Chapter 20

Danae stood back and inspected the long descending ladder that led to the catacomb under the famed Arc de Triomphe. It descended about twenty feet below the ground level and she could hear the sound of water dripping steadily.

Shaking out her long lustrous mane of fiery red hair, Danae slowly knelt down and further inspected the entrance. A light breeze blew around her and she saw a figure stop metres away from her from the corner of her eye.

It was the Arc's night guard.

'Vous! Vous n'êtes pas autorisés à être ici!' he yelled, waving a flashlight at her. ' You're not authorised to be here,' he yelled again, trying to inject more authority into his voice. A wide beam of bright light hit Danae and she refrained herself from flinching. She always had an issue with bright lights.

Slowly, she stood up and the guard stopped. She knew what he was seeing. Danae was still clad in black and with her swirling red hair and the light surrounding her, she almost looked...ethereal. Then, Danae intentionally let her two long and sharp canine teeth lengthen and relished in the guard's fear.

The flashlight clattered to the pavement and the guard slowly backed off, finally breaking into a run when she took two small steps forward.

Danae watched him for a while and then waved a hand dismissively around her. Instantly, white mist swirled around her, covering her from view. Lightly, she placed her palms on either side of the entrance and landed gracefully on her palms and feet. Ahead of her, a narrow tunnel stretched out, illuminated only by the street light coming from the entrance above.

She stepped forward cautiously and heard a splashing sound. Heather was suddenly screaming at her from inside her mind.

' You! You could've ruined my boots! Do you know how much Christian Lounboutin costs? Do you know how much trouble I got in just to get it OFF THE RUNWAY?!'

Sighing, Danae walked forward and soon, Heather was silent once more. Danae walked further down the tunnel, which slowly grew darker and darker. Her hands felt around in the dark and encountered something hard. Something made of stone. She flicked her fingers impatiently at a nearby torch hanging from the damp stone wall and it lit up immediately. But instead of burning with fire, a flickering white sphere of light was in its place.

The heavy iron torch felt heavy and foreign in her hands and rust and grime stuck on her hands but Danae ignored that. She held the torch up to her eye level and immediately, a door appeared in front of her.

The door looked ancient, with large brass knobs. There were etchings on the door, meaningless lines and spirals on the door, as if made by a talentless wannabe Picasso.

Danae carefully touched the knob and her fingertips suddenly burned. Quickly, she pulled them away, feeling her fingers throb with pain. Then, she remembered. Elizabeth said something about blood. Excited, Danae reached down and broke of a piece of the torch and held the sharp end to her palm. Quickly, she scratched her palm with the piece of the torch and pressed her hand to the door.

Then, as if blown by a strong gust of wind, Danae was thrown backwards and hit the wall with such a strong impact that the catacomb shook.

Elizabeth's blood, she thought, cursing the blasted girl. Only Elizabeth can open this door.

Snarling under her breath, she set off towards the entrance and could only console herself by feeding on the night guard.






Elizabeth Davenport felt someone call to her. Summoning her to walk towards them. It was like a music pleasant to the ears and it made you want to hear more.

Slowly and without realising that she was doing so, she sat up and hopped off the bed lightly. Still dressed in her silk empire waist night dress, she opened the French doors that led to the small balcony. Inside the bedroom, Elena was still asleep, snoring delicately into her pillow.

The voice called to her again and Elizabeth leapt of the balcony with such grace and poise, you would you think she's been jumping off balconies for centuries. The thorny bushes of red roses snagged her dress but she was beyond noticing. The voice still called to her and she was...hypnotised by it.

A dark figure was resting against the orange brick wall and the figure looked up when Elizabeth's ghostly white figure came into view. It was Conrad, the most talented Caller or the Council. His ability to attract people to him was unmatched and not one person could restrain themselves from his calling.

Conrad whistled under his breath and more dark figures crept out from behind the various bushes of flowers.

All at once, the voice stopped calling to Elizabeth and she suddenly realised where she was. The cold night breeze whipped around her harshly and her night dress was no match for it. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and saw dark figures closing in on her.

Her first instinct was to run but they would probably catch her in half a second. Then, she resorted to using her powers. Kneeling down and touching the ground, she closed her eyes and felt the earth respond. Suddenly, the rose bushes clamped themselves around the vampires and dug their thorns in. Elizabeth chose that moment to escape but a figure stepped out in front of her. With one simple wave, Elizabeth was thrown off into the centre once again.

The roses immediately loosened themselves when they felt her weaken and the vampires closed in on her.

Suddenly, there was a great gush of cold wind and perfect little five-pointed glaces started attacking the vampires one by one. The pointed ends of the ice was so sharp, it almost broke through the brick wall.

The vampires had no hope of surviving the ice and started to slowly disappear, leaving Elizabeth all alone in the garden, now blanketed in white ice. A shadow started to approach her from beyond the icy ground.

With her excellent eyesight, Elizabeth could see that the shadow had familiar tousled black hair and shining pale blue eyes.

' Will?' she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

The shadow simply gazed at her before he, too, disappeared.