After Caitlin crossed the river, she walked down side streets, wandering for hours, hopelessly lost. She walked through twisting, turning streets, further and further from the river, heading north.
She was amazed by the city. In some respects, it felt similar to Venice and Florence in 1791. Like those cities, Paris was stil the same, even to the way it appeared in the 21st century. She had never been here, but she had seen photos, and she was shocked to recognize so many buildings and monuments.
The streets here, too, were mostly cobblestone, fil ed with horse and carriages, or the occasional horse with a lone rider. People walked in elaborate costumes, strol ing leisurely, with al the time in the world. Like those cities, there was no plumbing here either, and Caitlin couldn’t help noticing the waste in the streets, and recoiling at the awful stench in the summer heat. She wished she stil had one of those smal potpourri bags that Pol y had given her in Venice.
But unlike those other cities, Paris was a world unto itself.
The streets were wider here, the buildings were lower, and they were more beautiful y designed. The city felt older, more precious, more beautiful. It was also less crowded: the further she went from the Notre Dame, the fewer people she saw. Maybe it was just because it was late at night, but the streets felt nearly empty.
She walked and walked, her legs and feet growing weary, searching around every corner for any sign of Caleb, any clue that might lead her in a special direction. There was nothing.
Every twenty blocks or so the neighborhood changed, and the feeling changed, too. As she headed further and further north, she found herself ascending a hil , in a new district, this one with narrow al eyways, and several bars. As she passed by a corner bar, she saw a man sprawled out, drunk, unconscious against the wal . The street was completely empty, and for a moment, Caitlin was overcome by the worst hunger pang. She felt like it was tearing her stomach in half.
She saw the man lying there, zoomed in on his neck, and saw the blood pulsing within it. At that moment, she wanted more than anything to descend on him, to feed. The feeling was beyond an urge—it was more like a command. Her body screamed at her to do it.
It took every last ounce of Caitlin’s wil to look away. She would rather die of starvation than hurt another human.
She looked around and wondered if there were a forest near here, a place she could hunt. While she had seen some occasional dirt roads and parks in the city, she hadn’t seen anything like a forest.
At just that moment, the door to the bar burst open, and a man stumbled out of it—thrown out, actual y—by one of the wait staff. He cursed and screamed at them, clearly drunk.
Then he turned and set his sights on Caitlin.
He was wel built, and he looked at Caitlin with il intent.
She felt herself tense up. She wondered again, desperately, whether any of her powers remained.
She turned and walked away, walking faster, but she sensed the man fol owing her.
Before she could turn, a second later, he grabbed her from behind, in a bear hug. He was faster and stronger than she had imagined, and she could smel his awful breath over her shoulder.
But the man was also drunk. He stumbled, even as he held her, and Caitlin focused, remembered her training, and sidestepped and swept him, using one of the fighting techniques that Aiden had taught her on Pol epel. The man went flying, landing on his back.
Caitlin suddenly had a flashback to Rome, of the Colosseum, of fighting on the stadium floor while being charged by multiple fighters. It was so vivid, for a moment, she forgot where she was.
She snapped out of it just in time. The drunk man got up, stumbled, and charged her again.
Caitlin waited to the last second, then sidestepped, and he went flying, fal ing flat on his own face.
He was dazed, and before he could get up again, Caitlin hurried to get away. She was glad she had got the best of him, but the incident shook her. It worried her that she was stil having flashbacks of Rome. She also hadn’t felt her supernatural strength. She stil felt as frail as a human.
The thought of that, more than anything else, scared her.
She was truly on her own now.
Caitlin looked al around, starting to feel frantic with worry about where to go, about what to do next. Her legs burned from the walking, and she began to feel a sense of despair.
That was when she saw it. She looked up, and saw before her a huge hil . On top of that, sat a large, medieval abbey.
For some reason she couldn’t explain, she felt drawn to it.
The hil was daunting, but she didn’t see what other choice she had.
Caitlin hiked up the entire hil , more tired than she’d just about ever been, and wishing she could fly.
She final y reached the front doors of the abbey, and looked up at the massive, oak doors. This place looked ancient.
She marveled at the fact that, though it was 1789, this church had already been around for what looked like thousands of years.
She didn’t know why, but she felt drawn here. Seeing nowhere else to go, she got her courage up, and knocked softly.
There was no response.
Caitlin tried the knob and was surprised to find it open. She let herself in.
The ancient door creaked open slowly, and it took a moment for Caitlin’s eyes to adjust to the cavernous, dark church. As she surveyed it, she was impressed by the scope and solemnity of the place. It was stil late at night, and this simple, austere, church, made entirely of stone, adorned in stained-glass windows, was lit by large candles, everywhere, burning low. At its far end sat a simple altar, around which were placed dozens more candles.
Otherwise, it seemed empty.
Caitlin wondered for a moment what she was doing here.
Was there a special reason? Or had her mind just been playing tricks on her?
A side door suddenly opened, and Caitlin spun.
Walking towards her, Caitlin was surprised to see, was a nun—short, frail, dressed in flowing white robes, with a white hood. She walked slowly, and walked right up to Caitlin.
She pul ed back her hood, looked up at her and smiled.
She had large, shining blue eyes, and seemed too young to be a nun. As she smiled wide, Caitlin could feel the warmth coming off of her.
She also sensed that she was one of hers: a vampire.
“Sister Paine,” the nun said softly. “It is an honor to have you.”
CHAPTER TWO
Her world felt surreal as the nun led Caitlin through the abbey, down a long corridor. It was a beautiful place, and it was clear that it was actively lived in, with nuns in white robes walking about, getting ready, it seemed, for the morning services. One of them swung a decanter as she went, spreading delicate incense, while others were chanting soft morning prayers.