The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

I was dreaming about a certain cute Spanish boy feeding me French chocolates when a hand on my shoulder shook me from the depths of sleep.

“Five more minutes, Dad,” I said as I rolled over and tried to pull the covers over my head.

“Mackenzie,” a voice that wasn’t my dad called. “We need to leave now. The cops are downstairs.”

I sat straight up in bed, and after rubbing the sleep from my eyes, found Lucia’s face staring back at me.

“Whoa, personal space,” I said.

My breath’s probably not great, and hers certainly isn’t roses and sunshine.

“Unless you want every inch of your personal space inspected by France’s finest, you need to get your skinny butt out of bed.”

“Is this because of the tomb?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I could go ask them if you want.”

“It’s too early for sarcasm,” I said as I threw back the covers and popped out of bed. “I haven’t even had my coffee.”

The clock on the nightstand read 10:14 A.M. I pulled on the same grimy pair of jeans I’d worn the night before – which wasn’t ideal – slipped on my sheath harness and strapped my dagger in place. After that, I went into the bathroom and began dumping toiletries into my duffel bag. Lucìa buzzed around the room scooping up random tools and flashlights and whatever else we’d sloughed off before bed. Within a couple of minutes, we were packed and ready to leave.

Lucìa texted Marc on her cell while I raided the minibar for bottled water and jars of assorted nuts. Whatever credit card the hotel had for us would be unusable after this, so I figured I might as well rack up the bill.

“Marc’s down the street in the car,” she said, paraphrasing the text she had just received. “Jordan will be meeting us here any minute.”

Moments later there was a soft knock at the door. I looked through the peephole and saw Jordan with a duffel bag in each hand. I undid the locks and let him in.

“The halls are empty so far,” he said as he brushed passed me.

I closed the door, then turned the lock and set the latch.

“Marc will pull up as soon as I text him that we’re ready.” She raised one eyebrow and asked, “You guys ever climbed a rope?” I squinted at her and shook my head.

“I have,” Jordan said, “but Kenzie’s not wild about heights.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, before remembering, “Oh, the tree fort.”

Jordan nodded.

He’d built a tree fort out of “borrowed” construction site wood in an oak tree near his house. Initially, shimming up a knotted rope was the only way up, but when he realized that I wouldn’t even try to climb up, he nailed handholds into the tree so I could join him.

“Heights don’t scare me necessarily,” I said. “It’s falling from height that’s the issue. Landings are a concern as well.” I looked back at Lucía and asked, “Wait, why are we talking about climbing?”

“Technically it’s descending,” Jordan amended.

“Well, it’s a piece of cake, really,” Lucía said. She smiled, but the mirth didn’t travel past her lips. “It’s the only way to avoid the cops in the lobby.”

She slid open the curtains, revealing a sliding glass door that opened onto a small balcony. Lucìa opened the door and we stood there looking down on the three-story drop. A boxy white police car was parked on the curb. Its doors were open, and the light bar was flashing garish blue lights.

“We can totally do this,” Lucìa said.

I shook my head no. She gave another forced smile and a hearty thumbs up. I glared right back at her and gave her the finger. I was more than prepared to match her positivity with negativity of my own.

Lucìa tied a complicated knot around one of the wrought iron bars of the rail while I texted Marc to come get us. She was tugging hard on the rope to test the knot as Marc pulled up in the SUV. He got out of the vehicle and peaked into the hotel lobby before giving us a thumbs up and motioning with both hands for us to hurry. Lucìa threw the rope down over the railing while Jordan and I tossed our collection of duffle bags down to the street. Marc began packing the bags in the SUV as the three of us contemplated the climb down.

“Ladies first?” Jordan asked Lucía.

“Why don’t you show us how it’s done,” Lucìa said.

Jordan grabbed me by the shoulders. “Kid, you’ll be fine.”

I shook my head. My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it in my throat.

“Watch how I do it and listen to Lucía,” he added.

Jordan grabbed the rope and swung his legs over the edge of the balcony rail. He squeezed his knees together and crossed his ankles around the rope.

“Just like sliding down a playground pole,” Jordan added.

I nodded. I wasn’t sure if my voice would work.

I’m fairly sure a fall wouldn’t kill me. It will just really, really hurt though.

My hands were like ice and my teeth began to chatter in the 70-degree morning air.

I don’t want to do this.

“You see how he’s holding on with his hands and legs, Kenz?” Lucìa asked. I nodded. “You think you can do that?”

I shook my head no again.

“Isn’t that the same type of rope that snapped last night,” I said, more statement than question.

“Well, yes,” Lucia admitted, “but the falling Boy Scout thingy probably clipped it.”

“Probably?”

“Almost definitely.”

There was a banging on our door and then a voice said, “Ouvrir, c’est la police!”

“Kenzie!” Lucìa said, through clenched teeth. “We have to go now!”

I’ve stabbed a psychotic knight in the eye, shot a would-be assassin and body checked a man with a rifle into the side of a helicopter. I can climb down a rope.

I took a deep breath and stepped over the railing and looked down to see Jordan with his arms up.

“I’ll catch you if I fall,” Jordan said. My face must have shown some doubt because he followed up with, “I can squat two of you Kenzie. Catching your bony-ass won’t be a problem.”

I took a deep breath and nodded. The cops began banging harder on the door as I stepped gingerly over the waist-high rail and onto the lip of the ledge. Another deep breath and I had both hands on the rope. The scariest part was when my feet left the ledge. I held my breath and hung in place.

“Kenz, you’ve got to move!” Lucía said.

Hand over hand. Slide. Hand over hand. Slide.

Before I knew it, my toe touched the ground.

“I did it,” I said.

“I knew you could,” he said.

“You’re a good liar,” I said as I kissed him on the cheek. “And my butt isn’t bony by the way!”

“Eeeehh...” Jordan said, as his face mimed disagreement.

“Coming down!” Lucía called.

I looked up in time to see Lucìa vault over the rail one-handed while holding the rope in the other. I gasped as she swung away from the balcony in a long arc and then came to a running stop down on the ground next to us.

“That’s how it’s done,” Lucìa said as she flung the rope away from her.

“That’s the best mic-drop I’ve ever seen,” Jordan said.

I stared up at her in amazement. “You’re a complete savage,” I said.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”

“Arrête toi là!” someone yelled from above. We looked up to see two police officers, one male and one female, staring down at us. As we broke for the car, they disappeared back into the hotel. Neither cop attempted to climb down the rope.

I did something trained cops won’t even try! Wait, are we about to have a car chase next?

I ran a detour over to the police car and slashed two of its tires with my dagger. The rubber parted like it was butter. I went to the front seat next and stabbed the CB radio. Marc honked the horn, and I sprinted to the SUV and dove into the backseat. He sped off as Jordan pulled the door shut.

As we rounded the corner of P Street, I looked back and caught sight of the cops staring at my handiwork. I couldn’t see their faces, but I assumed they were frowning.

Marc was looking back through the rear-view mirror. “Did they see our plates,” he asked.

“I doubt it,” I replied. “It was a bad angle from the balcony, and we were too far away when they come out of the hotel.”

“They saw the car though,” Lucìa said.

Marc shrugged as his eyes focused back on the road. “We’re one of a million black SUVs on the road, and it’s not like the cops are going to set up a roadblock for vandals. We’ll be on the freeway in five minutes, and from there we’ll be home free.”

***

“We were lucky you were out on a walk,” I said to Marc, before taking another bite of my ham and cheese croissant.

The car smell was a strange mix of morning breath, sweat, pastry and strong coffee.

I wish I’d showered before going to bed. They probably wish I did too.

“Lucía’s the one that saw them,” Marc answered. “I was just the getaway driver.”

“I got up early to get the layout of Rocamadour when I spotted the flashing blue lights through our window,” Lucía said. “You are not easy to wake up by the way.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” I agreed. Dad had once resorted to an airhorn.

We’d finally stopped for a lunchtime breakfast after driving a few hours west down the A89 highway, after passing through the Foret De La Double. All the pines and lakes were beautiful, and I probably would have enjoyed it more if we weren’t running from the law on an empty stomach.

As I popped the last of my sandwich into my mouth, I spotted the fifth castle of the day out my window. This one was a smaller than the rest, with only a single tower. Below the castle, a village of stone houses dotted the hill. I turned to show Jordan, but his eyes were closed, his head was all the way back and his mouth was wide open. Half of his breakfast sandwich was still on the seat beside him. I scooped it up and took a bite.

Lucía turned and said, “Isn’t France beautiful?”

“It is,” I replied. “It’d be a nice place to vacation.”

“This can be a vacation,” Marc said. “We have a ton of cash, and no one knows we’re here. We could forget about this quest and your destiny for a while and just have some fun. I think we’ve all earned it at this point.”

Unchaperoned in France with cash, best friends, and a cute boy that’s into me, vs a quest for some old sword. Why is this even an argument?

“Maybe we can take that vacation after we find my sword,” I said, though I’m not sure I believed the answer coming out of my mouth. Marc grunted in a way that conveyed that he didn’t either.

We drove south another hour before the green grasslands and rolling hills of the plains gave way to thick pine forests and craggy, rock-faced cliffs of the Midi-Pyrenees Mountains. We could see our destination from miles away – a series of medieval stone buildings built in terraced layers along the upper portion of the tallest cliff in the region.

“Did everyone in France used to live in a castle?” Jordan asked, as he pointed at the largest of the stone structures near the top of the cliff. He’d snorted himself awake a few minutes prior.

“That’s actually the Chapel of Notre Dame,” Marc corrected. “The sword should be up there near the main entrance.”

The road snaked its way upward through a deep ravine that ran parallel to the swift blue waters of the Dordogne River. The road dead-ended in a rectangular parking area ringed in by the thickly wooded forest. There were only a few cars in the lot, and Marc pulled into a spot next to a map framed with pine logs showing various hiking trails. We chose the one that went towards the chapel and followed a narrow dirt road about a quarter of a mile until it opened up into a clearing at the foot the small community of Rocamadour.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jordan said, echoing the thoughts going through my own head.

We looked up at the stone stairs that zigzagged back and forth up the entire length of the cliff face.

“Well darn,” I said. “That’s a lot of steps.”