Behind Closed Doors B.a. Paris Novels & Stories

The presence grew larger and larger until. "I can't take it anymore!" Traga said scaredly. He quickly ran ahead of the group leaving the rest of them. Everyone started panicking as Traga went further and further. Everyone else followed and that was when the frightening presence that was trailing behind them came closer and closer. "Everybody runs quickly!" Cheng, the leader of the group, said loudly. They can already see it much clearer, the fortified wall of the city that surrounds the entire mountain city of Aslem. On top of the 80 meter tall wall were soldiers that patrol the wall and luckily right in front of them was the west gate of the city.

It had yet to sink in that she was no longer a Dennis. They walked up the stairs to the second floor and past several offices, some with open doors, others closed. She walked beside him to the opposite end of the hall to a door with a sign that read Recherché et Développement; Personnel Autorisé Seulement. He penned a code into a small security panel on the framework and listened to the click of the lock. With a childish grin, he pushed it open and allowed her to walk in ahead of him.

Henri is standing beside the vehicle, his phone pressed to his ear. And fifty yards ahead of us, walking at a steady pace, is Talia. She has not looked back. She is focused entirely on the street ahead, her leather bag swinging against her hip. Emma starts walking. I fall into step beside her. Julian takes the other side. The three of us move down the narrow Paris street in a tight, silent formation, closing the distance. Forty yards. Thirty. Twenty. Talia stops. She stops directly in front of the locksmith's shop. The sign above the door reads SERRURERIE DUPONT in faded gold letters. The window display is full of brass locks and key blanks and heavy iron deadbolts.

As soon as the door had opened, Vincent looked up from his phone, his black bangs falling to the side as he examined the girl standing at the door with his hazel blue eyes and a smirk on his lips. “Look who it is. Mazikeen Grey Perce, what brings you to my humble abode again?” Mazikeen rolled her eyes and ignored his taunt. Her eyes scanned the room for the little boy while she stood at the door. “New secret unlocked: Paris is mute.” “Oh shut up Vincent. Listening to you speak is making me dumber already.” The teen’s lips curled up at her blown fuse. He always knew the way to get to her, and each time she presented him with a new reaction.

I should have buttoned it. I put one hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeats on my palm, "You were in Paris," I said, pretending to be annoyed. He tugged me toward the Villa. It was the most beautiful house. He took out his card and swiped it to open the door. He opened it wide. He turned to me. Sighing, I walked in. He closed the door behind us. His hands touched my shoulders. He didn't give me time to explore the view in front of me.

"Don't do this. We can talk—" "There's nothing left to talk about," I said, picking up my purse and walking to the door. I paused at the door and looked back at the ruin of the man I married. "This is your war, Damien," I said with a deathly calm. "Not mine."

Henri wanted to come. Nobody allowed it. The argument was spectacular. Margot won. As she usually did. The building looked entirely unremarkable. Three storeys. Cream stone. Dark windows. Nothing special. Nothing memorable. Exactly the sort of place secrets preferred. A brass plaque beside the door carried a single name. Maison Delacroix. No explanation. No description. No indication of what happened inside. Jessica exchanged a glance with André. The old man looked uncomfortable. That alone was enough to make her nervous.

Clare stood in the door frame and gasped in surprise. A shaft of yellow-red light cut right across the bare wooden floor like a direct path to the centre of the sun. On their journey up in the lift, Clare had grown accustomed to the darkness and assumed that Jean’s room would be equally shady, but here on the seventh floor they were a storey above most of the surrounding buildings and Jean’s beautiful large window looked directly west. Clare ran to the window and strained her eyes against the evening glow to pick out landmarks. The whole of Paris was spread before her again, only this time it seemed that it was just for Clare and not for a thousand other tourists jostling her at a rail at th

With Pareios everything was so easy and lively that it was fully apparent in his presence. Pareios turned her left into a back yard, where a huge line of people had formed in front of a double-door entrance. Above it was a huge triangular neon advertising sign with the word "Trésor". At first glance it looked like a club, and when the door opened and two drunk girls pushed past the bouncers outside, the deep, thumping drum'n'bass rhythms could be heard briefly from inside. Aurelia beamed and looked up at Pareios. “Are you satisfied? Successful surprise? "

She didn’t even look back. The glass doors closed softly behind her, leaving me standing there with a faint ache I hadn’t expected to feel. Henri, still waiting patiently, cleared his throat. “If you’ll follow me, monsieur.” I nodded, straightening my jacket even though I wasn’t sure why I bothered. “Lead the way.” We climbed a short staircase, the steps lined with a deep burgundy runner. The walls were painted a warm ivory and adorned with black-and-white photographs of the French countryside — vineyards, old markets, cobblestone streets. Every inch of this place felt personal.