She could hear her mother gasp. “Did you get a good look at her?”

“No. She’s about my height, but she was wearing a wig. Oh, and she’s in great shape; she chased my ass all over Paris. I used the spell and found a place to hide. A circus of all places.”

“Where are you now?” Audrey was clearly ready to pepper her with questions. “Are you safe?” She was nearly shrieking. “I can’t get ahold of Gaston, but you need to call the police. I knew I should have come with you.”

“I’m fine. I’m back in my room.”

“Don’t leave. Call Gaston if you go anywhere.” Audrey was speaking rapidly. “You need to come home. Barrow has the painting now—”

“Mom.” Lara cut her mother off, trying to sound composed, but her heart was pounding. She really wasn’t safe here, but she couldn’t go home yet. As she held the phone, Lara checked under the bed and behind the closet, then pulled back the shower curtain and even the heavy drapes that led to a balcony—all empty. “Barrow thinks it’s a rare painting. I also saw its twin today. A painting called Cecile Cabot Takes Flight. Our Cecile—I don’t think she was the real Cecile, Mom.”

“What do you mean?” Audrey seemed to struggle with what to say next. “Who was she, then?”

“I don’t know,” said Lara, twirling the phone cord. “But I can’t come home until I find out. The spell protected me today. It will keep protecting me.” It wasn’t just the spell. While she couldn’t admit this to her mother, Althacazur knew she was in Paris. He’d orchestrated this entire day, she knew that. He’d promised her answers, a “scavenger hunt,” but he’d also protected her today. That was one of the reasons she wasn’t banging on Gaston’s door right now.

Her mother audibly sighed. “Do you have enough candles?”

“I do. I feel such a connection to this woman and this mystery. I need to do this.”

She hung up and contemplated her next call. Finally, she picked up the hotel phone and punched in the numbers.

The voice picked up on the second ring. “Archer.”

Oh, that voice. Lara felt she could breathe again, and she closed her eyes, sinking into the pillow. She’d missed him. “It’s me.”

“How is Paris?” He had taken on an intimate tone. She could imagine him turning away from the door so Doyle couldn’t hear him. The last time she’d seen him—on their first date—she’d told him that she’d imagined Todd at the gala. Sinking a little from the memory of it, Lara thought she must have been an idiot to tell him that.