He was getting frustrated with me, and I could understand why. There were moments I was frustrated with myself.
Desmond didn’t let it show, but I was wearing him down too. He was the kind of person to see the positive side of things—a real bonus for me, given everything I’d put him through—but I knew he was having trouble seeing the light at the end of our tunnel.
So was I.
Though the good nights had started to outnumber the bad, my dark moods were still really dark. And the nightmares persisted every day.
He unlatched the gate and stepped through, where I lost him to the night. I’d need to get down to street level if I wanted to follow him, and that defeated the whole purpose of sending him in alone. He was a big boy, I shouldn’t be worried, but the moment I let anyone I loved out of my sight, a part of me was convinced I was seeing them for the last time.
A fragment of memory flashed into my mind, Holden crumpled in the corner of a concrete cell, his body wasting away to nothing with gaunt cheeks and pale skin.
I blinked a few times, hoping to chase it away, but the scene faded out and was replaced with another. Maxime, a young vampire I’d met in Los Angeles who was from Holden’s line, tethered up and split open, his insides spilling out onto the floor.
Gagging, I braced myself on all fours on the roof and closed my eyes.
“Ten…nine…eight…seven…” Each word was sounded out fully and slowly, and I concentrated on the count, trying to picture the numbers the way a preschooler might, in terms of shiny red apples or colorful rubber balls. Anything to distract myself from the flashbacks.
These weren’t nightmares, they were memories, and they’d been haunting me for months. Any time I thought I was free of them, one would sneak back in and grab hold of me, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
In my almost twenty-four years of life I had seen gruesome things. I’d once watched a demon rip out my ex-boyfriend’s spine. But none of that had stuck with me like my experiences with The Doctor had. I used to think I could forget anything and keep moving on with my life.
Turns out I was wrong.
A loud metallic clang in the alley brought my attention back to the present. A small man with a ratty nest of brown hair bolted towards the main street, and a moment later Desmond followed him.
“Anytime now,” he growled, casting a glance upwards. Considering he couldn’t have known where I was, he came close to looking right at me.
Having my cue, I straightened up and jumped across the alley to the next roof just as Desmond reached the street. The chorus of shocked cries and French expletives from his emergence onto the main road led me in the right direction. The roofs were slick from the evening’s earlier rain, and as I went to clear another gap, I slipped.
I went down like a sack of bricks, smashing my hip and shoulder onto the hard surface and sliding towards the balcony below. Unfortunately my momentum had been enou
gh that I was also still moving forward, and I hit the end of the building before I had a chance to latch on to the balcony railing.
Soon there was nothing beneath me except the potential for a long fall.
For a split second I panicked, not sure what to do.
Then my brain kicked in, and survival instincts overrode my momentary flailing stupidity. I grabbed the edge of the roof, struggling to find purchase on the slippery material and finally getting a decent hold.
I got my toes in on the top of a window frame and stayed put for a moment, catching my breath. Given my precarious position, I could either try to get back up on the roof, or dangle down enough so I could fall into the alley at an angle that wouldn’t break my neck.
I had to get down eventually somehow.
Dropping straight wasn’t an option. Even if I didn’t break my neck I would probably break my legs, and though it would heal within hours—twenty-one, to be precise—I didn’t relish the idea of dragging myself home with two broken legs while Desmond chased some random informant through the Parisian streets.
The walls on both sides of the alley were set with boarded windows, but with enough ledge under the frames I could theoretically scale my way down. Big emphasis on the theoretical.
Bracing my feet against the wall, I eyeballed the alley for my best target. One of the windows on the opposite side had a decent lip. Below me there was another window with a half-broken wooden sill. Easy-peasy.
I pushed off and twisted in the air—made only slightly more difficult by the sword attached to my back. When I hit the ledge on the opposite wall, I realized I’d overestimated the depth of it and scrambled to get my feet balanced for the split-second I’d need. Then I shoved off again, mirroring the move to get to the window that had previously been below me.
The wood sill crumbled under my boot.
I wasn’t having a hell of a lot of luck here.
Between the two windows, I’d managed to drop at least fifteen feet lower than where I’d started. I’d come far enough I could fall the rest of the way with no magnificent injuries. I propelled myself across one more time, grabbing hold of another ledge by the tips of my fingers. The impact of my body crashing into the wall reminded me of the hard fall I’d taken up on the roof.
There would be some bruising.