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The train rattles as it moves beneath the city. Shadows rush past the windows, little more than streaks of movement, dark on dark. I can feel the ebb and flow of the Veil, the drumbeat of ghosts on every side. “Well, that’s a pleasant thought,” says my best friend, Jacob, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Scaredy-cat,” I whisper back, as if I’m not also creeped out by the presence of so many spirits.
You might think a city is a city is a city. But you’d be wrong. We came from Edinburgh, Scotland, a nest of heavy stones and narrow roads, the kind of place that always feels cast in shadow. But Paris? Paris is sprawling and elegant and bright.
Pauline looks at me. “And you, Cassidy?” she asks. “Do you believe?” Jacob arches a brow in my direction. “Yes, do tell me,” he says. “What is your stance on ghosts?”
I rock back on my heels. “Spider-Man’s Law.” “What?” “You know what I’m talking about. With great power …” I trail off, waiting for him to finish the line. Jacob mumbles in reply. “… mums ray resons …” “What was that?” I press. He scuffs his shoe along the floor. “… comes great responsibility.” “Exactly.” Jacob shifts, sighs. “I can’t believe you Spider-Man’ed me,” he grumbles as I reach for the film. Jacob covers his eyes, as if he can’t look. Unfortunately, I have to. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, I think as I pluck Catacombs data card from its slot in the foam and slip it into
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“You owe me so many comics,” Jacob says, but the joke is thin, and I can tell he’s unsettled. Even scared. I forget, sometimes, that so much of Jacob’s fear is an act, made to make me feel braver. Seeing him genuinely afraid is, well, terrifying.
We gather up our things, say goodbye to the Hotel Valeur (and the desk clerk, who seems particularly glad to see us go), and step out into the Paris sun. As we make our way to the Metro, I can’t help but look down at the sidewalk and remember how much history, how many secrets, is buried beneath our feet.
