When Sarah Solomon took refuge in an old cottage in the woods, she knew it would only be a matter of time before the monsters came a' calling.
Cursed with a power she neither wants, nor knows how to harness, Sarah has become a target, but who is he...
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With the shutters down, Sébastien Dufort's home felt more like a prison with the passing of each minute. I'd tried to sleep. Really, I had. But everything that had happened and everything that had been said, whirled around my head until it felt like a tornado raged inside my skull and nothing would make it stop. The endless stillness of the house made it worse.
Inside, I was restless. Outside, everything was stagnant. Dead.
Eventually, when I couldn't bear pacing the room any longer, I showered and brushed my teeth just to do something and was about finished getting ready when I detected movement in the hallway. After a few tense seconds of nothingness, when I stood with my hand wrapped around the doorknob, certain that someone waited on the other side, there came a soft knock on the door.
'Sarah?' His voice was low and muffled. 'It's Michael,' he added, as if I hadn't worked that out already.
I opened the door a few inches. The scent of shower gel, fresh and pleasant, hung in the air. His hair was still a little damp on top, the moisture accentuating his curls. I noticed he'd changed into a close-fitting black sweater and black jeans, and to my surprise, was also wearing his coat, boots and a scarf.
'Oh,' I said. 'So, you do know how to knock?'
He grimaced. 'Cute,' he said. 'Listen, I was thinking of getting out of here for an hour. Just for a walk or something. I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm climbing the walls in here.'
I stared at him, the words drying up in my mouth. 'Um... you're asking me to take a walk? With you?'
Michael exhaled tersely. 'No, I'm asking you to take a walk with one of Sébastien's security. You know, the big one with the hands that could crack a skull open like it was a coconut?' He rolled his eyes. 'Yes, with me.'
He sighed, his shoulders dropping. 'Look, the truth is, this whole thing is...'
'Weird? Overwhelming? Ever so slightly creepy?'
A hint of amusement sparked in his eyes. 'Yes, to all those things. Some fresh air might help us both. Maybe a touch of Parisian culture that absolutely does not involve Sébastien Dufort. What do you think?'
When I didn't instantly reply, his expression faltered a little, that same look I'd seen back at his house in London. He wasn't just asking for my benefit – although quite why he'd give two shits about how I was feeling, I'd never know – but his own too. It was easy to assume he was handling all this, because it mostly felt like I'd stepped into his world and was wandering lost, but the truth was, this was all new to him too. Maybe, he was as lost as I was.
'Okay, yeah.' I nodded. 'But how are we going to get out? I bet he has this place locked up tighter than the Louvre after hours.'
'We'll get out,' he said, tugging at the scarf loosely draped around his neck and handing it to me. 'Here, put this on. Paris in wintertime can be a cruel host.'
