Tunnel of Bones (City of Ghosts #2)(14)

I shake my head to clear it. I’m starting to sound as paranoid as Jacob.

“You say paranoid, I say practical,” counters Jacob.

And then, before I can protest, Mom links her arm through mine and draws me closer to the edge. As Dad rests his hand on my shoulder, I forget to be afraid. The entire city sprawls beneath me, as far as I can see, white, and gold, and green, and I know there is no photo in this world that can capture this view.

And for a moment, I forget about the ghosts that supposedly haunt this tower. For a moment, I almost forget the eerie, off-kilter feeling of being followed.

For a moment, Paris is simply magical.

“Just wait,” says Jacob cheerfully. “I’m sure something will go wrong.”





The crew hands Mom and Dad the day’s footage so they can review it, and Pauline kisses each of us twice, once on each cheek, and slips away into the late-afternoon light. Mom and Dad decide we should have a picnic in the hotel room. We stop by a street market and buy bread, cheese, sausages, and fruit. Mom hums, shopping bags swinging from her fingers. Dad has a baguette under his arm, and I snap a photo of them, smiling to myself.

By the time we get back to the hotel, it feels like we’ve walked across the whole city. We climb to the room on aching legs, and I’m the last one through.

“Cass, get the door,” says Mom, her arms full of food.

I nudge the door shut with my foot and tug the camera strap over my head, retreating to the little bedroom. Jacob and I flop down on my bed.

What a strange day, I think.

“Even stranger than usual,” admits Jacob.

I roll over with a groan, and I’m just reaching for one of the comics in my bag when Mom’s voice cuts through the suite.

“Cassidy!”

Jacob sits up. “That doesn’t sound good.”

My mom has a lot of voices. There’s the I’m proud of you voice. The You’re late for dinner voice. The I need to talk to you about this life-changing decision your father and I have made voice. And then there’s the You are in so much trouble voice.

That’s the one Mom’s using.

I head into the main room and find her standing, arms crossed, by the hotel room door. It’s open.

“What did I ask you to do?” she snaps, and I look from her to the door in confusion.

“I closed it!” I say, glancing toward Jacob, who only shrugs.

“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

And I don’t really understand the big deal until I hear Dad out in the hall, calling “Here, kitty, kitty” and rattling Grim’s food dish.

Uh-oh.

“He got out?” I cry.

Here’s the thing: Grim isn’t a normal cat. He’s not a hunter, and not even all that fast. Back home, he moved around about as much as a loaf of bread. So even if I did leave the door open, which I know I didn’t, the chances of him going anywhere are slim to none.

And yet, he’s not here.

And he’s not in the hallway, either.

We split up. Dad makes his way up the stairs toward the third floor, Mom heads down to the lobby, and Jacob and I comb the space between.

How did he get out? Why did he get out? Grim’s never shown much interest in the outside world—the few times he wandered beyond our front porch, he made it as far as the nearest patch of sun before sprawling out on his back to take a nap.

“Grim?” I call softly.

“Grim!” echoes Jacob.

My throat tightens a little. Where is he?

We look behind potted plants and under tables, but there’s no sign of the cat on the second floor, or the first. No sign as we reach the lobby, where Mom’s talking to the concierge, and I decide to check the salon where we had breakfast. It’s out of service for the night, but one of the glass doors is open a crack. A gap just large enough for a cat.

I slip through, Jacob on my heels. I paw at the wall, searching for the light switch, but I can’t find one. Even though the curtains have been pulled shut, the Rue de Rivoli shines through, just enough light to see by.

“Grim?” I call softly, trying to keep my voice steady as I creep between the tables.

And then, between one step and the next, I suck in a breath. It’s like hitting a patch of cold air. A sudden shiver rolls through me.

“Jacob—”

Ding … ding … ding …

Jacob and I both look up. A chandelier hangs overhead, crystals chiming faintly as they sway.

Jacob and I glance at each other.

My look says, Was that you?

And his says, Are you crazy?

The cold gets worse, and as I watch, the tablecloth begins to slide from a nearby table, dragging the place settings with it. I lunge toward it, a fraction too late. The plates and silverware go crashing to the floor, and a second later, a shape darts through the darkness to my left. It’s shadow on shadow, too dark to see, but one thing’s for certain.

It’s larger than a cat.

Before I can follow it, Jacob calls out, “Found him!”

I turn back, and see Jacob on his hands and knees on the other side of the room, looking beneath a chair.

Sure enough, there’s Grim.

But when I get close, he hisses.

Grim never hisses, but now he looks up at me, his green eyes wide and his ears thrown back, fangs bared. And when I reach for him, he darts past me, through Jacob’s outstretched hands and out of the salon. We chase after him into the lobby, where the very displeased desk clerk who checked us in yesterday catches him by the scruff of the neck.