Chapter 9
Ten Weeks Ago
Nick: How do you feel about ice cream?
Me: It would make the perfect religion
Nick: Hahahaha. Do you want to go get some?
Me: Always
Nick: Lobby in 5?
Me: No stop by here first. I want to show you Noor’s drawing
I felt a little flutter of unease. I’d said yes to ice cream with Nick without thinking, because Nick.
Because ice cream. And then the memory of almost being dragged away from my friends on a busy street in the middle of the day ran an icy finger down my spine.
I thought about texting him back and suggesting we watch a movie or something.
But it was beautiful outside. And I didn’t want to be scared.
I wanted ice cream. I wanted normal. I swooped into the living room.
Dad had a notebook on his knee and an Alps trail guide splayed on the couch beside him.
He was planning our August vacation. When I told him Nick and I were going out for ice cream, he looked up, frowning. “I don’t know. It’s getting late.”
“Dad, it’s eight-thirty. It’s not even dark out.”
He shook his head. “With this vampire thing, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be going out.”
It felt weird to hear Dad say “vampire” unironically.
It felt weird that all of Paris seemed to have chosen to refer to this attacker with the name of a monster from stories instead of calling them what they were—a predator.
It felt weird that Dad wouldn’t notice this story was being told as “Supernatural creature stymies police efforts” rather than “Police unable to capture perpetrator after multiple attacks.” It couldn’t be that he actually believed there was a vampire; Dad was a fact-based life-form.
“They keep saying to stick to busy, well-lit places with a lot of people around, and to use the buddy system. That’s what we’re doing,” I assured him. “We’re just going up to the place on Avenue de Suffren. It’s three blocks away. It’ll be like half an hour max if there’s a line.”
He looked dubious. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
I remembered Lily’s mom saying the same thing to her, and how I knew she loved Lily when she said it.
I remembered the times when I thought it would have been nice if Dad had just asked a few more questions about where I was going because he should have been worried.
But not tonight. Not up the street for ice cream. Not with Nick.
The door buzzer sounded. “Anyway, Nick’s here,” I said, and went to let him in.
“What’s this about Noor’s drawing?” he said as he followed me into the living room.
“Hi, Nick,” Dad said.
“Hi, Mr. Reeves,” Nick replied. “How was the hike across Paris?”
Earlier in the week, Dad had come home brandishing a worn, dog-eared copy of Paris…
à Pied. The city had three urban hiking trails, so we’d decided to combine our first European hiking trip with exploring our new home and had spent the weekend hiking from the Bois de Boulogne through the city to the Bois de Vincennes.
We’d never done an urban hike before. It was crowded and noisy, and it smelled like diesel smoke when a bus passed, but there were also oases of green calm and reminders everywhere that Paris has been a place people want to be since the third century BCE.
“It was fascinating.” He stuck his finger into the trail guide to mark his place. “We saw two thousand years of history in six miles; ate a three-course lunch that wasn’t sausage, cheese, and chocolate; and didn’t do any ascents. Did you know that Paris was originally a Roman city?”
Nick nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Speaking of history,” I said, “after we stopped at the antiquarian booksellers by the Seine, I took Dad to Noor’s caricature stand, and we had her draw us.
” I pointed to the portrait she’d done, which was lying on the coffee table so we could admire it.
She’d exaggerated our boots and packs, but instead of making us comical, she’d made us look like superheroes starting off on a life-changing adventure.
She’d drawn us at the top of Montmartre gazing out over the city.
Dad carried the book he’d just bought. She’d softened the angular lines of his face, making him look uncharacteristically carefree.
He stood a few steps behind me, like a guardian.
I stood at the front edge of the path, all in oranges and reds, my hair blazing, radiating enough energy for a small sun and ready to step into the future. I loved how brave and strong I seemed.
“I’m getting it framed,” Dad told Nick. “It’s our first Paris souvenir.”
Nick smiled at me. “It looks like you’re setting out on an epic quest.”
“Right now, my epic quest is for ice cream,” I said, making Please let me go eyebrows at Dad.
Dad looked from me to Nick. “Okay,” he sighed, “but I’m counting on you to keep her safe, Nick.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious,” he said to me. “Be careful. Stay where it’s well lit. Don’t go off by yourselves, and be aware of what’s happening around you.”
“We’ll be careful,” Nick promised.
—
“Sorry about that,” I said as we walked out into the warm evening.
“I get it.” Nick slipped his arm around me. “My parents won’t even let Sophie go down to get the mail alone.”
“But come on, Dad just told you to protect me. He’s never treated my being a girl like a preexisting condition before.”
“This guy only attacks women, so it makes sense for your dad to be more worried about you.”
“I know,” I growled. “But I get tired of everybody telling girls to be so scared of everything all the time that we stop living. ‘Don’t go there. Don’t do that.
’ It’s a fundamental misunderstanding of who the problem actually is.
Spoiler alert, it’s not girls.” That was another reason I’d pushed Dad on this.
What happened the other day had scared me—because it was scary but also because I’d been so surprised that I hadn’t even tried to protect myself.
If I hadn’t stumbled—Well. I wanted to go out tonight to show my fear it didn’t own me.
I wanted to remind myself to be brave. I didn’t want to get into the habit of running away or hiding when things scared me.
“I know it feels bad,” Nick soothed, “but it’s to keep you safe.”
I sighed. He looked so worried. “I know. But this guy is locking us all up in Be Safe jail. The only way to really protect yourself is to never do anything—not even leave the house. Why do I have to give up basic freedom in exchange for staying safe? I mean, I can’t even fall asleep on a bus—”
I stopped, my heart revving.
“What bus?”
“Nothing,” I said, seeing Cole’s shadowy face for the zillionth time.
“Did something happen to you?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I just hate feeling caged.
Look, Dad’s never even given me a curfew.
He tells me all the time how strong I am.
But tonight he wanted to lock me up because of what somebody else is doing.
” The memory of Cole’s hand on me, the feeling of being trapped, almost drowned me.
I was glad I’d never told Dad about it. “I’m being punished,” I went on, “and I didn’t do anything wrong. ”
“I’m sorry,” Nick said. We walked on, passing tourists and normal neighborhood people. We all eyed each other, looking for indications of vampire proclivities. “I didn’t think about it that way. It sucks.”
“Indeed it does,” I said.
He hugged me closer, and I let myself relax into him.
I liked that he listened to me. That he tried to see things from my point of view.
I also liked that he was strong, and he would protect me.
And I kind of hated myself that I did. “There’s this place,” he said slowly, “where I go when I need to really feel free. Maybe you’d like to go there; it might help. ”
“Yeah,” I said. “Definitely. Where is it?”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“How come?”
He paused. “It’s kind of…illegal.”
I pulled away and looked at him. “I think you need to explain.”
“Okay, so my first school term here was not great. French education is pretty intense, and one day, I froze outside school. I just stopped. Couldn’t make myself go in. Martine and Youssef took one look at me and dragged me off with them. They took me down into the catacombs.”
“You mean the place with all the bones?”
He shook his head, explaining that there were no bones in the catacombs he was talking about.
Unlike their famous tourist-attraction cousins, these abandoned underground quarries were off-limits to visitors.
It didn’t stop people from going down into them; urban explorers see a gate or a locked door, and they want to be on the other side.
They want to see what ordinary people don’t.
“It changed the way I saw things, being down there,” Nick explained.
“You need to know what you’re doing. You need to be resourceful.
It’s hard work getting in, and it’s hard work getting back out again.
You need to have technical skills. To be good at solving problems. You need to be good under pressure.
Every time I come back up safe, I feel like I can take on anything.
And there’s a whole community down there.
You look out for each other. You help each other. ”
“That,” I said. “That’s what I want.”
“Okay,” he said. “But I’m serious. You can’t talk about it to anyone aboveground. It’s against the law to explore the catas, and if you talk about it up here, someone could get in trouble. The rule is, nobody lets a fellow cataphile down.”
I nodded. When you’ve spent as many years hiking as Dad and I have, you’ve gone…
off-trail is how I’ll say it, maybe on posted land so remote and uninhabited no one’s ever going to know that you ducked between the fence wires, and you’ve found some places that are hidden and amazing and unspoiled.
Those are the ones you don’t talk about with anybody, because the more people who know about them, the less likely those places are to remain amazing.
You go to renew your soul, and while you’re there you walk lightly.
So I understood what Nick was talking about.
I told him that he could count on my silence.
He grinned. “Sympa. Meet me in the lobby on Friday at midnight.” I reached up and kissed him, right in the middle of the sidewalk. Somebody applauded, because France.