Two weeks ago she抎 suggested in a Facebook direct message that he come to Ghent. A first. An invitation to visit. Which made him wonder. Good idea? Bad? But once she抎 told him what she was working on, he抎 decided, what the hell, why not. Now he was here and the building he抎 been sent to, per her texted directions, was on fire.
Was she inside?
He ran faster.
He was a few blocks over from the ancient Cathedral of Saint Bavo on a darkened street amid Ghent抯 old town. All of the buildings around him seemed a tribute to Flemish architecture, a gauntlet of brick brownstones with stoops and chimneys. He was not far from the famed Graslei. A stunning ensemble of riverside guild houses spanning centuries and styles. Once part of a medieval port, one of the oldest sections in a town dating to the fifth century, it had been a focal point back when Ghent acted as the center of Flanders?wheat trade. The district now was a touristic hot spot with a high concentration of caf?patios. He was hoping to have a late supper with Kelsey at one of them after seeing what she抎 promised to show him.
The building ahead, ablaze in smoke and fire, rose three stories to a stepped-gable roof, but all of the destruction seemed localized on the ground floor. People had gathered in the narrow street, watching, but no one was moving to help. He ran up and asked if the fire department had been notified. An older woman said in English that a call had been made. He heard sirens in the distance and decided not to wait for their arrival. Instead, he bolted toward the front door in six quick steps and pushed the heavy wooden slab inward.
Intense heat and smoke poured out.
He grabbed a breath and plunged inside a large studio, metal racks of art equipment and supplies lining the walls. Tables filled the center. All consistent with a workshop, where Kelsey had told him she wanted to meet.
But no fire raged here.
揔elsey,?he called out.
He heard a noise from the next room and headed toward the open door. There, he saw Kelsey engaged in a struggle with another person. The figure was black-clad, in tight-fitting clothes, the head and face hooded. It was hard to see much through the smoke, the only light coming from a raging conflagration on the other side of the room that was rapidly burning, the flames crackling and curdling like the sound dried wood made in a hearth.
He moved to help, just as the black figure pushed away and landed a kick to Kelsey抯 gut that staggered her back. The attacker used the moment to bend down, grab something from the floor, then disappear into the smoke. He blinked away the burn from his pupils and found Kelsey.
He helped her from the floor, gentle with his touch, and they fled the room. 揧ou okay??
Her eyes were red, watery, and wild. Her gaze changed from rage, to fright, to recognition. 揘ick.?She coughed out the smoke from her lungs and nodded fast. 揑抦 fine. Really. I抦 okay.?
The curtain of time parted in his mind. It was like nine years ago again, and that familiar connection clicked. But he forced his thoughts to the present. 揥e have to get out of here.?
She shook her head. 揑 have to stop the fire.?
揌elp is on the way. They抣l do it. Let抯 go.?
She would not budge. 揘ick, go after her棓
Her?
Two policemen burst into the room.
揑抦 okay,?Kelsey said. 揋et my條aptop back.?
One of the uniforms came close to help, and the other wielded a fire extinguisher that he began to use on the flames.
揚lease,?she said. 揋o.?
Part of him said to stay and make sure she was okay.
But another part knew what Kelsey wanted.
And it wasn抰 comfort or protection.
So he hustled off into the smoke.
Chapter 2
Carcassonne, France
9:00 p.m.
Bernat de Foix dropped his napkin on the plate and turned his attention to the young man sitting across from him. They抎 just broken a three-day fast. A last tribulation, all part of what they抎 both been working toward for over a year. Fitting that it would finally occur here, within this ancient fortified city.
Humans had lived on this mount adjacent to the slow-moving river Aude since the Neolithic Age. It had been the Visigoths who founded the grand walled Cit?de Carcassonne as an oppidum on the historic trade routes that once linked the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. All that former glory, though, was gone. Now it all existed as a mere paraphrase of what had once been. Its hotels, souvenir shops, and caf閟 were busy year-round accommodating tourists wanting to experience the past. The H魌el de la Cit?was the only five-star establishment within the olden walls. A mix of the neo-Gothic and art deco styles, it stood in a quiet corner beside Saint-Nazaire Basilica. Tonight, he抎 specifically avoided all of the popular restaurants scattered across the cit?and dined in his suite, requesting that Andre Labelle join him.