Enchantée(57)

“Regretfully, I’ve been away from Paris.” He smiled then, holding out his arm. “Take a stroll with me? I’ve something to show you. Tonight’s the perfect night.”





30


“Where are we going?” Camille asked. They had left rue Charlot and were heading toward the Seine. It was that time of night when the sky brightened into an impossible blue and the crowns and branches of the trees made dark, sumptuous shapes against it. It did not feel the way Paris normally did to Camille. It felt newly made and rather fascinating.

Ahead lay the Pont Notre-Dame. Only a few months ago the houses on the bridge had been torn down. Some rubble remained; here and there a bent nail lay embedded in the dirt. She didn’t give the nails—or the soldiers loitering in the streets—a second glance. She didn’t need any of them. Usually the city felt dangerous in the evening, set with threats and obstacles. A wilderness. But walking in the dusk with Lazare at her side as he told her about the history of all the ancient things they passed, Paris felt new.

“Isn’t the bridge lovely now, open and wide?” she said. “When I walk across it, I can almost imagine I’m—”

“Flying?”

“How did you guess?”

“Your face.” He walked backward in front of her, beckoning her on. “Come, mademoiselle. We’re nearly there.”

Once on the other side, they arrived quickly at the broad square in front of Notre-Dame. Above them, the old towers hulked against the dusky sky. “Et voilà,” he said.

“But the cathedral isn’t open at night.”

“Ah, but it is for us. I know the night watchman,” he said, mischief in his voice.

A quick knock on a side door let them into the church. Camille blushed when the watchman doffed his cap at her. He went ahead of them, holding his lantern high.

“Do you bring many girls here?” she said to Lazare, keeping her voice light.

Lazare seemed oblivious to her innuendo, focused as he was on finding his footing on the stairs. “You’re the first person I’ve thought might care to come with me.”

Camille was glad of the dark, cool as a hand over her hot cheeks.

They climbed a quick flight of stairs, coming out onto a narrow gallery overlooking the cathedral’s cavernous nave. Like tiny ghosts of flame, candles burned in the side altars, though where their light didn’t penetrate, the cathedral was grave-dark.

The watchman unlocked a stout wooden door. It creaked as he pulled it open. “Quick now, monsieur. Stay too long and people will notice.” He handed Lazare a lantern and descended into the dark, whistling.

Above her, in the tight coil of the tower, the stairs were pools of shadow, flowing up into an even denser darkness. Somewhere higher she heard a rat scrabbling against the wall. “On second thought, I’d rather not.” She tried to turn around and bumped into Lazare.

“It’s too beautiful to miss, really. I promise.” Lazare didn’t move, just gave her the lantern. “You hold the light and go first. It’ll be easier than following me.”

Again, going up—and first, this time. She heard Sophie laugh at her: Camille Durbonne, afraid?

Holding the lantern aloft, she placed her other hand on the wall to steady herself. As she went, the stairs flared into existence, each stone step hollowed in the center by hundreds of years of bell-ringers and night watchmen. Something flew toward her, squeaking. She ducked and covered her hair as the bat swooped past.

“Watch out, monsieur!” she laughed. Behind her, Lazare swore.

Now was her chance to get to the top before she thought too much about the steep stairs or what would happen if she fell. She grabbed her skirts and ran. Up. Up. Up.

“Wait!” Lazare cried.

“Catch me if you can,” she called over her shoulder. And kept going.

The lantern swung wildly in her hand, she stumbled once or twice—feeling a lunge of fear when she nearly fell backward and could have killed them both—but then, suddenly, she reached the landing. Lazare was close behind and bumped into her when she slowed down.

“You’ll knock me back down!”

“It wouldn’t be my fault if I did,” he laughed, catching his breath. “The way you ran. Like when you caught the balloon. Did you forget you were holding the lantern?”

“I’m sorry!” But she wasn’t. She’d run and he’d been right behind. Maybe he’d only been trying to stay in the light of the lantern, but the feeling of him following her, of being the one to catch, was very pleasing. Now they stood close together in the darkness of the cramped landing, the flickering light catching in the hollows of his throat, his eyes.

“Is this all?”

“You think I’d bring you up here to stand in this stone box?” He reached around her and pushed open the door. “Walk out into the night.”

The door swung open into the stars.

The tower’s parapet surrounded them at waist-height. From its walls and from the bell tower, chimères loomed, horns curving from their beastly heads, their beaks and cackling mouths gaping. One of the creatures crouched nearby, its head in its hands. “How sad he seems!”

“I suppose he does,” Lazare said. “Why, do you think?”

Camille touched the statue’s melancholy wings. “His feathers are made of stone. He can’t fly, so he’s trapped, non?”