(no subject)

[nepheliad.livejournal.com]

"I think," said Bianca Vaughn-Blair to Ryan Bertrand, "that we are in trouble."

"I think," replied Bertrand, lowering his head as rocks in the tunnel began to further collapse and shatter into dust in front of them, "that you are right."

It was hard to imagine an alternative to being in serious trouble, considering where exactly they were at the time. After all, in their years of working against a group of linked crime families uncreatively nicknamed the Underground (by themselves), this was the first time that Bertrand and the Vaughn-Blairs had actually been literally trapped underground.

Specifically in the shut-down section of the French Catacombs.

"Remind me why we came here?" Bianca yelled over the sound of falling rock.

"You and Vaughn had your honeymoon here!" Bertrand exclaimed. "Two of you thought the three of us would have a great vacation here! Like we ever take vacations! Like we ever could!"

"I meant these damned catacombs!" Bianca's voice was becoming shrill and peaked high -- she was scared. Bertrand wasn't all that amused, considering the situation, but it was rare to see the risk-happy Bianca truly afraid of anything, and he couldn't help but smile to himself a little.

"I think it's because we were invited and damned gullible enough to come!" More rocks caved in, and he reached out and pulled her quickly to the side, getting them both out of the way of another plummetting boulder.

"Someone had to!"

"Someone not you! Should've been me and Vaughn!"

"The note was sent to me! Personal and confidential!"

"The note," said a third voice, a very calm, level voice, "also said to please come alone, but it's not like I expected you to listen, Miss Baxter. Martin!"

Out of the falling rock stepped a fourth person, who held his hand in front of Bertrand's face -- he was holding some sort of cloth, and taped it over the constable's mouth long before Bertrand even got a chance to react. Bianca stared, open-mouthed, and then turned back to face the speaker. Scar across his nose, dark hair, dark eyes, only slightly pale skin --

"Guillaume Iche. Why the dangerous spot if all you wanted to do was chloroform my partner and have a little chat? How did you know we would come here? This place is mad."

"I didn't have a clue," Iche admitted. "I was hoping your curiosity would lead you here, force you to come. As for the location -- well, it's obvious, isn't it? You wouldn't tell anyone you were plum stupid enough to be down here, and there are plenty of ways for us to hide ourselves and leave the two of you behind. Did you find little Morgana yet?"

"Your sister," Bianca said carefully, attempting not to spit out every word and barely succeeding, "is at home. Safe. Angry, and sick, but safe."

"You are sure? You swear it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I am finished with you, Miss Baxter, I believe -- or is it Vaughn-Blair? Either way, we are done." Again, before Bianca could react, Iche had pulled a knife --

-- and this was the very special thing, he had stabbed her, somewhere, somewhere in the chest, and she hadn't really even a clue.

She didn't feel the pain as he pulled the knife out. She stopped hearing the rocks fall. She felt warm, all over, and then cold, and she realized long ago, it seemed, she had forgotten how to see.

So it wouldn't really matter to anyone that she closed her eyes.