Where there had been trees were charred trunks. Where there had been grass, mud and frost. Where the Seine had run, a low icy river crept past a mound of rubble into a ruined city. The city appeared, in late afternoon, in the inclimate early winter of the year, as a gray, fog-shrouded mass of broken towers and spires. Around it, elevated roadways stood dormant and fractured, as if by the tail of some large imaginary beast.

      The line of vehicles running into the remains of Paris shifted to one side to avoid massive chunk of rebar and asphalt fallen from interchange above. There were no other vehicles, no traffic around this ghost city that had once housed millions.

      Sitting in the back of the Jeep that pulled her trailer, wrapped in bright red cloak, Claudia wept, and was for miles the only spot of color in the drab surroundings. All the soldiers with them wore black. Those with her had known of Paris, but only she had lived there.

      Claudia pushed the beads of blood from her face and eyes with the ball of her thumb and really looked.  She had practiced this repeatedly with David, sat through lessons with Daerick or Estasi; even Rachael had offered training. Now, Claudia looked on Paris with eyes no human possesed and saw.

      A squat collection of ruins was once part of a university, transformed for her vision into a more graceful structure and then ghost figures moved in and out of it. Students had marched here with picket signs. FREE GAUL! LIBERTE! The Students had marched and then with force of their mass stopped vehicles. Later, a young man had received a bomb from one of the Protestant Underground with instructions to go and place it near the overpass of the roadway.

      Elsewhere, a building with once bright sign swinging slowly from electric cables had been a theatre, had shown old movies and had raised funds to restore damaged film. On the Day of Bombs, the far wall had been blown in and hundreds had been slain, crushed as they watched Casablanca.

      "We'll always have Paris."

      On this street, where lingering debris forced them to stop and clear the way, three female Wolfbreed had been lined up and shot. A building ahead had been inhabited by snipers loyal to the Protestant Underground for many months during the fall of Paris.

      Bridges on which lovers had met had been washed into the river. These gaping holes in the ground and scorch marks were what was left of the Paris Metro. Stations had been planted with little bombs like seeds and sprouted into powerful explosions that killed many in fire and heat then ripped through the layers of street above.

      Here and there along the way, a train car sat on the cratered sidewalk above and showed signs that for a time, at least, it had sheltered survivors.

      Those buildings that had survived were the most modern, the steel-framed towers found in so many cities, necessitated by the bureaucracy of building safty codes; they could withstand earthquake, internal explosion, impact, tornado or a dozen other calamities. These stood, offices and hotels, sometimes banks or colleges. Their automated robotic window cleaners and scrolling electronic signs no longer functioned, and most seemed ominously empty by lack of light within.

      One of these the Americans must have stayed in. Others could have sheltered a number of refugees. They dotted the city, these towers, sometimes panes of glass missing or having a section impaled by car or older building.

      Row houses remained in many blocks and narrow roads. So long as no major transit station or government building had been close by they were spared. Some had to be, Michael still lived in Paris. So the Metropolitain Noir still operated.

      Yet, it was devastating what had taken place. Now, as night fell, it grew colder still and flickering lights were all that marked the scattered places of human or inhuman habitation. Notre Dame had been spared. The great Gothic Cathedral stood on the Ile de Cite, trees struggling to live in its grounds and several stained glass masterpieces missing where it had rippling plastic for windows.

      Claudia gasped to see it. And the Louvre, the Arch de Triumphe? The Eiffel Tower could be seen, but it had always been sturdy construction of metal frame with cleverly angled truss work. Though, it lacked its once impressive night lighting.

      A motorbike stopped beside the Jeep. The driver lifted visor on her helmet and sought Claudia. "LC Gates sends word that the Morté mercs have made contact. They would speak with you, Lady Claudia."

      "Morté mercs? You mean the personal army of Aje Morté?" Claudia saw the soldier nod. Aje Morté's army were loyal only to Aje himself and were really just another terrorist group, soldiers, or rather an army for hire. That was likely why the American called them "mercs." They were well trained, had been the only force that had successfully infiltrated Alexandria, since its establishment as a Haven. And after being, mysteriously, pardoned Aje Morté had brought them here, where Aje led the forces within the city yet loyal to the Union. Whether he did so by order from Alexandria or all on his own was debatable.

      "I will go," Claudia said. She gave a nod to Hansel as he questioned from the driver seat. "I'll go," she repeated for him. As Claudia climbed from the jeep footsteps clicking rapidly behind told her that Ceci and Joyce were rushing to catch up. Claudia had encouraged these first girls who had become Guarmaidens, now Ceci and Joyce were often her escort.

      Claudia moved toward the front of the line just slow enough for the two human Peacekeepers to keep her in sight. Justin was ahead, his Peacekeepers crouched but armed and watchful about their halted vehicles. Claudia passed with a nod. They camouflaged well in their black uniforms. Further ahead, she came to Rege and his staff. The Lieutenant Colonel favored appearing in his dress uniform jacket with bright white shirt beneath and always stood out.

      "I was told Morté's men were about," Claudia said.

      With a tip of his head Walker, at Gates' side, gestured across the cracked pavement. A squad of soldiers in uniform exactly that of the DG but for the black color of the jackets crossed from shadowed ruins that had been a storefront bakery beneath a number of apartments.

      Of the half-dozen, one spoke to Claudia, Parisian French. He said, "I am Captain St. John of the Army of Paris under Monsieur Morté. Our Lady Faye would speak with you, Lady Claudia." He made a bow then and afterward the other five bowed at the waist. "We see the Sacred Battalion is returned. They may take up again in the hotel, or they may go, as we suggest your tribe do, to Notre Dame. It is now our check in point for all refugees and visitors, your people will find guides there and shelter such as we can provide it."

      "Where is Faye, Captain?" Claudia asked.

      "Underground as always, My Lady. She knew you would come. Please follow us."

      Claudia bought time with a nod. Ceci and Joyce were with her and looking over the new soldiers. "Ceci, call your General. Say that he and John should take all the Goth to Notre Dame Cathedral where there are refugees. Let them know the Haven still operates and Faye has asked for me. Let them know I will ask David to go with us, and you two of course."

      Ceci made her call as Claudia called silently to David. They were always linked, being he had turned her and it was easy to call for him. Actually, he had sensed the intention and was on his way as she called.

      Looking down the line of vehicles, Claudia saw David had brought Sascha along. Now Ceci made a sign that all had been passed along. Claudia gave a nod to the soldiers waiting. Rege spoke up from behind. "I must speak with your Lady Faye also, Captain," he said.

      St. John gave a nod. "Follow closely," he said. Two of his squad fell to the side and Claudia saw they took up position behind. Walker and Rachael both flanked their commander. Claudia turned to focus on their path.

      St. John was taking them into the darkness within ruined structures and then out into another roadway. Here they turned and after a short while came to one of the large craters. Claudia saw the soldiers descend smoothly and coming to the edge saw a staircase had been built inside post-explosion to allow access to street from below. Claudia climbed down just after the Parisian soldiers. Her Peacekeepers came after her.

      It was dark, but Claudia could see they were within the remains of a Metro station. St.John called for lights and he and all his soldiers turned on pen lights mounted on their weapons. Joyce took a larger flashlight from a leg pocket. "It was the Metro?" Ceci asked.

      Claudia translated as one of St. John's men answered, "the terrorists took out the control center for the Paris Metro and their power. Many, but not all, stations were hit. The system has been out since before the war and the tunnels that were stable became the first shelters for many survivors."

      "Can you tell us if many still live in Paris?" Ceci asked in her own tolerable French, having an accent of a Belgian, "We saw many dead towns and cities as we travelled here. Are the people all dead?"

      Another of the soldiers fell into step beside the two Peacekeepers and answered Ceci. "Many people went over to Gaul. When our government collapsed more ran to Gaul or to Belgium, some to Switzerland or Germany, which ever side they chose to be with. And yes, many died. But you will see, we still live in Paris in the remaining buildings. We are working to clean up and repair. Many of our people are sheltered in the outer parts of the city, in Versailles and St. Denis. The churches they go to for assignments. Everyone has to work if they want to live."

      "Martial law?" Claudia asked.

      "Direct Union control," St. John said, "Our Lady Faye as Ambassador and Haven Keeper with Monsieur Morté are our leaders. Also, the Metro Noir operates some of the city. Together we ration power and food and give out work assignments."

      Claudia nodded. The beams of light moved before them and lit the way though the tunnels. She saw that these sections at least were free of debris or abandoned cars. Here and there metal beams were in place to reinforce the tunnel ceiling. At the next station, this one seemingly untouched by the bombs, they came to a door newer than the surrounding wall tiles, evident from the way the tiles were cut along the frame.  Captain St. John opened the door and they passed through.

      They were within some underground work tunnel. Here large pipes and cables ran in all directions beneath the street and ladders climbed up to manholes or grills. Water was running beneath; they walked on grille-work suspended above the unseen floor. St. John called for them to follow further.

      Climbing a metal staircase, they came to a sort of catwalk, and following after the soldiers, Claudia passed through a doorway. This looked like part of the Haven. Claudia had never fully understood the status of the Haven property in legal terms. The Darkling under protection dwelled in ancient catacombs and deep chambers beneth old graveyards covered by the expanding city but they also took over sewer tunnels and access tunnels that contaned the workings of the city old and new. Old boiler chambers and steam tunnels were theirs as much as the sewers or catacombs once serving as secret meeting and burial grounds.

      Here it was a warm steam tunnel with old metal bridge crossing it into another chamber. And here, in the far chamber was a drop and then water. This was the part Claudia remembered. Much of the underground parts of the City were eternally flooded and so the Darkling traveled the waters in wide shallow boats, living on the islands.

       "Why is all of this here?" Joyce asked.

      Claudia whispered to the girls, "As a city grows it often grows in all directions, whether you see it or not. Wherever a foundaton was dug for a tall building and its sub basments, or a tunnel for trains there must be passages, however small, for workmen to run water, electricity, waste, air, oil, gas all these things in and out of underground structures. The more complex the pipes and cables the more need for future access, and so chambers are made. And along with the train tunnels and sub basements and access chambers there are large drainage sewers either ancient or new. And Paris being so old it is built overtop much older basements and graves and sewers. The catacombs of many european cities were underground burial chambers and housed all manner of secret meetings. Most large cities have a literal underground. And historcally it has been Darkling or criminals or other pariahs that have taken it upon themselves to dwell and survive here."

       "Often one crew of workers does not have but their one system mapped," Sascha said, "In Berlin we mapped miles of various tunnels, but large as that is, it does not compare to older cities like Rome or Paris."

       "Come along," St. John encouraged. He had one of the boats readied.

      With a nod Claudia climbed into the boat. She sat down to steady herself as it rocked. Ceci and Joyce came after her and then Sascha. David followed with the three Americans. The Captain sent his men in another boat and joined them. He pointed out the oars and begrudgingly Rachael and Walker took up the oars while St. John steered by the wooden rudder behind.

      Once the waters here had been full of Merrows and other water Faerie, now they seemed dead too. Coming to an island of brick they disembarked and followed St. John through another door. The chamber beyond was large and made of brick, its ceiling made of large number of groin vaults. Some of the walls were plastered, elsewhere it had chipped away. Claudia recalled a party in this room, many Vampyres and other Darkling. Faye had been seated upon an elegant couch.

      Now Faye appeared quite different. She came from another doorway, in a dress but it was tattered and stained at the hem. She was too pale and too thin, a Vampyre starving herself. Her hair was loose and tightly curled where Claudia had always seen her with glossy, pressed hair.

      There were no attendants, no human servants. Faye came toward them alone. The soldiers with St. John bowed to her as they had Claudia. Faye looked only at Claudia. "I am so glad you came, Claudia," she said.  Faye glanced quickly at the others, showed disdain. As she neared Faye reached for Claudia's face and then her belly. "What have those boys done to you?" she whispered.

      "You asked for me?" Claudia said quickly.

      "Oui," Faye sighed. "David you would be a Dear, wouldn't you?"

      Claudia understood Faye wanted David to give blood to her. Claudia felt it would have been right to offer, but she knew somehow it wasn't the best thing to do while pregnant, giving up of blood.

      Faye sank to the floor. There were no elaborate furnishings left, but there was a rug, worn and oriental. She fell upon it, large brown eyes rather glassy as she watched David. Claudia gestured for her Peacekeepers to be at ease and sat on the rug. "What is it the Lieutenant Colonel wishes of me this time?" Faye asked. David allowed her to fall back into his arms as he sat down. He seemed unusually tender with her. In blood she would be his aunt, a Vampyre turned by the one who had turned David's maker...he was her closest Vampyre relative here.

      "Lady Faye, we need information about the movements of the Darkling Guard. We are not at liberty to contact our superiors now, but have not been informed of their plans either. We were forced into leaving the border by the EL had to come here with the Goth. I need to know how secure we can expect to be."

      "Later, Lieutenant Colonel," Faye said, "Later for you." She was drawing blood from David's wrist then. Only a moment and then she was sitting upright. Faye smoothed her dark kinky hair from her face, the yellow cast to her skin returning, her natural color.

      "Are you well enough?" Claudia asked.

      Faye made a small nod. She moistened her lips before speaking again. "All my Darkling went to the Guard. As you suspect, there is something planned. Shade has called off his previous restrictions. Anything goes, even death by fang, so long as it is aimed at the enemy. They are close now, the largest gathering of Darkling I have ever seen. Aje is out meeting with them. They will pass through, some of them, to bring us supplies. Shade arranged for that much, to bring in supplies to Paris with the Darkling Guard. And then they move on to fight."

      "I thought as much," Claudia said.

      "Don't," Faye said before Claudia could question further, she had meant to. "I did want to see you in particular. Claudia, I have kept my post here and do not wish to leave. Aje wishes for no other duty but to fight when it is right and to fight well. There are members of the Metro Noir, loyal to the Union as your father, but few are experienced in politics or with great responsibility. Others who would have been experienced made themselves unworthy by running. You must rally the French."

      "I might have on my own if Shade had not ordered the SB to stop us!" Claudia said.

      Faye showed her palm in calming gesture. "He did his best. You know what it is like to lead a tribe, to help in leading a nation. You do it well, still, can you imagine being responsible for all the Union? None of us envy Shade. He did what he believed right at the time, I promise."

      "And does he say I should rally the French?"

      "No, Claudia, I ask it. As one who has lived in France more years than most who consider themselves native. I ask you to speak to them. Your John is a fine leader, but here you must outshine him. You, being Parisian, and now having some amount of political power. Whether you ask them to declare Goth or not is up to you. But I ask you speak to them. Do here what you and John did in Germany. They will follow."

      "I can do that."

      Faye smiled, "I know you must have wept at the destruction. I did myself. Times have been most difficult. They have been eating pets and...I don't want to speak of the horrors really. We continued to find corpses a year after the last riots, after the government fell apart. Removing the broken rubble alone has taken so long, and we are ill prepared to rebuild with so many of our people gone. Claudia, you must make a speech for all the world to see. Ask them to come home. Ask them to rebuild Paris. But wait, wait until halloween."

      "Why?"

      "I hear things," Faye said, "apart from the movements of the DG. Something else is coming. When it's come, we'll know, and then you make the speech. Until then, you study."

      "I understand, get to know the situation I am to speak about."

      Faye made a nod, "Yes, it is what I suggest. We really have no food to spare, but if you want shelter I can allow you a number of buildings and spare power for its use. If you wish to help you will find assignments daily at the Cathedral. And that is where you will meet the people, really get to know them. If you have need, ask to be given some to work for you. It is all we can offer."

      "Faye, what of the monuments, and the museums? Did any survive?"

      Weak smile. "We lost many buildings. Many churches survived, because both sides respected them, but otherwise so many old buildings fell. And people, devastating loss of people. The Louvre was badly damaged in successive riots, but the art we have. The curators moved the collection of the Louvre to Versailles years ago in the first riots. Of course, they closed the palace and made no announcement regarding the art. I understand a few pieces were loaned to New York for safe keeping, the Mona Lisa for one. They don't show it however, only store it, out of respect for Paris."

      "I'm glad those at least are safe," Claudia sighed.

      "Our fashion designers immigrated to America, we may not get them back. So many left, Claudia. Would your father return? I know he is with Anne, but he was well loved here, and had some amount of political knowledge and influence. France needs someone to lead it."

      "A child," Claudia said, "I suggest nominating a very young person as leader of France, politically, most power will be in advisers, in the Armée de Paris, until things are settled, but a young leader will inspire the people. I will do what I can as well. I will look for a leader among the people. And whether France is to one day be Goth or not I feel it is important it stand on its own just now. But, Goth will certainly offer aid. I will make sure we do. You will have help."

      "I thank you, Claudia," Faye said in a sigh.

                      †               †               †

      The image he must have presented to them, twenty-one years old, tall, crowned with thorns, wearing clean bright-red jacket, and at his side a master-crafted sword...the very polish of the tall boots, the sparkling blue eyes...he must have looked a saint as he walked into the cathedral under the famous rose window. And the faces that greeted him, impoverished but determined Parisians sleeping on palletes and passing bread from one to another, he loved them immediately. "It's him!" they cried in whisper to each other, "the Leader of Goth, John is here!"

      John looked about at the carved faces of saints mixed in with those of flesh and felt at home. Alaric and Justin were at either side of him and immediately it was decided they had to help these people. John saw one of the resident Priests, there seemed to be a large team of them, along with nuns, monks and deacons. As the first drew closer John looked over the others more closely and noticed they were of varying orders, perhaps even faiths. They were working together.

      "You are John, Leader of Goth," the nearby Priest said, obviously Catholic.

      "I am."

      "Do you need help?"

      "No, Father, but perhaps I can offer help. What do these people need?"

      "The Metro Noir says we will have a shipment of supplies soon, but we are really in need of everything. Of course we have gathered from the city most of what we need, bedding, preserved foods. We boil water as we need."

      "And you have food for the soul," John smiled.

      The priest nodded but it was not entirely a communication of understanding any more than it was of agreement. These people including the holy men were without hope. John kept a smile as he looked at them. He saw expectant faces. "I see," he said. "Who runs the city then? Is there anyone who leads the people?"

      "The Metro Noir, the clergy, the Armée de Paris under Monsieur Morté, and our Haven Keeper Lady Faye, all in cooperation provide for the people."

      "Then why do they sleep here? I know the safety of churches, but the architectural, beautiful as it is does little for the body, it's much too drafty. Clearly these people should have the opportunity to stay in one of the towers, with private rooms they can call their own for a time. This place is for meeting, for worship. It becomes less special to them when they sleep in it."

      The old priest looked at John, looked him in the eyes an appeared to really see something else. "Yes," he said.

      "There should be music," John said.

      "We cannot spare power for the lights and organ here. We must request ration of power."

      John nodded. "Justin, Ceci and Joyce are with Claudia, and she with Faye. Get a message to Faye. These people need a tower to stay in."

      Justin called the message into his communicator.

      "And Alaric, these people need to be happy, at least for a little while. Find Music. Get as many people on it as you can, get them music, toys, whatever we can spare, no, whatever we have to give. Their basic bodily needs are beyond us, but their minds and souls have been neglected."

      "I'll take the issue up with the other Elders," Alaric said and left John.

      "John, Claudia is on her way with Faye."

      "Find Miko. I need to set up a call to Frankfurt. And Gerhard, is he filming this?"

      "We've seen his crew. They have been sending back reports since we came in sight of Paris."

      John pressed his lips together then spoke. "Then all the world will know what it is really like. I don't think I can do anything to enable the French themselves...I mean, what I feel I can do for them is to get others outside to send help. Even if the French return, they lost many people, they will require help in rebuilding."

      "Americans like doing that, seems we're always sending aid to other countries," Justin laughed.

      John laughed with him, "I know, even if they haven't solved their own problems."

      Patrick came toward John then. "I can get some speakers running and play music for them. The generators have diesel yet or we can run car batteries and recharge them later. I've taken up collection of suitable music, came up with a lot of classical or ambient type recordings that would be all right for a church."

      "So long as it is not melancholy, I'd appreciate your setting it up."

      "No problem," Patrick said with a grin.

      Vivianne came to John next. "Karina spoke to these priests," she said, "They don't even have incense. I figure we could light some, even give them some of our candles. They wouldn't be the sort a church would normally use, but Karina is of the opinion her candles are better." The young woman smiled wide. She held a bundle of candles and incense in her skirt.

      "Excellent, Vivianne. Have you found if there are any sick or injured?"

      "Yes, I thought of that. There is a sister in charge, says there is a hospital in another building. I will visit with them later, Karina as well."

      "Good. Good work, both of you," John said. Do we still have enough to eat?"

      Vivianne gave a nod. "Enough, Leader, we've been on rations."

      "Yes, Elonwey said as much," John said to himself, for Vivianne had left him. He was alone, but surrounded by bodies. John walked through the rows of sleeping bags and awed faces. They spoke to him, used French, and hardly understanding John answered in all the French he really knew. He smiled at each and whispered, "Je t'aime."

      John came to a crowned Madonna in an alcove, she was carved in the early Gothic style, short in her proportions, but still beautiful and saintly. Her hands were folded in prayer. John went down on one knee and kissed her stone feet. "Watch over me, Mother," he whispered in prayer.

      "What do you pray for?" a voice asked, accented with French but speaking English. John stood and lifted his eyes. A boy leaned against the stone wall below an empty sconce. He was smiling up at John almost slyly, reminded John of Mikolaj when they had first met, only he did not really look similar, this boy was much thinner and had gray eyes. "Today? Only that she continue to watch out for me."

      The tip of the boy's head said he understood. "Can I be one of your Goth? I saw on the news, in the Rhineland you made speeches and all the youth of towns followed. They say you and the lady were saved from death by miracle and bullets cannot hit you."

      "There was just the one miracle, I'm afraid, the rest was luck and bulletproof fabric," John laughed, "as for the following, I only invited them to see as I do, and those who wished followed."

      "But an entire city declared Goth and was spared for it. And you crossed battlefields to aide the injured."

      "We crossed a few battlefields, but only after most of the shooting was done."

      The boy smiled, "Still...you are a hero, like Monsieur Morté. He does not take followers and requires martial skills when he chooses soldiers."

      "What is your name then, I'd like to know."

      "Martyr St. Etienne."

      John thought for a moment, the accent was heavy. "Saint Stephen the Martyr," he said. The boy's name was pronounced mar-teir, but it was not a usual French name, so far as John knew, but a noun made a name by devout or humorous parents. "It's a good name, Martyr."

      "So, I can join your Goth? Can I follow if you go back to Goth?"

      "Well, it's really up to you. If you wish you can be Goth whether you live in France or elsewhere, it's all in how you live."

      "I know about the way. Your battle cry is love and your sword is peace. Some people say you will be a saint because your message is the same as Christ's. If I follow you, I can be an excellent Fisher of Men. I can get a lot of people here to follow. And I can be your guide."

      "I don't know about the rest, Martyr, but I could use a guide. Come with me, you can tell me all you know about the situation here in Paris. I am interested in the problems here."

      Martyr smiled again, really seemed sly, or maybe knowing. He straightened, stood not taller than John's shoulder. "I am at your service, My Leader," he said with elegant bow. Whatever the boy's history he understood romantic gesture, and much of the manner of the Goth was based on romantic gesture.

                      †               †               †

      Claudia led the group that rejoined the Goth, and coming into the Cathedral of Notre Dame found dancing. There were candles lit and sticks of incense burning in cracks in the walls, and in the midst of the subtle light there was upbeat instrumental booming from a half dozen speakers and there was dancing! Hundreds of them, maybe nearly a thousand, all within the large interior space of the cathedral twirling about in time to the music.

      Claudia smiled. She saw faces she knew. John had to be the instigator of this. Claudia knew of no Christian rite that involved dance, but somehow tonight it seemed very much appropriate to the location. She pulled down her red velvet hood and smoothed her hair about her crown. "We should join in," she said to the others with her. "Lieutenant Colonel?"

      He shied from her, grinned. "I'm long out of practice at dancing with women."

      Claudia had to laugh. "Please, I'll lead."

      He acquiesced. Claudia took Rege's left hand in her right and led him further across the floor. Switching hands then Claudia touched her right hand to Rege's shoulder. Formal dancing had been part of her ladylike upbringing and whatever he said Rege did know how to dance. They spun through the crowd, seeing Sascha and David performing more stylish moves over the stone.

      There was singing. Smiling to herself, Claudia searched the interior as she danced. Faye. Faye was sitting on their altar, and she was belting out lyrics Claudia couldn't recognize, though they sounded beautiful.

      "Latin perhaps?" Rege asked.

      "Yes, I think Faye would have known Latin."

      They danced a fast square through the room, passing familiar and unfamiliar faces. The people here, the Parisian survivors looked overjoyed and Claudia suspected it was mainly the dancing. When would they have thought to dance? But they were alive while others were dead. Morning was fine, but then life should be celebrated. Claudia had learned that with the Goth. Food could feed the body, medicinal herbs could be used against illness, but music, singing and dancing could cure poor spirits.

      Claudia found her partner stolen. J.J. spun Rege toward himself and left Claudia facing one of the Parisians. She realized as she took his hand to dance that she knew the face. "Michael!"

      "Ma Petite, you made it!" Michael said happily.

      The music was shifting. Claudia turned for a moment to see Rachael was standing near the altar, battered acoustic guitar in hand. And then Patrick was there with his guitar and Adelle setting up microphones and amps. Other joined them. One man came unwrapping a violin and Claudia just knew how hard he had worked to save the fine instrument. There was a boy who beat a plastic barrel with sticks like a drum. Several more musicians appeared.

      Just as uplifting and not more modern in sound, but this was the music of the people rather than the music saved for churches or theatres and the guitar Rachael played gave it a rather Spanish influence. Still, the people danced and more freely than before.

      "Oh, Michael, how have you been able to stand it?" Claudia asked, dragging him to the outer edge of movement.

      He smiled weakly and brushed a hand through his white hair. "How do any of us stand it? We have no choice. The alternative is giving up on Paris. How could we do that?" His voice was soft but had a power to it, as Claudia had recalled. The most hideous crime did not make him shout, he merely sated his outrage with utter calm and won many to his side because of this.

      "Faye has asked that I rally the people. It seems they've already been rallied."

      Michael shook his head, "It is a good start, your young Leader's work. But we need more. We need a leader of our own."

      Claudia shook her head, "It can't be me. I really believe France must have a face of its own before it can join a larger group. And no names will do, it must be someone formerly unknown, fresh. France and Paris were great, but now they are not. We need someone young to symbolize for us the rebirth, someone young enough to see the country through the painful stage of rebuilding. Michael, even if other nations sent aid, supplies can't easily reach Paris. Only a few roads are open and within most streets are cracked and cratered."

      Michael nodded. "I know. But will you at least speak to the people?"

      "Of course," Claudia said with reassuring nod. "I agreed with Faye on that. But a few days time will be needed to get to know the situation better and plan my words. So, anything you can educate me on would be helpful. Any suggestions for a leader to name?"

      "I can't help you with a leader. If only we had a Joan of Arc offering to lead us as you have John."

      Claudia smiled, "then you will stay with me and fill me in on all the people who do retain any power, the players as we say."

      "Of course."

      Claudia smiled again, "I wish my Father were here."

                      †               †               †

      Claudia had chosen the large corner office of one of the higher floors for their stay. Here she said it would allow the Parisians to take lower intact floors and walk less flights of stairs while the Goth had a view of the city in ruins that must motivate her. Besides, as they were all sleeping on blankets and in bags the large space could sleep many of the Goth, all the crew and Elders certainly. As they settled in, John sunk down on his bedroll. First the days of travel and then the dancing and the hike across the city to this tower, he was tired.

      "Don't sleep," Justin called as he passed, "I'm cooking dinner. Pizza," Justin grinned.

      Claudia put her blankets near John's just as Elonwey claimed the other side. But then David was already lurking with the three other Vampyres who claimed now to be Goth. The crew such as they were set up their machines on the large abandoned desk, wiping away a thick layer of dust beforehand. And while Merideth tended to the devices, Alaric and Louisa changed little Alaric's clothes and gave him a drink of water. Elzbieta was there with Rozz or course, with Miko and Sammy both close by and Ceci watching over Miko. But for the other Peacekeepers and artisGoths in the next room most of them were gathered here.

      Rachael walked through the door, carrying the guitar she had played by the neck and having a pack on her back. "I'm supposed to stay with you," she explained and tried to choose a spot as far from any other as possible.

      "John," Marek called, "This kid with you?"

      The lanky hacker had Martyr with him. The boy had a large bundle that was probably all his worldly possession hefted between his thin arms. John smiled at him. "Yes, let him in." John stood again. "Put your things where you like," John said to the boy.

      "New disciple?" Alaric asked, joking laugh.

      John raised an eyebrow. "This is Martyr St. Etienne. He's told me he wishes to follow and offered to be my guide in Paris."

      "Alaric Von Goth," Alaric said and shook his hand.

      "You all have the same name?" Martyr asked.

      John shook his head, "Just Alaric and I, and his two wives, and my two, and li'l Alaric. We mainly go by first names."

      Justin was calling from the doorway. Elzbieta and Marek were with him. "We shall return with Pizza!" he said.

      There was laughter at this. There was laughter whenever Justin cooked, but no complaints.

      Someone edged around John's shoulder and he sensed it was Claudia. "Martyr?" she asked.

      "Yes, My Lady," the boy answered, "may I be of service?"

      She was looking into him, John was certain. "A ferret?" she asked.

      Martyr nodded. "Some think of me as that, the ferret. They have needed a body that can fit into narrow spaces, and the smaller children are not old enough to volunteer truly knowing what they risk. I nearly finished school. I'm a quick learner, anything you need."

      Claudia smiled. "And unobtrusive enough to know what's going on in the city without the leaders suspecting."

      "He is clever," John told her.

      Claudia nodded, her hand on John's shoulder. "Do you know the leaders of the city?"

      Martyr nodded, "Lady Faye, Monsieur Morté, Bishop Mulhouse and Monsieur Devereaux."

      "You know Michael Devereaux?" Claudia asked.

      "I know who he is, run messages for him and helped his rescue teams search for bodies. I know all of them. I do good work. And Everyone knows me, even if some call me the ferret. I can find anyone you might look for, if they are alive in the city."

      "Catholic?" Claudia asked.

      "So far, I haven't taken conformation."

      Claudia nodded, "Born in Paris?"

      Martyr nodded back, "Yes. War orphan, they say. I take care of myself, work where I can. I'm really an excellent guide, know the city well."

      "Ever had to make a decision for a lot of people?" Claudia asked.

      "Often in the riots. I was orphaned before the Day of Bombs. I suppose leading my study trip group into a safe area might count." The boy grinned, "Or there was the time Monsieur Morté gave me a family to lead to the Haven right in the middle of a riot, when Lady Faye began to help the Humans. And sometimes, I help Father Jean with inventory, we have to make new numbers for the rations. That was pretty hard. We had to cut back portions recently. Still, it had to be done, better all of us a bit weak than some dying, at least then we have a chance to find more food or get help."

      "And you told John here that you want to be like him?" Claudia asked.

      Just a nod.

      "You think you can be like John? Be a leader?"

      "What do you mean?" Martyr asked.

      "I'm looking for someone to be the new leader of France as John is leader of Goth. None of the older people are right, it needs to be someone young, but also clever, responsible, and willing to sacrifice. You could be the new Leader, Martyr."

      He shook his head, "Not me."

      "You even shy from the position, so you are not power hungry. I do think I've found the new Leader of France. Don't you think so, John?"

      "I did not know you were looking for one, but I can see how Martyr could bring hope."

      "Just a modest bit of wardrobe and the right advisers that won't try to steal power and he could do well, lead the people through the years of rebuilding. And maybe, if we continue to do good, Martyr will one day lead France in joining Goth."

      "We could all be Goth, us in France too?" Martyr asked.

      "Of course," John told him. "But first France needs to stand on its own again."

      "I will do it. If you say I am the best choice, I will do it. I will have helpers? Like John? Have Elders or advisers?"

      "Whatever you want, so long as it does good for your people," Claudia said, "And as a Parisian I congratulate you, Martyr St. Etienne, on your post."

      The boy smiled tightly. "It will be difficult."

      "Very difficult, I'm afraid, but we will be here for a little while, and then there will be others. And you may stay in touch with us, as a fellow head of state."

      "Lady Faye and Monsieur Devereaux will be pleased, they wanted me to find the right leader for them. They will help you. Now, get some rest. You may have a bit of pizza if you like, but someone so underfed must start slowly. I'll have Karina bring you an appropriate tea to help you get more strength back, for the people will rely on you. And Gloria and Jeanette will make you some clothes, not too fancy I think, perhaps elegant and scholarly. I think black wool to start, bright colors after some repairs are made."

      "I understand. The Leader should be a symbol for his people. I should wear morning colors until we have more to celebrate."

      "Yes, very clever," Claudia said.

      Martyr took her hand and kissed Claudia's fingers. "Goodnight, My Lady, wake me if you have need of me."

      "Goodnight to you, Leader...perhaps we should say Premir?"

      "Premir St. Etienne," John said aloud, "Goodnight, Martyr."

      "And you Leader," Martyr said with formal bow. He was learning so fast.