order to find the key.
But what did he mean when he said that the island was a big place?
Al the clues seemed to indicate that the Notre Dame was the last stop. But then again, something bothered her about his letter. It felt too obvious, too straightforward to her. She felt that there was some embedded message in there she was missing.
At least Caitlin knew where she needed to go next.
As she stood to go, there was a sudden bang at the door, fol owed by the smashing of stained glass al around her.
She heard a chorus of angry shouts, and knew it was the mob. The humans, in the midst of their revolution. Her heart broke to see such beautiful precious, ancient glass shattering, fal ing to pieces al around her.
But this was not her war. Not her revolution. She had another war to wage. One far more dangerous.
And it began in the Notre Dame.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Caleb flew through the night, determined to rush back to Caitlin’s side. He hated himself. He didn’t understand how he could have been so stupid, so naïve. So easily misled.
Worse, he had left Caitlin for nothing. He had ruined their moment, the very time he was about to propose, the very peak of their love, to run off for an il usion. For a false belief that his son was stil alive.
He would never forgive Sera for what she’d done. For ruining his life—again.
But more importantly, he would never forgive himself for being so stupid. He should have listened to Caitlin, and stayed put.
As he flew, Caleb closed his eyes, and the image passed through it again: he recal ed his arriving back at his castle, and the sinking feeling of finding it empty. Caitlin gone. He had run through empty room after empty room, and had final y realized that she had left him.
Ever since then, he had combed the skies, had looked for her everywhere. Now he was combing Paris, block by block.
As he did, he received a sudden signal, like an electric shock to his system. It was the signal of Caitlin. Of her presence. Of her being in distress. He could feel it, in every pore of his body. She was in trouble, he was certain of it.
And he could now feel where it was coming from. From deep inside Paris.
Caleb changed course, heading towards a different section of Paris with new speed, new resolve.
He was determined to find her this time, and to make wrongs right.
This time, it would be different. This time, they would real y make a new start of it. Truly be together forever. This time he knew, there would be nothing to stand in their way.
And when they final y did get a moment together, alone, he would ask her the question he’d been dying to ask her from the start.
He would ask if she would be his wife.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Caitlin flew the short distance from Saint Germain Des Pres over the Seine river, and then over the Ile de la Cite.
She circled the smal , narrow island slowly, trying to take it al in. There, of course, was the Notre Dame, huge, enormous, towering over everything, the largest building on the island.
It was an overwhelming structure. The thought of finding whatever it was she needed inside it seemed daunting.
She circled the island again, trying to take it al in context, and noticed that the Notre Dame wasn’t the only building on it. There were rows of medieval houses, crooked al eyways, cobblestone streets, and other buildings spread throughout.
She looked down to see if the mobs were here, too, as they seemed to be everywhere else in Paris. Strangely enough, they were not. In fact, the square in front of the Notre Dame was completely empty. She found that to be odd. Why would the masses revolt everywhere else in the city, but not in its most famous place? Who was control ing them, exactly?
Caitlin swooped down lower, looking more careful y. Al was eerily silent. Was it a trap?
Caitlin landed in the huge, stone plaza before the church, having it to herself, and set Ruth down. The church was lit up by dozens of torches, and she stared up at its edifice in awe. It was massive, with huge, arched doors, and dozens of figures carved over it. She had been to many churches on her journey: she thought of the Duomo in Florence, St.
Mark’s in Venice, and dozens of others—but she had