A Drop of Night(56)

Will scrambles for his sword. Hayden is snapping open a black box, pulling something out, a handgun.

And now the hatch is opening and we’re all yelling, pressing forward like moles, lights strobing into the darkness beyond.

“Who’s there? Who’s there?”



“Aurélie,” a voice whispers in the darkness. It’s Perdu. He’s crawling toward us through the ruins of the room, eyes white and fishy in the flashlight beams. It looks like someone ransacked the place. Drapes hang in slashed tatters over the faux windows. Chunks of crystal glitter across the floor. Perdu doesn’t blink, doesn’t stop.

Hayden bursts from the hatch. Reaches Perdu in three strides and kicks him savagely backward. Perdu goes flying into a chair, crashes to the floor.

“Who are you?” Hayden yells. He’s got the gun in one hand, steel knife in the other. The knife comes up in an arc.

I shove myself to my feet. “Hayden, wait!”

He kicks the chair aside. It goes spinning away, even though it’s massive.

I catch Hayden’s knife hand. He pivots.

“Stop,” I hiss. Hayden’s eyes are wild. Sweat glimmers on his upper lip. His arm is still straining downward, like he doesn’t realize the knife is pointed at me now. “Hayden, it’s him, it’s the guy from the library. We think he knows the way out of here—”

Hayden wrenches away from me. Perdu screeches, cowering inside a shattered nest of furniture legs and broken wood. The velvet bandages I tied around his arm are gone. It’s hard to tell in the wobbling light, but I can’t see the wound anymore, either. I get between Hayden and Perdu.

Hayden shoves me out of the way so hard my head snaps sideways.

Will launches himself past me. He catches Hayden’s arm, and even left-handed he’s strong. His fingers dig in and Hayden’s hand opens like a claw. The knife clatters to the floor.

Will stoops slowly. Picks it up. Offers it to Hayden, hilt first, not once moving his gaze from Hayden’s face. “She said wait,” Will says.

Hayden grabs the knife. “You don’t know anything about him,” he spits at me. “If he killed those trackers, he could kill every one of us here.”

“Five minutes,” I say. “Give me five minutes to talk to him.”

I kneel next to Perdu. His head starts bobbing. He’s bowing, being grateful. “Aurélie,” he whispers again, and I pull the letter opener from my pocket and place it against his throat.

Something flickers across Perdu’s gaze. Shock. Terror. He stares at me, his neck pulsing against the blade.

“Listen to me,” I say in French. “You’re going to tell us how we get out of this palace. I want to know exactly how we’ll find the exit, and if you lie to us again I’m not going to stop anyone from hurting you.”

“Aurélie?” Perdu whispers. “You are angry with me. Because of the library. I had no choice; he came for me! I am on your side. I was only ever on your side.” He’s crying, eyes dripping. “Let me in with you.” He gestures toward the hatch. “Please, I will tell you everything. Do not leave me out here alone.” He throws a furtive look at Hayden and the others, then into the darkness over his shoulder. The room beyond the glare of the flashlight is a pitchblack so thick it’s solid.

My heart blunders wildly in my ears. I think of the trackers, liquid black, dripped like ink on the floor outside of the library. The hatch’s bolt being ripped from Hayden’s grip. He could kill every one of us here. “I can’t do that, Perdu; just answer the question!”

“What’s he saying?” Hayden says, shoving past Will.

Will starts translating softly for the others.

“Please!” Perdu wails. “Please, it is not safe! I can feel him. He is near. He hates me.”

“Perdu, stop!” I jab the tip of the letter opener into his neck. It’s an accident. A reflex. Perdu gurgles, but there’s no blood. Just a dry cleft in his skin, like birch bark, splitting. “Stop lying,” I say through my teeth. “Arrêtez de mentir! How do we get out of here? Who is the butterfly man? Is it Dorf?”

Perdu freezes mid-sob. His head is turned away from me. Slowly his eyes swivel and he’s looking at me, sidelong. He’s not crying anymore. His face is full of hate, sharp as a spade.

“He is poison,” Perdu says, and his lips twitch into a smile. “He is death.”

He inches toward me. I try to keep the blade in place, but my hand is shaking. His eyes are piercing, infinite layers of gray and blue and darkness.

“He is an angel,” he whispers. “Fallen from the skies. Cast down from the stars.”

I pinch my eyes shut. “Perdu, we need to know what we’re up against, tell us—”

“I AM TELLING YOU!” He rises, unfolding to a full six feet of bony limbs and pale skin, and for an instant I catch a flicker of something beyond that ravaged body. A proud man, strong and handsome. Hayden’s knife is raised, poised to cut Perdu down, but Perdu doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps talking, muttering away like he’s in a trance.

“They formed him from skin and blood and wisdom,” Perdu says, and his voice is a deep, ragged growl. “Without fault and with knowledge beyond any man, and they sought his favor. Le petite ma?tre, they called him, their little master. They built him a house far underground and they told him it was a gift, but they lied. It is a prison. And you are in it. He is moving you across the board like little dolls, and if they do not catch you, he will, and he will tear you limb from limb—”