Realm of Shadows

by Heather Graham

Page 26

 

  “Guards,” he managed to say.

  Men started to cry out, to come rushing toward them. To the lieutenant’s amazement, they started shouting hoarsely, and backing away. Shots were fired, but they were panicked and hurried, and horribly off aim.

  The lieutenant didn’t understand why. He was surely a bloody pulp of a mess, but he didn’t know why that would make the guards stop in horror, making strange signals with their hands, and crying out that they must leave. They seemed in more fear than they would have been of the American army—or even the Russians.

  “Come, come, come!” Weiss kept on urging him.

  He looked back. Prisoners, gaunt as skeletons, barely able to stand, were looking on.

  “We can’t leave them,” the lieutenant muttered. But what could they do, the fragile old doctor and himself, barely hanging on?

  “We’ll come back,” Weiss assured him. “We’ll come back. In just a few hours. When the moon is full. ” The lieutenant would have smiled if he could have done so. In a few hours! He could see the trail of blood he was leaving behind.

  In a few hours, he thought, he would be dead.

  And that was before they came at last to the stream, and he saw his own reflection.

  She was exhausted and furious.

  The evening should have been swift, and sure, but it had not been, and she had barely escaped. And the fact that she, Louisa, should have been frightened and on the run, was galling.

  And yet, she thought, trying to soothe herself, she would have her revenge. She would take it slowly, and it would be delicious. She had to remember that, when dealing with a similar power, it was best to have numbers on her side. But then again, she hadn’t even suspected that she might come across such a danger.

  It would be met.

  And obliterated.

  And as to the inhabitants of Chateau DeVant. . . those women. . .

  They, too, would be made to suffer.

  Where was Claremont? She closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate. But again, she felt the presence of danger, and she closed her mind.

  She walked through the streets, aware that too soon, dawn would come.

  Anger churned, and with it came raw hunger. Desperate hunger.

  As she traveled, senses heightened to a peak, she became aware of a presence that was near. She allowed her instinct to take flight, moved like the darkness, and like shadow.

  She found the prey she had sensed.

  Bearded . . .

  Filthy, lying against a wall in an alley, a paper bag with a liquor bottle in it by his side. He was not awake, and not asleep. He sang softly.

  She came close.

  He blinked, eyes still half closed.

  His song stopped.

  She moved in.

  The man’s stench was overwhelming. Louisa thought that the drunk had not bathed in years. His clothing was caked with mud. He wore jeans that were all but stiff from dirt, spilled alcohol, and from being worn day in and day out, for however long. Bits of leaf and dirt streaked his hair and beard. It didn’t matter, she told herself. In fact she would unintentionally be doing humanity a service by ridding the streets of such trash.

  But as she moved in . . .

  No.

  No, he was simply too filthy. The smell was not bearable. He was unbelievably disgusting.

  Despite her rage, she began to move on.

  A second later, he was singing again. His song was interrupted by words as he laughed at himself for his folly in fearing the shadows.

  Again, Louisa concentrated. The darkness still surrounded her, and she became a part of it Then . . .

  ahead of her, laughing, talking, passing a bottle of wine between them as they ambled down the streets, was a threesome. Two men, one woman.

  Her hunger, heightened by that rage that still burned within her, suddenly filled her anew.

  And yet, she knew, rage would not serve her well. It did not matter so much with a drunk in an alley, but finesse was more enjoyable.

  She walked behind the group, then quickened her step, passing them . . . by just a few feet, and walking as if she had somewhere to go.

  “Ah, mademoiselle! Bonsoir!” one of the men called to her.

  “Pieter!” the woman chided. “Leave her be!”

  Louisa allowed herself to turn slightly, to survey the group. Hardly la creme de la creme of society. The woman’s skirt was too short, her blouse was low cut, and her breasts all but spilled from it. And there was something about the way she moved . . .

  Ah, well. A lady of the evening. Louisa did not really judge this at all; a woman did what she did to get by. But alas, this one was somewhat coarse. The breasts were there, and so were the hips. In time, she would be quite large. Not the one to be courtesan to the rich and mighty. And not smart enough, not in the least educated, she would not even know that what she sold so cheaply could have been refined and improved . . . and used for power.

  And the men . . .

  A bit coarse as well. Past their first youth, but not yet old. Married? They wore no rings. Yet they had the look of men on the prowl for illicit pleasure. And still drinking, and looking for their place, at this hour.

  Cheap, oh, yes, very cheap, perhaps, if they could only afford one woman between them.

  Not at all the type she would really choose . . .

  But then, they had, at least, bathed during the past decade.

  “Marie, you sound jealous, the more the merrier!” the second man said.

  Louisa allowed herself to slow down. The first man, Pieter, matched his stride to hers. “Mademoiselle . . .

  I don’t mean to disturb you, but you are walking alone, and there is a murderer loose in the environs. ” She took a moment to look at him. Ah, yes. A fellow a bit old before his time. Too much drinking. Too much debauchery.

  So many entertaining men went this way!

  She shuddered slightly.

  He took it as a sign that she was afraid.

  “You must have some wine. It will keep you warm. I didn’t mean to frighten you, only to protect you. ” She accepted the bottle of wine and took a long drink, watching the man’s dark eyes. She saw the light of cunning and pleasure that touched them. Ah, yes, big fellow, he had made another conquest.

  “There is a hotel straight ahead. Perhaps you could spend a little time with us there, until it grows light, and you are not walking alone in the streets. ”

  She took another swallow of the wine.

  “I’m Pieter. My friend is Jorge. And our companion is Marie. ” Louisa nodded in the direction of the threesome.

  “I know where else we can go,” she said, her voice silky—and just a touch tremulous.

  Pieter looked her up and down, at the obvious fine cut of her clothing. And surely, that of her figure and poise. He must be thinking that he had struck gold.

  “You know somewhere else?”

  “Oh, I do. ”

  She could see him calculating the money he would save if he did not have to rent a hotel room for his few hours—no, no, with these wine-sodden fellows, it would only be a few minutes‘ pleasure—with his whore.

  He smiled broadly, his face appearing all the more fleshy and bloated. Was he married? If so, she’d be doing the poor wife a favor.

  “Lead on!” he told her. “Jorge, Marie, this lady has a place for us to go!”

  “Mais oui!” she murmured. “Come, come . . . ”

  The house was not far from the ruins of the old St Michel. She had seen the signs upon it, but she had known it once . . . long ago.

  They followed her. Pieter remained beside her. From behind, Jorge ribbed him, apparently unhappy that it now appeared he had the chubby Marie while his friend had the newfound beauty. Louisa smiled. She could almost hear Marie’s pout.

  They came to the house.

  “It is condemne
d,” Pieter said.

  “Ah, but I’ve been in!” she told him. “There is a problem with the roof, and an upper room where a storm has weakened the supports. You must trust me. The grand salon remains . . . quite grand. ” She pulled off the boards that had sealed the entrance with so little effort that Pieter talked about the carelessness of the village in sealing a place so poorly. Louisa smiled. He must think what he liked.

  “Will we find more wine in there?” Marie whined.

  “Well, for me, I can say that there will be plenty to drink,” Louisa assured them. She looked the three over. “Perhaps it will not be the finest vintage, but__”

  “At this point, it doesn’t matter in the least,” Jorge said.

  “No,” Louisa agreed, “I guess that it does not. We must all. . . stoop beneath us a bit now and then, n’est-ce pas?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, but slipped through the door she’d opened. The others stepped in. They looked around at the remnants of the beautiful old place, and did not notice that the door closed firmly behind them without being touched.

  “This way . . . ”

  Louisa led them first to the ladies’ salon, a small room off the entryway. There was a delightful couch, and a cart with a crystal decanter of brandy upon it Cobwebs clung around the crystal, but the stopper remained firmly in place over the contents of the bottle.

  “Jorge . . . Marie, perhaps you would enjoy the splendors of this room for a moment. I think that I must get to know Pieter on a more personal level. . . first. ”

  Marie clasped her arms around Jorge’s waist, laughing with pleasure. “The brandy must be fine, Jorge!

  And see that little settee?”

  “It’s too small. ”

  “You haven’t seen how I can manage furniture as yet!” Marie insisted.

  “Enjoy. ”

  Louisa beckoned Pieter with a crook of her finger. He followed her out, eyes filled with anticipation. She closed the door to the salon and led him across the foyer to the men’s smoking room. A huge leather sofa faced a fireplace. Pieter did not notice that a fire burned within it, awaiting them.

  “Do you know who owned this place?” he asked.

  “Once,” she said.

  Another cart held a large choice of liquors. Pieter went to it, prowled among the bottles, and poured himself a large scotch. He drank it down in a swallow, then turned to her.

  “Let’s see what you have. ”