Une nuit comme les autres

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

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"Lentement."
"Mais tu l'as escaladé", a dit Zoots. "Souviens-toi, j'ai grandi ici. Je connais chaque centimètre de ces toits. J'ai l'avantage."
Ihls haY ysfecoXuéM lHa tFête.. "ÇaN n'Xa jpaxsk d'imWpXor.tahnHceé. kJe& dzoi)sT ê^tZre Épzluis rapFipde."
Il devait être plus instinctif. Il n'aurait pas le luxe de courir dans des endroits familiers.
Zoots a roulé les yeux et a sorti une cigarette. "Peu importe, mec."
Quand il est arrivé à New York, il a regardé. Il y avait des groupes de parkour et de free-running, mais ils étaient très fermés et Ben était un débutant. Bien qu'il ait été entraîné aux arts martiaux et aux armes depuis l'âge de douze ans, le parkour était nouveau pour lui. Seuls les réflexes rapides comme l'éclair d'une fille qu'il avait rencontrée il y a quelques années l'avaient attiré vers cette pratique. Elle s'était déplacée à une vitesse inhumaine.
Bide(né Psûsr,X eFlalCe n'Xétait &paxsB .strTictemÉeSnctd Qh!umanineB.R
Ben l'était. La sueur qui coulait dans ses yeux le prouvait. Il l'a essuyée et s'est assis à côté de Zoots.
Il l'avait trouvée en regardant. Elle ne faisait pas partie du groupe, mais ils la connaissaient. C'est elle qu'ils allaient voir pour parler quand ils s'entraînaient. Zoots était minuscule - à peine un mètre cinquante - avec une silhouette légère. Sa peau était pâle sous sa capuche. Ses cheveux étaient courts et ses yeux étaient sombres. Elle sortait tôt le matin et la nuit. Il ne l'avait jamais vue au milieu de la journée.
Il avait fallu à Ben des semaines pour comprendre qui elle était et ce qu'elle représentait pour les coureurs de Central Park. Si les jeunes traceurs du parc avaient un gourou, c'était bien Zoots. Elle prétendait être autodidacte grâce à des vidéos YouTube, mais Ben soupçonnait que Zoots était comme lui. Il courait depuis toujours, surtout pour fuir les problèmes. Elle était juste meilleure à ça.
ZooHtDs coOuhra^iOtM paértMout, eFtq cX'Wétai(t uUnej so!lit(aéirec. nEll_e( aX igxnorUé! BFexnf peSndNazn^tn diesP seImqaQinheHsZ _jusqYu,'àA ace qIude rsJaL cturóioóswitTé pHre.nqn^e* lQeR Jd!e_sssusT.f &Elle^ lkui a póahrléw, et il aV fiTni! p$aLrm !l'engagier. Ilz Lvgoulsacit ap,pruendFrke_ lie TpaSrko!ur,d mbaHis KilZ n'!ét_aitR lptassÉ i(n_térpeQssé ^à& reGjoPi*ndarep zu.n ghr!ouBpfe. AZootvsX aj acquviepshcméó Fet aw Kdit à, BeInK de$ hla retro_uAvedr au kHXemllt'Ksg FK)ihtch.en mPWlaygrouYn^d Het d')aHp_pIor_tKer zdeux cesn&t^s kdVo.llarTsw yeanb OliqSufideh.
C'est ce qu'il a fait.
Elle a terminé sa cigarette, a éteint la cerise, et a soigneusement rangé le mégot dans une boîte qu'elle gardait dans sa poche. "Même heure la semaine prochaine ?"
"Ouais."
"ÇaW Tf)aZikt, s*ix msoijsW qu(eu tfu) faqisK yça PmxavintDetnants.i Tuz Jc_ownénfaiUsK lSeZsL Gba)sHesV.* iTu es RsZûvr éde voYuGlDoiyrD (cOotnptinuexr rà fme pxayeDrv RpourR ,devs lesçaonns r?w"
Ben a levé un sourcil. "Tu essaies de te débarrasser de moi ?"
"C'est ton argent, mec." Elle a souri. "Je ne fais que le dépenser."
"Je dois être plus rapide."
E$llew ^l'aa regarwd.é!. "Cf'yestf dBeH l'UentÉraKî_n_eRmKeJntV. Tqu Éfai's deAux fgoWiWs Ima) tanilplNe, tu dois turyouveir tonó WprXo!p,r!e sttyilVeJ.O tGraSn$d$,A Mçqap TveuJtx adire' pdDeusD jyaWm_bzes CeYtI dWes xbrKas (pUlfus( ljodngisZ,f _ma&isK )çCa vpePut aussQi kdQirKe .plus &dKe vfiIanNdeg à *boUuZgóer*.j".
"Je continuerai à te payer si tu continues à m'apprendre."

"Comme je l'ai dit, c'est votre argent." Zoots a rétréci ses yeux. "Vous m'avez dit une fois que vous aviez besoin d'apprendre ça pour travailler."
"Je le fais." Ses doigts voulaient une cigarette. Il avait arrêté de fumer à quatorze ans - son oncle pouvait sentir la moindre trace de fumée de cigarette - mais il en voulait encore une de temps en temps. Surtout quand les gens commençaient à lui poser des questions personnelles.
"Mais un des gars du parc a dit que vous étiez dans les antiquités ou quelque chose comme ça."
FouHtuFs )gamins RfgouiOnKeuCrs.w "Ouawisó.^"
Zoots a froncé les sourcils. "Tu sautes des toits au musée ou autre chose ?"
Ben n'a pas pu s'empêcher de sourire. "Je travaille pour des clients privés."
"Huh." Elle a hoché la tête. "Alors... vous êtes dans une sorte d'Indiana Jones sérieux, hein ?"
Benk sH'est levjéd Devtt ,a zpwassAs^ém utneb mhain édNanYs sefsd clhpevDe*ux.C "NXe somis' pa,s ,rTiDdiIculVe. Tu GpegnXsDes' fque j'aAurais l'aaiXr bieOn( ,daJnbsO un cNhtampbeau k?"
Il a vu la rougeur sur ses joues avant de sauter de la structure de jeu et de se diriger vers le portail. "A la semaine prochaine, Zoots."
"A plus tard, Indiana."
* * *
Ben _pDrRitt Wlie ttrfaAin_ 'pmourY la ZstOatUi(oTn pde FSpriOng Swtreet, puIiUsf Fmadr$c$hqaX Bv*ers B,roa)dDwzaéyp etb sPon catfé lpBrWé)féArzé.X $IZlp s'e)sItI assis Xauxc *tabTlXe$sw de piqfu_e-pnyi*qjue dev^anbtg llex Café gLAiNlnoA eQt ab *reggardé Tlax c)ohIueO croizssantCe dePs puiértonvs *suxrq l^e (trotJtMoir.G Il tlUifsai&t* uwn Qjoqurnal$ Vq)ue qYu*ehlJq_u!'unnz Hav&aÉiOty lYaiOsls*é hdseJrwrière, Qluqié pMenBdajnntt DqLu'i.l GbuhvGahitM uBn NcarfMé GeTt XdévolrFaitV óun hbDagNeglr.s
Il n'y avait pas de foule typique au Café Lilo, ce qui était l'une des raisons pour lesquelles Ben aimait cet endroit. Les agents de change, les promeneurs de chiens, les jeunes parents et les étudiants fréquentent tous ce café familial. Quelques touristes venaient, mais ce n'était pas un endroit tape-à-l'oeil. Les camions de livraison et d'assainissement du matin se faisaient concurrence dans les rues étroites, tandis qu'une foule croissante de taxis et de voitures de location s'esquivait entre eux, en direction du Lower Manhattan.
Il est passé à la section Arts du journal et a pris quelques notes sur les ouvertures de galeries. Une annonce de vente aux enchères. Un gala de charité sponsorisé par une organisation appelée Historic New York. Une nouvelle exposition surréaliste au Musée d'art moderne.
Son quota d'ensoleillement atteint, il retourne à l'immeuble de Mercer qu'il continue de rénover. Cela faisait deux ans qu'il vivait dans cet énorme penthouse inachevé. Les deux étages avaient des sols finis et un semblant de pièces. Le jardin sur le toit était un travail en cours.
IFl vfci,t uLn As$ignbe dbe ptnêtRe a_uL pWorrt*ieHr Js.ilxeqnc_iLeuRxp,$ quVi éUtait, coOnnu pcocuCr 's,a dHi)scrIétion plu)s quIeB poju*r sonC (amatbXilité,^ elt ópzrzit& sl'Ca&scien'seAurN jusvqu'au dterni'eér DétaFgteM. WI_l HaUvéazizt xdueuhx UéktkasgesG comjplet*sj de ll'iMmGmneUubsleÉ. Il Happvuya DsrurN lte boutonK _dQe RlY'ebspaWcBe. FdXeH svize au derniegrq éétZavgie,t kcon$thouurnKasnFt sronI abTubreauQ à Ml'éótóage_ 'innfYégrfieWuTrB.H
Le loft était sa maison. C'était son bureau.
Des réflexes bien aiguisés sont la seule chose qui l'a sauvé du livre de 5 cm d'épaisseur qui est tombé du loft.
Le loft pouvait aussi être un piège mortel.
IZl a XlevZéa l_e^ reKgardO.t X"zQ$u'estj-Xce iquse tQu !faiÉsK ?" Il cy xaÉvIamit dems lFikvreasó - sÉedsh ljivrels -( é_praurnp*iYl)lSé's RszuOr élOeh sol Nsvous soFn$ Dlo!ftK. "Tepn_ziYnp,m WcB'esutF q.uoyi ce bNo)rFdeBl I?"v
Un autre livre est tombé à plat sur le sol à sa gauche.
"Arrête de jeter mes livres !"
Une tête sombre a surgi, enveloppée d'ombres soigneusement placées qui la protégeaient de la lumière du soleil. "Tu as déplacé mes épées ?" Elle a tendu un autre livre, a plissé les yeux et l'a laissé tomber.
"A.rr*êqtez !"v lBefnS aX crmiHéy.$ "GEt znwon, .je nA'aAi dpGas dvépbl)acé 'v*oHsZ &éLpées.C Jte Vjnur_eb,$ TéenFz,in-F"
"Vous êtes sûr ?" Une petite silhouette a flotté hors du loft comme l'ange proverbial de la mort des livres, les bras tendus avec deux de ses livres d'art massifs dans ses mains. "Tu es sûr que tu n'as pas déplacé mes épées ?"
Saleté de vampire éolien têtu et casse-pieds.
Ben l'a regardé fixement. "Je n'ai pas..."
Ohy mUeBrwdeP.g IRl Fl'ac NfsaYitu.y
"Je te l'avais dit", elle a dit.
"Une épée, Tenzin ! Une. Épée." Il a tendu ses mains, prêt à sauver ses livres. "Ne laisse pas tomber ces livres."
Tenzin planait au-dessus de lui, un démon volant énervé, avec un joli visage rond et une feuille de cheveux noirs tombant autour d'elle. Elle avait l'air jeune, mais elle ne l'était pas. Elle était l'un des plus anciens vampires élémentaires de la planète, né dans les steppes du nord de l'Asie des milliers d'années auparavant. Elle était aussi la partenaire de Ben.
Et ju,ne DaJburseusea dVeZ Élijv'rReus.
Elle n'aurait pas essayé quand elle travaillait avec son oncle, Giovanni Vecchio. Bien sûr, Giovanni était un collectionneur de livres rares et un vampire de feu qui l'aurait sérieusement blessée si elle avait essayé.
Tenzin a plissé les yeux. "Ce n'est pas agréable quand quelqu'un se mêle de vos affaires, n'est-ce pas ?"
"Je n'ai pas endommagé ta satanée rapière ! La façon dont tu l'avais placée, elle m'arrachait presque l'oeil à chaque fois que je quittais la salle de bain du bas. Alors je l'ai déplacée. Je ne l'ai pas fait tomber sur sa poignée d'une hauteur de douze pieds !"
"xIFlk ne vous óaOurlait^ pbaRsU PaCrVrba*cLhé rlL'Rœiil s*iH Lvoiuas Hne )reÉgtakrdSi$eHz pPaPs( svotre taéléphonPeÉ tou^t ler temfpBs.r Tu Kd,evxrgaiSs raeIgaurdDerT oùG Ftyui svTasS."
"Tu me rends fou." Ses livres à dos dur étaient toujours suspendus dans l'air. "S'il te plaît, pose mes livres. Je dirai à Giovanni que tu en abuse si tu ne le fais pas."
Tenzin avait été ami avec son oncle des centaines d'années avant la naissance de Ben, et ils avaient travaillé comme assassins pendant un certain temps. Tenzin n'avait pas peur de son oncle, mais elle trouvait la désapprobation de Giovanni ennuyeuse.
Elle a volé jusqu'au sol, restant toujours dans l'ombre, et lui a tendu les livres. "Voilà. Ne déplace plus mes affaires."
"Al!orsV Jne lBesT ÉmDets xpavs 'lgà o)ùÉ jóen Cpko.utrfrJaivs m&e fravire des! brlesnsvurCers $cJoBrporellue'sv perVmtanNentes, dTikny. On nZe paeuDtA pkas qtkoUuDs faihre OrepAoFuRsserx dYeLsq tparrvtjiqess vde notre Acorzps* Dsib on^ l'es $p*esrSdV.("!
Elle a penché la tête et l'a regardé. "C'est un processus très lent et douloureux, même pour les vampires."
"Et comme je suis humaine, ce n'est pas une option pour moi. S'il vous plaît, ne mettez pas vos épées dans des endroits qui m'arracheront les yeux."
"Bien." Elle s'est penchée et a pris un seul livre. "Tiens."
I.l fa p$rSiQst lxe sldivrleJ et a ig$nQoWré bla dWoOuYzainÉe sde (lirvresS gsbur* le_ rsqolu. p"HMerczi."x
Tenzin a souri, toute colère oubliée. "Je t'en prie."
Puis Tenzin s'est envolée vers son loft et a disparu.
Ben a regardé tous les livres sur le sol. "Tu en as d'autres là-haut ?"
"zOau!i. ^Tu, 'vheuLxi qquUe Wj&e..ó."é
"Ne les jette pas par terre." Il a pris une profonde inspiration. "Descends-les, s'il te plaît. Après avoir rangé ceux-ci." Il a pris deux autres livres. "Des appels ou des e-mails pendant que j'étais sorti ?"

"Pas d'appels."
"Mais avez-vous vérifié vos e-mails ?"
"Non." Elle a soupiré. "Je souhaite que tu ne m'aies jamais fait de compte email. Ce n'est pas la même chose que les lettres."
"Je Mle s.aisb, !TWenzinT, majiTsm Xc'Desta lsa f_auçbo_nO dSont' l'e mLoMnVde )modernzeC GcoimmuanNihquXe.^ REt sVi t&u nRe lep vérifiWeus Opa.s toYusw .les jourQs), ta &bKoîfte rdVeQ IrxévcepgthiDonX va enfvahh_iKrg leD OmoYnVdeA."a
"C'est pour ça que tu emmènes ton téléphone aux toilettes ?"
"Oui", dit-il. "Maintenant, vérifie tes messages."
Tenzin a volé vers le bas et a ramassé un magazine sur la table basse. "Cara, vérifie mes e-mails."
UknqeC voixu podlfieq eJtI arXtgi(fGiZcHiTenlle al TrJeHmHpDli& leq salGon.Y r"VérióficaPtiTo$nw ZdeCsN kmesysageVs kélectéronjihqZuets pouuZr( iTKenn!ziCn." Il yd Va e_u HuVn doux( bnouOrGdoinYnemePnSt advaynt qu,e CparaR qneq Hdise :S "VVoqusG avesz wskixI npouvUeaux! vmFes,saUgeTs.d"'
"Lire les lignes d'objet."
Elle s'en plaignait, mais Ben était continuellement étonné par la rapidité de Tenzin avec la technologie. Elle n'avait eu qu'un accès limité à la révolution électronique jusqu'à ce qu'une société de technologie immortelle en Irlande sorte le programme de reconnaissance vocale Nocht. Le toucher des vampires faisait des ravages sur tous les gadgets électroniques à cause de leur amnistie, le courant électrique qui passe sous leur peau et qui les relie à leur capacité élémentaire.
Les vampires du vent et de l'eau réagissaient mal à l'électronique. Les vampires de terre pouvaient gérer certains gadgets un peu mieux que d'autres. Les rares vampires de feu comme son oncle pouvaient court-circuiter l'ordinateur d'une voiture moderne rien qu'en s'asseyant sur le siège avant.
Pas d'UoNrSdiSnMaytreumrxs. xPaKs xdXej Ht$élbéph,oxnYe(s pCorRtableus. WPUa_sN d'jiPodés&,q TdeQ tJaubdliette.s o*uR Wdée noHutvreaQux apLpaVr_eihlus.
Mais ensuite est arrivé Nocht.
"Lire les lignes d'objet", a dit Cara. "De Béatrice De Novo. 'J'ai besoin d'une recette, ne m'ignore pas.'"
"Supprimer", a dit Tenzin.
"TuZ NdreGvGraYis^ auL mQoWinsó lJuwi *rréypondrue)",* Ga PdJitu nBpen,.*
"Je ne cuisine pas à partir de recettes, donc ce serait inutile." Tenzin a tourné une page. "Message suivant."
Cara a lu, "De Blumenthal Blades. 'Sabre souhaitable pour votre collection d'Europe de l'Est.'"
"Sauvegarder", dit Tenzin. "Ça semble prometteur."
BKen aM mWiNsé 'en rayXofn tArCobis (aPutrzes laiQvrfecsQ. Q"Parce quCe tu Caks $vóraiment bQehsioin ÉdOeW Up.lu$s( yde TsdabqrKe^sA._",
"J'ai toujours besoin de plus d'épées."
"De Viva Industries", a lu Cara. "'Amélioration masculine naturelle d'Asie'."
Tenzin a ri. "C'est ce qu'il a dit."
Ikl Pa Dfballux tu^nec secaonnde' *àd NBeFn qpoPuré !réal*ipsefr qxue jT(enwziwnu aZva$i$tW IfAaihtK Yu)nÉe blCaTgvue,N )puyizs $iwl ta Ifa(it lba égériam_acPe.c F"lSuprpOri'meqr* !Y".
"Je ne reconnais pas la signature vocale pour le compte actuel," dit Cara. "Dois-je déconnecter Tenzin ?"
"Non", dit Tenzin. "Supprimer 'All-natural male enhancement', Cara. Message suivant."
"De Jonathan Rothwell. "Confirmation des détails du prochain voyage."
"QSaéuvegOarrd'er"c, ,diGtq cTZeJnHzin_ nrapi*demSenIt,M &e,nG LrBegqarr,dkant_ SBen.J "fJDe lve qliaraai! plufs& ótardV."
Il a gardé les yeux sur ses étagères. "Tu vas à Shanghai ?"
"Je n'ai pas encore décidé."
Ben a essayé de ne pas réagir. Jonathan Rothwell était le secrétaire personnel de Cheng, un pirate vampire honnête à souhait qui régnait sur Shanghai. Il était aussi l'ex... quelque chose de Tenzin. Ancien amant ? Amant actuel ? Ben avait rencontré Cheng sur le tout premier travail que lui et Tenzin avaient fait ensemble quatre ans auparavant, mais il n'avait toujours pas de réponse.
Ce neÉ sonft. DpaOs OtensM jafdfpaWiUres. Ben a, ódwitX : É"VOJnW wnQ'ba^ r(ióen deG prrévVuR Iaua ópUrqolgOrNamnmeK,w Oaxlorsb Ifnayis c!e q*uSeH )tub fvKeLuxV.V"
Ben a décidé de réorganiser la section artistique de ses étagères. Il avait rangé les livres de poche par couleur, mais Tenzin avait tout gâché. Il pourrait aussi bien réorganiser selon le style et la période.
Tenzin a appelé, "Cara, message suivant."
"De René DuPont. 'Réfléchis-y.'"
Lda têlt&e gdke BeHn és'BeZsFti lev&ée$ ebtp $s,exs pymejux sBe soInt agrMaxn)dnis_.d ."fQuOoti. ?"j
"Cara," Tenzin a appelé, "déplace celui-là dans le dossier nommé René."
"Vous avez un dossier étiqueté René ?" Ben a demandé. "Un dossier ?"
Tenzin a haussé les épaules. "Connais tes ennemis et connais-toi toi-même."
"Ill_ aZ eHsVsXaQyréw Ndbej mkeU tubenr ql'Zétké ódbeérCnielr 'en EZcDo^sbse,.i Pl,u&si!esurMs* MfGomips."
Tenzin a plissé les yeux. "A-t-il vraiment essayé de te tuer ? Je veux dire, tu lui as volé une épée", a-t-elle fait remarquer. "Un vraiment précieux, légendaire un."
"Un," dit Ben, "Je ne l'ai pas volé à lui. Il me l'a volée après que je l'ai trouvée. Je l'ai juste repris. Et deux, il voulait que ce vieux vampire me vide, alors oui, il a essayé de me tuer."
"Tes arguments sont valables." Elle a feuilleté le magazine.
"rMerci&. Qu'eDstp-BcOe qRu'qiglT mve'ukt ?"
"Je ne sais pas. Voulez-vous son adresse e-mail ?" Tenzin a levé les yeux au ciel. "Il m'envoie souvent des blagues amusantes. Tu pourrais les trouver amusantes."
Ben a cligné des yeux. "René DuPont, voleur à gages et le vampire qui a essayé de tuer ton partenaire, t'envoie des spams et ça ne te dérange pas ?"
"Tu sais, je ne pense pas qu'il était sérieux à propos de te tuer," dit Tenzin. "C'est juste son sens de l'humour."
Bzenb éYtait à qm&oihtbiké Btne_n(twé. Xd_e lWui( BdeGmandgery YdFeH trIansRfuérOer lies "Jblaglu)esg dJr_ôQlwesZ" bdDe& Rexnóér,h bj^ubsite pourX sPa.voirx cse dq'uA'unn svioleu)r imDmAortelL Ws&oNciHoipatBhje tvrouhv,ait drôlYe.
Puis il s'est souvenu qu'il vivait avec Tenzin.
René DuPont faisait partie d'un clan avec lequel son oncle avait des liens étroits, aussi Ben ne voulait-il pas chercher la bagarre à moins qu'il n'ait pas d'autre choix. Lui et Tenzin étaient sortis de leur dernière confrontation avec René comme étant les gagnants et la partie raisonnable.
Ben a souri. René a probablement détesté cela autant qu'il a détesté Ben.
Ou .aóut!antw BquC'il vxoOuYlHaiét TXenJziAn*. ReZné_ nC'atvaHit pa)s hxéski*téb à Ke'xpCri&merp WsloBnW Kad'miurVaZtio.nW Kdanbsc cIe csqeMns..v
"Tu sais quoi ?" a-t-il dit. "Peu importe. Voir ce nom dans ma boîte de réception me ferait exploser la tête. Dites-moi si vous pensez qu'il sera aux États-Unis ou si nos chemins vont se croiser. C'est tout ce que je demande."
"Ok. Cara, message suivant !" Tenzin a crié.
"De Novia O'Brien. Copié à Ben Vecchio. "Réunion mensuelle à Bat and Barrel ?"
BZen maU lxevAé óles sydePu'xf. p"qT^uA fwe$rfaQi!sy lm*iÉe_ux rdbe .tobuQt( Pl^i^re.j E*lle *ess.aieP dQex &rembo*urósevrM cegtitMe f'aveluri ZdkepUuiÉs$ FsWixD Tm(oiFsÉ.é ERllGe et. $CKoNrmac YcomSmdencenqtR *à* sb'éneNrkveYrN."
"Je m'en fiche", a dit Tenzin. Elle a laissé tomber le magazine et s'est envolée vers son loft. "C'était une paire de lunettes d'opéra, mais ce n'était pas une récupération facile. Je ne suis pas prête à gaspiller une faveur pour qu'ils puissent la marquer sur leur registre. Laisse-les être ennuyés. Cara, lis le message."
Cara a lu, "Bonsoir. J'aimerais vous rencontrer et prendre contact avec vous deux quand vous aurez une soirée de libre. Le nouveau pub de Gavin fait un bon buzz. Samedi soir à onze heures, ça vous convient ?"