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Back Dangerous Remedy
Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Contents
  7. Paris, June 1794
  8. PART ONE
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. PART TWO
  17. 1
  18. 2
  19. 3
  20. 4
  21. 5
  22. 6
  23. 7
  24. 8
  25. 9
  26. 10
  27. 11
  28. 12
  29. PART THREE
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. PART FOUR
  48. 1
  49. 2
  50. 3
  51. 4
  52. 5
  53. 6
  54. 7
  55. 8
  56. 9
  57. 10
  58. 11
  59. PART FIVE
  60. 1
  61. 2
  62. 3
  63. 4
  64. 5
  65. 6
  66. 7
  67. PART SIX
  68. 1
  69. 2
  70. 3
  71. 4
  72. 5
  73. 6
  74. 7
  75. 8
  76. 9
  77. 10
  78. 11
  79. 12
  80. 13
  81. 14
  82. Postscript
  83. A Ship in Le Havre Port
  84. Acknowledgements
  85. About the Author
  86. About Zephyr

Gingerly, she tried tugging at the gap between the two parts of the mask, but the girl yowled in pain.

‘Who are you? Did Docteur Comtois send you? I won’t do any more tests.’

Camille moved well away from the mask. ‘My name is Camille Laroche. I was hired to rescue you by someone claiming to be your father. Looks like he was lying about that, but not that you need rescuing.’

She held out her hand. The girl hesitated, then clasped it in a cold press of leather.

Something really wasn’t right here. But it was more than that. She’d been lied to. The duc had told her a sob story as if she were some silly girl he could manipulate. As if she were one of his servants. He wasn’t a father desperate to save his child. This was something else completely. Something a whole lot darker.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her anger in check, and hauled the girl up, catching her as she swayed.

The job was still the job. Sick, strange, twisted, but the job. This girl sure as hell needed rescuing, and being the first person to break someone out of the Conciergerie was nearly within reach. Even the duc’s lies weren’t going to keep her from that.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Olympe nodded.

‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’

Olympe was still gripping her hands. Her gloves were thin and supple, and sewn to the cuff of her dress. Camille frowned, turning the girl’s hand over to inspect the join.

‘Who did this?’

‘The docteur.’

She thought about this docteur sitting on a chair as he carefully stitched the girl into a fabric cage with his curved surgical needles. Lip curling in a silent snarl, she pulled a knife from her boot and made short work of the seam holding the glove and sleeve together. The stitches were stiff and brown with dried blood and tugged through the girl’s skin like a wound. They pulled away to leave a bracelet of blood blooming around her wrist. Camille thought for a moment she might be sick.

As she snipped through the final threads, Olympe stilled and drew in a sudden breath. The hairs on the back of Camille’s neck stood up. She spun on her heel, grasping her pistol.

A soldier had appeared in the doorway.

‘Who the hell are you?’

He strode forwards, lifting his baton.

Everything happened in a heartbeat. The pistol snagged in her belt as she tried to pull it out. The guard closed the gap, ruddy face twisted in fury. Olympe’s glove drifted to the floor.

The guard’s eyes widened – not at the pistol, but at Olympe’s bare hand.