“Chang, what did that report say?” Relaxing music resumes, but no one listens. The energy is tight, nervous between the three of us. “Chang?”

She types search words into the web browser on her phone. “We have a problem.”

The driver brakes to a stop beside a closed bakery. “Allez-y. Au revoir, mesdames.” He pulls on the e-brake, then makes a shooing motion with his hands; he’s not going anywhere. Chang tries to negotiate with him, mentioning more money in French, and I offer to pay more, too, double, if he’ll just take us the rest of the way. The driver shakes his head and says something else. Pas la peine. Not worth it.

I pay for our ride here, to the middle of nowhere I recognize. When we exit, the sign on the cab’s roof goes dark, no longer accepting fares. Chang turns to me with a sigh. “Who knew we had the one law-abiding cab driver in Paris?”

“What law is he following?” I ask. The car peels away from the curb, then makes a hard left out of sight.

“The report on the radio. There’s a citywide lockdown from now to sunrise—I can’t remember that ever happening. Must be something serious. They just announced it—anyone out will be stopped by police and questioned.” Chang nods to where our driver disappeared. “Guess he didn’t want to be stopped.”

Shit. “Are you okay with being out still?”

Chang hesitates. The fluorescent lamp of a store selling insurance casts a red glow on her skin. Trash litters the doorway beside us. “I usually see the sun come up. We should stay out of sight if you still want to go underground—avoid the police. If we’re caught, be prepared to see my best old and confused woman bit. You’ll have to be my delinquent granddaughter.” She smiles, revealing a dimple in her chin.

The street’s silence is eerie. Dark shadows seem to multiply the longer we stand here. Along with my chance of being arrested, or worse—sent home to California.

We keep to the alleys wherever possible, cutting over to adjacent roads when we don’t hear any cars. Twice, voices rise around a corner, and we duck into a recessed doorway. When we pass a sign directing people toward the Musée d’Orsay, I pause. “Isn’t the main entrance to the catacombs behind us?”

Chang turns to me with surprise. “We’re not going there. It’s after hours, and there’s no way we could enter that fortress.” Forever ago, I stood in front of what I termed a green toolshed with Seb. Its metal doors would be impenetrable by my measly human hands. “Besides, there are police in that square by now—wonder why they’re shutting down the city, very peculiar.”

“Where are we going, if not to the main entrance?”

Chang resumes walking in the same direction. “An off-the-record entrance.”