Chapter 14 - Blood in the Warp and Weft
Before Julian’s security could react, the grand ballroom plunged into absolute pitch-black darkness.
The gentle hum of the electrical generator died instantly. The only light came from the violent flashes of lightning slicing through the tall clerestory windows, illuminating the panic below in stuttering, monochromatic bursts.
"Julian! Clara! Get down!" Thomas roared.
A deafening *crack* shattered the air. A high-caliber bullet ripped through the empty oak pew just inches from where I was standing, sending a spray of splintered wood into my veil. Julian tackled me to the ground, shielding my head with his body as we crashed against the cold marble floor.
"Move toward the vestry!" Thomas shouted over the roar of thunder. Another gunshot exploded from the upper mezzanine, sparking violently against the iron railing. "The dress, Clara! Use the train to cover your neck!"
"What?!" Julian yelled, dragging me along the marble as glass shards from the chandelier rained down around us.
"The fabric!" I gasped, remembering my father’s words. I pulled the heavy, dense silk of the inner lining over Julian’s shoulder and across my chest. A ricochet struck the fabric with a dull, heavy *thud*—the impact bruised my collarbone through the layers, but the cloth did not tear. It did not even pierce. The bullet dropped onto the marble floor with a harmless metallic chime, flattened like a coin.
"Jesus Christ," Julian breathed against my ear. "It really is bulletproof."
Two of Julian’s guards returned fire toward the mezzanine, their muzzle flashes illuminating a shadowy figure dressed in tactical gear retreating into the maintenance catwalks above the ballroom ceiling.
"Hold your fire!" Arthur Laurent shrieked from beneath a fallen bench. "Don't shoot her! You'll ruin everything!"
"Her?" I pushed myself up, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged beast. "Arthur! Who is up there?!"
Arthur was clutching his bleeding arm where a stray wood splinter had sliced through his sleeve. "It’s Beatrice... she never left the country. She’s been living in the carriage house at the edge of the estate! She promised me that if Eleanor married Julian and took the Sterling heritage, the cartel would forgive my debt!"
"The cartel?" Julian gripped the old man by his lapels, lifting him half off the floor. "You sold my family out to Beatrice? You planned to use my family's logistics fleet to transport illegal textiles?!"
"She has the master codes!" Arthur wept, utterly broken. "Eleanor wasn't supposed to get arrested! The security footage Clara played on the screens... it ruined the exchange! The buyers were watching the livestream from Monaco! They think Arthur Laurent double-crossed them!"
"We need to move now," Thomas said, appearing out of the darkness with a standard-issue sidearm held firmly in his hand. He had stripped off his wet coat, revealing a Kevlar vest bearing the crest of the French Directorate for Internal Security. "Arthur’s private security outside has just been compromised. Beatrice brought a extraction team. They aren't here to negotiate; they are here to recover the dress off Clara’s body and burn the building to the ground."
"My car is in the underground portico," Julian said, checking his watch. "The reinforced Mercedes. We can make it if we cut through the lower wine cellars."
"No," Thomas said, grabbing my wrist with surprising gentleness. "The cellars are a dead end. We take the blueprint route. We go through the sub-floor beneath the looms."
"Father," I stared into his weathered face, the weight of the last twenty-eight years crashing down upon me. "What is down there?"
May you like
"The original loom," Thomas answered grimly. "And the second gown. The one your mother died trying to finish."
---
