Chapter Text
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Walking through the Luxembourg Garden, Emmanuelle Pichon disappeared into a mousehole, behind a door within another larger one, a couple of buildings away from the mineralogy cabinet of the prestigious École des Mines. She quickly rushed through the codes and locks, to the cellars of the old Parisian building.
She walked down, lit by the flashlight she always had in an inside pocket of her long imitation Chanel coat, and descended the dusty stone steps, her heels echoing through the cavernous silence. Eventually, she reached the end of the abandoned cellars, and found herself in front of a boarded-up door. Or so it seemed. Using her personal key, she unlocked the arcane mechanism, which creaked like an old mausoleum, and the door opened to a service elevator. Iron, rusty. It really felt like sinking into the depths of hell.
But no, Emmanuelle was just heading to work.
When the elevator brought her down to the deepest floor, she put her flashlight away as bright yellow lights were shining through the cave. She could now hear the noise from her colleagues, and could even smell the fragrance of coffee that had probably just been poured from the machine. They were supposed to get rid of it, by the way, or relocate it; it was an old Nespresso, one of the first models, and it had the unfortunate tendency to vibrate and buzz like a racing car, which was not really in line with the firm's “discretion” policy.
"Mademoiselle Pichon” an annoying British voice mimicked with a forced French accent, “quite not the early bird, are we ?”
"Agent Porter..." she sighed.
"I knew the French were slackers, but damn.”
"It's 8:30 a.m., Porter, don't make a fuss about it."
James Porter was a British agent in the SPR division of the British Royal Service, the prestigious division of the Society for Psychical Research responsible for the paranormal investigation, with the secret blessing of the crown. He had come to Paris as part of a partnership with the Allan Kardec Institute, for which Emmanuelle worked. The idea was to exchange methods, instruments, tools, and various theories regarding the spiritist world.
"Manu!" Julien, the Rookie with the big innocent blue eyes, exclaimed, “perfect timing, Gilles needs you! I think he's got a new case for you.”
This aroused Emmanuelle's curiosity.
"Ok I'll check that out, thanks Ju."
She put her coat and hat on her desk, and without further delay, crossed the library hall that served as their open-space to reach the private office of Gilles, alias Montagne, the director of the Parisian cabinet. His own office was behind a turned pillar, a remnant of the old stone quarries that still snaked beneath Paris, behind an old pane of glass that had been tarnished by some fire more than a century ago. She knocked softly, and walked into the office when she heard a "Come in!"
Gilles was at his desk, and Gustave, also known as “Doc”, was standing in front of him with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. The size of his dark circles was a testament to the sleepless night he probably just had.
"Long chase tonight?" Emmanuelle teased.
"The hunt was child's play," Gustave grumbled, "it's that bastard of a Toulouse Catholic that tired the hell out of me, I can't wait for him to go back down there, with this cursed haunted relic of his."
"Careful, we don't blaspheme any religion," Gilles reminded them in a gentle paternal tone.
"He's the one blaspheming the gift of life," the other grumbled into his cup.
"Anyway," Gilles cut in, "Manu, you probably heard that I had something for you, right?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Can I stay?" Gustave asked, quite curious.
Gilles nodded, and pulled a briefcase out of his desk. Emmanuelle seized the files, and Gustave came and looked over her shoulder.
"It's field investigation, in a hotel near the Opéra. Some haunting case that seems more complicated than expected. Initially, when we just thought it was a mere ghost, we got the room cleaned by our purifying crew, it seemed to be useless. Different people continued to complain of being tormented, with testimonies of chills, ice-cold breezes, moving objects, and symptoms of typical hauntings. But what makes this case stand out... It's that it exclusively affects Korean guests, and in different rooms."
Twitch frowned.
"I guess no Korean guest died in the hotel recently, or through its history?”
"Indeed, no. This is why we need a thorough investigation. For now, we’re in the dark. This entity appeared suddenly, one day, seems to have a grudge against the Korean guests, and does not seem to be attached to a particular place of the hotel."
"Has anyone tried to make contact with it?”
"Not yet. The gendarmerie handed over the file to us after the police concluded that it was a fraud, to obtain refunds. They were able to retrieve the recordings and testimonials from the customers, everything is in the file and the rest on the server. For the occasion, a Korean specialist will join us."
"Oh, Grace?" Emmanuelle quickly asked, "the dokkaebi specialist?"
"No, unfortunately she's on another case in the United States, but they're sending us someone else from the Shamanic Division of South Korea, a field specialist and experienced ghost hunter.”
"Ok cool, that should help a lot."
"Do you have a hunch about what it could be?" Doc asked Gilles, as Emmanuelle browsed the file with the tips of her painted nails.
"I think we're dealing with a human entity, or one that has once been human, so probably a ghost," Gilles explained, "but there are too many unexplained aspects to be more precise about it. It could be a specific Asian specter, more specifically Korean, which we don't have in the archives of the Spiritist Council.”
"One thing's for sure, we should soon have more answers..."
File n°086 - Song Jisoo
The first weird event I remember was at the hotel restaurant. I was at the breakfast buffet when I ran into another Korean customer I had met during a tour of the Louvre Museum. That was such a nice coincidence, so I walked up to her hoping I wouldn't disturb her too much, and greeted her. We briefly discussed our plans for the rest of our stay, our work, our family. And then I went to join my husband for breakfast with our daughter, but as soon as I turned on my heels, I felt a huge chill all over my back, a big cold snap, and a pain in the back of my neck. I got goosebumps, I remember, while the temperature was very warm in the restaurant. But I shook it out, and thought maybe it was a window open somewhere, and for my neck, just that I had slept in a bad position.
But I felt the exact same thing again, once we took the elevator, with my husband and my daughter. I didn't say anything at first, and waited until my daughter was in the shower to tell my husband about it. I asked him if he had felt similar things too, at first just asking him if he had any pain in his back since the morning and if he had any cold strokes. He said no, none of that. So I confessed everything to him, saying that I had a very bad feeling. My husband was quite attentive, and explained to me that evil spirits sometimes try to possess innocent souls by creeping up behind their neck, and that this is why in some places we sew the back of children's coats to protect them, especially in China under ancient dynasties.
And I'm not very religious or superstitious. My mom was a Christian and my dad didn't really care, so even though my husband didn't really reassure me, I didn't panic. I was mostly starting to think that maybe I was getting sick, that it might be the beginning of a cold or a flu, and that made me much more scared for the rest of the trip, given the few days we had left.
But the third phenomenon was the last straw. When my daughter came out of the bathroom, I came in to retrieve my makeup palette that I had left on the edge of the sink. And suddenly I felt something very cold in my chin, pushing me upwards, as if to lift my head. And there, in the mirror, in the fog of the shower, I saw the word "DEAD". It made my blood run cold, and when I asked my daughter why she wrote that, she told me that she hadn't done anything because - it's true - I always scolded her when she put her fingers on the mirrors or windows...
I showed this to my husband, and we decided to change hotels for the next few days. And since then, I haven't felt anything similar, and haven't had similar phenomena again. We then returned to Incheon three days later.”
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Emmanuelle was in the process of sifting through and sorting through all the testimonies and evidence collected in the file to prepare an investigation plan, when she received the message, indicating that her Korean counterpart had arrived on the surface. Logically, she would be sitting on a bench in the Luxembourg Gardens, the one near the Merchant of Masks, a magnificent bronze statue that carried the masks one of the most famous French spiritists… Victor Hugo himself. At night, this place was a meeting point for many ghosts, including the famous Mélomane du Luxembourg. As for the Devils of Vauvert, who had once taken up residence in the rickety stone quarries on which the current gardens had been rebuilt, they had not been seen for centuries. For the better.
Emmanuelle finally emerged from her cave, and walked up to the statue of the Merchant. There, on the bench secretly tagged with a quote from Allan Kardec, sat a woman in black cargo pants, and a tight-fitting khaki wool turtleneck. At her feet, a military backpack with the Korean flag. And in her hands, a tourist guide to Paris.
"Are you looking to visit Paris?" Emmanuelle asked with a warm smile, approaching her.
The woman then looked up – her eyes black as obsidian, barely hidden behind an unkempt fringe. Her lips stretched into a responding smile:
"Yes, I'm looking to visit the Catacombs."
"Oh, that's original. Do you happen to know what is written at their entrance?"
"Arrête ! C’est ici l’Empire de la Mort," she said in a French that was more than approximate, but which made Emmanuelle smile.
"Emmanuelle Pichon, codename Twitch. Nice to meet you."
She held out her hand, and quickly shook it, bowing slightly.
"Choi Boram, or just Ram if you want.”
"Very well, Ram. Let me guide you, we have our work cut out for us."
It didn't take more than ten minutes for Twitch to grasp Boram's somewhat… unpredictable temperament. She was older, taller, but she was a walking clown, and with her singing satoori that could still be heard in her cute English, she was quite a piece of work. Especially once Twitch found herself glued to the Korean agent in the tiny elevator. With their height difference of ten centimeters, Twitch could smell Ram’s floral perfume. And it didn’t leave her indifferent.
Boram looked at her with interest.
" Has anyone told you how you look like Emily in Paris?"
"Probably as many times as you've been compared to a Korean idol,” Twitch deadpanned.
Boram chuckled, quite enjoying the repartee.
"So you know a bit about Korea, uh?" she asked teasingly.
"Not enough to solve this case alone..." Twitch struggled to fight her blush, as Boram’s chest was now pressed to her own. "I... humph... I've worked with Grace in the past."
Boram seemed to regain her seriousness.
"Oh yes, she told me about the dokkaebi case you had during an exhibition of Traditional Oriental Medicine. She also told me you helped on the investigation of the Seoul dog-man?"
"Yes, even though I didn't actively participate on the field.”
"I’m not surprised, France and UK are well known for their valuable resources on lycanthropy. It's pretty magical to live in a time when we can travel to the other side of the globe and discuss our resources on supernatural affairs."
"It's great, until evil entities also have fun flying around the world... "
"Touché."
At the same time, the elevator stopped, and Twitch pushed the metal barrier to open the doors.
"Welcome to the headquarters of the Spiritist Division of the French Gendarmerie, Agent Choi," she announced with a theatrical air.
Boram poked her head out of the elevator, like a curious meerkat, and gazed at the huge stone cellar, its large, cracked ceiling, and the dusty rows of archives and libraries.
"I already have a question," she asked.
"Yes?"
"Where are the bottles of wine?"