The warlock started moving toward the west end of the alley and Lucian followed, straining his ears to see if he could determine where they were. A few sentences in French caught his attention. They were still in France, he guessed, Paris even. The smells were the same. He expanded his awareness. From what he could tell, they were on the northern edge of Paris, near Saint-Denis, one of the northern suburbs infamous for its crime rates. Lucian suddenly wished he had fed before going on Kristos’s fool errand. He also wished that he could communicate with Lena, but she was bound to Christian, not him. And since he was known for disappearing for hours on end, she wouldn’t think twice about his absence. Lucian felt exposed, but he hadn’t become as powerful as he had by being cautious or scared. He gritted his teeth—if he were going down, he’d take as many of the creatures with him as he could. He followed the warlock to a crumbling stone church covered in demonic looking gargoyles.
