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Chapter 1 - Your Soul is a Beautiful Thing
"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child," replied the grave man's voice, "and I thank you. No emperor ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."
She had picked up two words of what the man said.
Maybe three.
Something about paper (papier) and going down somewhere (vers le bas) and maybe retrieve (rechersomethingrather). She responded with a smile and nod.
Monsieur Bontecue returned the smile and nod – then screamed something in the girl's own tongue - "Now!" - And stuffed a key and a piece of paper in her hand - marching off in a huff.
She unfolded the crinkled scribblings to reveal a surname followed by a series of numbers. How the hell she ever got this job was beyond her. Her French was so weak that when a coworker asked if she wanted coffee, she replied with something that had made them gasp, shout something she swore was an obscenity, and slam down the coffee pot. They hadn't spoken to her since.
At least there was Meg. She spoke perfectly good English. Of course she wasn't around now when she needed her. So she proceeded to the next best option.
"Excusez-moi, Hannah?"
The red head spun around in her chair, not amused, "Oui?"
"Hey, umm," the girl scratched her head, and proceeded to butcher the simple question, "Là où est, umm, this?" She held up the paper Mr. Boutecue had given her.
Hannah rolled her eyes then grabbed the paper. It took only a second for her to forcibly give the paper back, shaking her head, "No."
"No?" The girl shrugged.
Hannah shook her head again, not speaking.
"Ok, you don't know where it is? I mean où est..."
"Shh!" She hissed, then proceeded to tap her finger on her desk, indicating down.
"Downstairs?" The girl asked - eyebrow arched in curiosity.
A quick nod and Hannah turned back around with a sigh.
The girl stood a moment, bit her lip, glanced at the paper and back up. Hesitating a moment before speaking, "Merci, Hannah."
Down the hall to the steps - looking at the paper again. The name on it. It sounded so familiar. The numbers made no sense, but that name was definitely somewhere in her memory. Suddenly there was the sound of a door, a rush behind her and she turned to see Hannah standing there, worried look plastered on her face.
The girl eyed her, brushing her dark hair back, "What's up?"
Hannah looked around cautiously, leaning forward she whispered in perfect English draped in accent, "Be careful down there."
"Be careful?" The girl asked slowly, "Why?"
"Just be careful." The crimson curls around Hannah's shoulders shook as she spoke in a hushed tone, "Le fantôme!"
The girl took a step back, "Huh?"
But Hannah just began mumbling and ran back up the stairs.
"Freakin' weirdo Frenchies…" The girl stated and continued down the steps to the basement door.
She had almost reached the bottom when she heard Hannah yell from above one last time.
"Christine!" she cried, "Be careful down there!"