to aghostofanelvishrose! Anyway, please read and review everyone and as a note, I'm in a bit of rush, so I will be doing a final proof-read of the chapter tomorrow. (If you see any typos or a misplaced, unfinished sentence, it'll be gone by tomorrow.)

aghostofanelvishrose: I am very glad you've been here since the beginning and definitely appreciated the review. You're right…Lucian never gets a break, but on the other hand, the Parisian den seems to be in the mood to pamper him. Two weeks with a chef and that serving-lady…should be fun. (Though Reinette might not enjoy it…)

Mackenzie: I know! I was shocked while writing it, I suddenly thought "omg, Lucian…Allegra…she…you…" (Seriously, I knew they had slept together, but I didn't realise she was his ex-mistress until their first dialogue.) And oh no…if you've read this chapter, you saw that Reinette has been pretty badly damaged…but she did get to tell off Lucian. We'll see if her words made an impact later on…

Epilachna: No, you haven't missed a thing, but at the moment, I'd rather Sabine retains some of her mystery. (I like the notion of the readers learning more about her as Reinette does.)

Sheen: I'm glad I satisfied an interest in lycans running about on foot, and I'll keep the chapters coming so you keep getting excited!

Slogan References:

The Nation, the Law, the King. – La Nation, la Loi, le Roi.

Liberty, equality, fraternity. – Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.