Desired. Morgan Rice
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place where she could wake up and see someone she knew.
But she toughened herself. She knew there was no retreat, no option but to move forward. She’d just have to be brave, to find her way in this time and place. There was simply no other choice.
Caitlin had to get away from the crowd. She needed to be alone, to rest, to feed, to think. She had to figure out where to go, where to look for Caleb, and if he was even here. Just as important, she had to figure out why she was in the city, and in this time. She didn’t even know what year it was.
A person brushed passed her, and Caitlin reached out and grabbed his arm, overwhelmed with a sudden desire to know.
He turned and looked at her, startled at being stopped so abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing how dry her throat was, and how ragged she must have appeared, as she uttered her first words, “but what year is it?”
She was embarrassed even as she asked it, realizing that she must have seemed crazy.
“Year?” the confused man asked back.
“Um… I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to… remember.”
The man looked her up and down, then slowly shook his head, as if deciding there was something wrong with her.
“It’s 1789, of course. And we’re not even close to New Year’s, so you really have no excuse,” he said, shaking his head derisively, and marching off.
1789. The reality of those numbers raced through Caitlin’s mind. She recalled that she had last been in the year 1791. Two years. Not that far off.
Yet, she was in Paris now, an entirely different world than Venice. Why here? Why now?
She racked her brain, trying desperately to remember her history classes, to remember what had happened in France in 1789. She was embarrassed to realize that she couldn’t. She kicked herself once again for not paying closer attention in class. If she had known back in high school that she’d one day be traveling back in time, she’d have studied her history through the night, and would have made an effort to memorize everything.
It didn’t matter now, she realized. Now, she was a part of history. Now, she had a chance to change it, and to change herself. The past, she realized, could be changed. Just because certain events had happened in the history books, it didn’t mean that she, traveling back, couldn’t change them now. In a sense, she already had: her appearance here, in this time, would affect everything. That, in turn, could, in its own small way, change the course of history.
It made her feel the importance of her actions all the more. The past was hers to create again.
Taking in her elegant surroundings, Caitlin began to relax a bit, and even to feel a bit encouraged. At least she had landed in a beautiful place, in a beautiful city, and in a beautiful time. This was hardly the stone age, after all, and it was not like she had appeared in the middle of nowhere. Everything around her looked immaculate, and the people were all dressed so nicely, and the cobblestone streets shined in the torchlight. And the one thing she did remember about Paris in the 18th century was that it was a luxurious time for France, a time of great wealth, one in which kings and queens still ruled.
Caitlin realized that the Notre Dame was on a small island, and she felt the need to get off it. It was just too crowded here, and she needed some peace. She spotted several small foot bridges leading off it, and headed towards one. She allowed herself to hope that maybe Caleb’s presence was leading her in a particular direction.
As she walked over the river, she saw how beautiful the night was in Paris, lit by the torchlight all along the river, and by the full moon. She thought of Caleb, and wished he was by her side to enjoy the sight with her.
As she walked across the bridge, looking down at the water, memories overcame her. She thought of Pollepel, of the Hudson River at night, of the way the moon lit up the river. She had a sudden urge to leap off the bridge, to test her wings, to see if she could fly again, and to soar high above it.
But she felt weak, and hungry, and as she leaned back, she couldn’t even feel the presence of her wings at all. She worried if the trip back in time had affected her abilities, her powers. She didn’t feel nearly as strong as she once had. In fact, she felt nearly human. Frail. Vulnerable. She didn’t like the feeling.
After Caitlin crossed the river, she walked down side streets, wandering for hours, hopelessly lost. She walked through twisting, turning streets, further and further from the river, heading north. She was amazed by the city. In some respects, it felt similar to Venice and Florence in 1791. Like those cities, Paris was still the same, even to the way it appeared in the 21st century. She had never been here, but she had seen photos, and she was shocked to recognize so many buildings and monuments.
The streets here, too, were mostly cobblestone, filled with horse and carriages, or the occasional horse with a lone rider. People walked in elaborate costumes, strolling leisurely, with all the time in the world. Like those cities, there was no plumbing here either, and Caitlin couldn’t help noticing the waste in the streets, and recoiling at the awful stench in the summer heat. She wished she still had one of those small potpourri bags that Polly had given her in Venice.
But unlike those other cities, Paris was a world unto itself. The streets were wider here, the buildings were lower, and they were more beautifully designed. The city felt older, more precious, more beautiful. It was also less crowded: the further she went from the Notre Dame, the fewer people she saw. Maybe it was just because it was late at night, but the streets felt nearly empty.
She walked and walked, her legs and feet growing weary, searching around every corner for any sign of Caleb, any clue that might lead her in a special direction. There was nothing.
Every twenty blocks or so the neighborhood changed, and the feeling changed, too. As she headed further and further north, she found herself ascending a hill, in a new district, this one with narrow alleyways, and several bars. As she passed by a corner bar, she saw a man sprawled out, drunk, unconscious against the wall. The street was completely empty, and for a moment, Caitlin was overcome by the worst hunger pang. She felt like it was tearing her stomach in half.
She saw the man lying there, zoomed in on his neck, and saw the blood pulsing within it. At that moment, she wanted more than anything to descend on him, to feed. The feeling was beyond an urge – it was more like a command. Her body screamed at her to do it.
It took every last ounce of Caitlin’s will to look away. She would rather die of starvation than hurt another human.
She looked around and wondered if there were a forest near here, a place she could hunt. While she had seen some occasional dirt roads and parks in the city, she hadn’t seen anything like a forest.
At just that moment, the door to the bar burst open, and a man stumbled out of it – thrown out, actually – by one of the wait staff. He cursed and screamed at them, clearly drunk.
Then he turned and set his sights on Caitlin.
He was well built, and he looked at Caitlin with ill intent.
She felt herself tense up. She wondered again, desperately, whether any of her powers remained.
She turned and walked away, walking faster, but she sensed the man following her.
Before she could turn, a second later, he grabbed her from behind, in a bear hug. He was faster and stronger than she had imagined, and she could smell his awful breath over her shoulder.
But the man was also drunk. He stumbled, even as he held her, and Caitlin focused, remembered her training, and sidestepped and swept him, using one of the fighting techniques that Aiden had taught her on Pollepel. The man went flying, landing on his back.
Caitlin suddenly had a flashback to Rome, of the Colosseum, of fighting on the stadium floor while being charged by multiple fighters. It was so vivid, for a moment, she forgot where she was.
She snapped out of it just in time. The drunk man got up, stumbled, and charged her again. Caitlin waited to the last second, then sidestepped, and he went flying, falling flat on his own