Red Wolf

by Rachel Vincent

  “I saw an injured little girl,” I insisted, determined to help him—to atone for what I’d done to him—even if he couldn’t see that’s what I was doing.

  “I know you saw it, Adele.” His intimate focus pierced me, a blade drawing fresh blood. “You know Romy Paget isn’t human.”

  “What I know is that you didn’t mean to hurt a child, and I will go to my grave telling people that.” I took a deep breath and met his gaze, steeling myself for yet another lie. “But the wolf got away, Grainger. You shot a little girl, and whatever you think you saw was simply a trick of the shadows. It was exhaustion playing with your mind. You’d been up all day and all night, out in the cold on patrol. If you tell them it was an accident, you might be forgiven—”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t lie and ignore such a grave threat to our village. To our home.”

  “—but if you keep telling this story, they’re going to think you’re mad. Or that you’re covering up your own negligence. Which might lead the tribunal to decide you’re a danger to the village.”

  “I’m the danger?” Fury reddened his face, and my heart ached for him. For us. For what could never be. If I hadn’t told a lie about him now, he would have told a truth about me later, and I’d be the one in that locked room, awaiting trial. Understanding the inevitability of this moment—of this cell door between us—didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  “That child is a beast concealed in the body of a little girl, Adele. She’s brought evil from the dark wood directly into our village, and the only way to protect Oakvale from such a corrupting influence is to purify her soul by fire. And if you can’t admit what you saw—what she is—that can only be because the devil has gotten to you too.”

  “Grainger—”

  “Maybe Lucas and Noah Thayer are right about you,” he spat, and my face flamed as if he’d slapped me. “Maybe you’re protecting this devil-child because you’re just like her. And the timing of these revelations is no coincidence.”

  Oh no. I backed away from the bars, my heart pounding. “Tom has nothing—”

  “Tom?” He shook his head, frowning. “I’m talking about Maxime Bernard. Everything was fine in Oakvale before he arrived. That isn’t chance, Adele. He’s a stranger and we know nothing about him. He must have brought this evil—”

  “Max has nothing to do with this,” I snapped, as fresh fear swelled in the pit of my stomach. Like a disease, suspicion was a threat to anyone it landed upon, and strangers were especially susceptible. I’d heard tales of accusations being passed from neighbor to neighbor around small villages, the accused each heaping blame onto someone else in their own defense, until no one could be trusted. Until the entire town fell into chaos and violence. That could not happen in Oakvale. “And Romy—” I bit off my own words, before I could say too much—before I could admit that Tom had likely killed my hen the night before Max had arrived—because there was no need to tell him more than he already knew. “I’m trying to help you, Grainger. I—”

  “Help me by telling the truth. You and Maxime saw the same thing I did. Why would you hold your tongue in the presence of such evil?”

  “Mademoiselle Duval!” A deep voice barked my name and I spun to find Grainger’s father standing in the open doorway, his sword at his hip. Seeing him sent a fresh ache throughout my bones.

  I’d thought he would be my father-in-law. I’d thought I would live on his land. That he would bounce my children on his knee.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I . . . I’m trying to help him, Monsieur.”

  His expression softened. “There is little you can do for him, child, and I’m afraid that association with him will do you no favors.”

  “Adele.” Grainger’s voice cracked halfway through my name, and when I turned, I found him staring out at me from the window in the door. “Please tell the truth. Don’t do this to me.”

  Tears filled my eyes, blurring his face.

  “You should go,” Monsieur Colbert said. “My son is not well. He is incapable of listening to reason and advice.” The fatigue in his voice said that he had made his own exhaustive efforts in that regard.

  “What’s going to happen to him?” I asked as I reluctantly followed Monsieur Colbert out of the building.

  “I’m meeting with Father Jacque and Baron Carre’s estate manager at noon, since the baron is not here to complete the tribunal in person. The charge from the Pagets is the attempted murder of a child, and for a crime that serious, the village is not willing to wait for the thaw, to take him to court. We will decide his fate today.”

  “He wasn’t trying to kill her, Monsieur Colbert.” I grabbed the watchman’s arm, and with it, I captured his full attention. “I swear it on my life. He just . . . missed.”

  “I believe you.” The pain on Monsieur Colbert’s face broke my heart. “But if he won’t say that in his own defense, I’m afraid there is little hope for him.”

  “How is he?” Max asked the moment I stepped into my home.

  Instead of answering, I glanced around the front room, pleased to see that there were several fresh loaves of bread in the oven. My mother had obviously been home. In fact, it seemed I’d just missed her.

  Tom was curled up on his pallet again, sleeping, as he often seemed to do during the day.

  “Where are Jeanne and Sofia?”

  “Playing in the bean field on the edge of town. I reminded them not to go near the trees.”

  Such a reminder shouldn’t have been necessary. We all grew up with the threat of the dark wood hovering at the edge of every thought. Every action. But now that I knew the woods held a special draw for future guardians, I worried that Sofia might give in to the dark lure of a destiny she couldn’t possibly understand yet.

  It was that same concern for me that had lured my father to his death.

  “Thank you. Grainger is . . . stubborn. I tried to convince him that he saw a trick of light and shadow, but he believes his eyes. And he won’t lie to save himself, as long as he believes that would mean putting the rest of Oakvale in danger.” And the fact was that, as terrifying as his insistence was, I respected his devotion to the village and to his job, especially considering that it had landed him in jail.

  “He believes that evil from the dark wood has infected Romy Paget, and that she will, in turn, infect all of Oakvale, unless she’s burned alive to purify her soul.” Flashes of my father’s execution roared to the surface of my memory and sent chills crawling over my skin.

  Max exhaled, still watching me carefully. “What do you believe?”

  “I know she’s been infected, of course. But I can’t believe that either of the children are actually evil. They haven’t tried to hurt anyone.”

  “Yet.”

  “Shouldn’t that count for something?”

  Max sighed. He stared into my eyes, as if he were studying them. “Does this have anything to do with your father?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you believe that Romy and Tom can be saved—that they aren’t evil—then the same would have been true of your father, right? I know it must be tempting to believe that he would never really have become a monster.”

  “That isn’t tempting at all!” I snapped softly at him. “That would mean my father died for nothing.”

  “And if Tom and Romy die before we know they’re a threat, that could be true for them too. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that all we really know so far is that they are loup garou. As am I.”

  “They are not the same as you. But I’m the only one who will believe that.”

  “I know. Grainger believes that you and I know what Romy is, and that the only reason we would lie for her is if we are also corrupted.”

  Max’s jaw clenched, his gaze narrowing beneath a furrowed brow. “And the rest of Oakvale? Which side of this do they fall on?”

  “They believe he’s lost his mind.” I’d taken a long, s
low walk through the village on my way home, to listen to the gossip and get a sense of the town’s mindset. “His father, included.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s probably for the best.” Max stirred the pot still suspended over the fire and scooped up a bowl of broth for me.

  “I don’t even know what ‘for the best’ means, anymore,” I said as I settled at the table with my bowl and a hunk of bread. “Grainger told the truth, and now he’s being punished for it. Romy and Tom haven’t hurt anyone, yet. . . .”

  “You don’t have to do it yourself, you know.” Max sank onto the stool next to mine. “I’ll be with you out there. I can—”

  “Thank you, but no. This is my mess.” I sighed as I stared down into my bowl. “I have to clean it up.”

  Eighteen

  That afternoon, I pushed my way carefully through the crowd gathered in front of the church until I stood at Elena’s side, my full basket heavy on my arm. Simon stood on her other side, with two of his brothers.

  Max had stayed at the bakery to keep Tom away from Jeanne and Sofia. And to avoid reminding a village balanced on the razor’s edge of paranoia that there was a new face in town.

  It would take very little for the crowd to decide Grainger was right. A blood moon. A bad batch of ale. A moldy sheaf of wheat. Such minor disasters were regularly attributed to an evil influence, and with Grainger’s accusations so fresh, any one of them might be enough to change the minds of most of the village.

  “Have you heard anything?” I whispered. My fear for Grainger had kept me from getting any further rest. He could be pilloried and whipped, or he could just be fined. Or, if the tribunal believed that he intended to kill Romy, he could face execution. Likely a hanging.

  But it wouldn’t come to that. Not even the village gossip accused Grainger of intending to murder the poor child.

  “Nothing yet,” Simon said with a frustrated frown. “I can’t understand how all this came about. Grainger is a good man, and I can’t fathom him making up such a story, with no cause.”

  “And yet, here we are.” Elena sighed. “The tribunal has been in there for nearly an hour.”

  I adjusted my basket in the crook of my elbow, trying not to choke on my own guilt. “Has the crowd been waiting that long?”

  “Only some of us,” she whispered, nodding toward Grainger’s mother, who was wringing her hands hard enough to turn her fingers purple. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for her, with her husband sitting in judgment of her son. “I don’t think anything like this has happened in Oakvale since—” Elena’s mouth snapped shut, but I knew what she’d been about to say.

  Since your father.

  But my papa’s situation was very different from this. Grainger wasn’t suspected of being a werewolf. They wouldn’t be tying him to the post in the center of the square and piling fuel around him.

  No matter what the tribunal decided, we wouldn’t have to watch Grainger burn.

  I could only hope the same remained true for Tom and Romy.

  “This must be so hard for you,” Elena whispered, and I nodded. “Have they called you in to stand witness?”

  “No.” And they probably wouldn’t. Grainger’s guilt would be determined entirely by the judgment of the priest, the captain of the village watch, and the local lord’s estate manager, acting in his stead. None of whom had been present during the event. None of whom had spoken to anyone about what happened, except Grainger, and possibly his mother, as a character witness.

  I found it agonizing to know that though I’d gotten him into this, I had no way to help him without damning the entire Paget family.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Elena added, but her typical optimism was belied by the worried crease of her forehead.

  Simon must have heard that same concern in her voice, because he turned to give her a reassuring smile, which warmed my heart even as it triggered an ache deep in my chest.

  Grainger used to look at me that very same way.

  “I have to make deliveries,” I told Elena. “I’ll be back.” Though it looked like most of the people I’d be delivering to were assembled in that very gathering.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered, clearly not fooled by my excuse.

  “I’ll be fine,” I lied, though I wanted nothing more in the world than a return to the days when I could confide my deepest, darkest secrets to her. To a day when those secrets would have nothing at all to do with the dark wood.

  I made my way through the village as quickly as I could, delivering the loaves I’d pulled from the oven that afternoon, taking payment in the form of smoked meats and winter vegetables like turnips, cabbage, and potatoes from those who were actually home. I dropped my full basket at the bakery with Max—my mother had gone back to the Pagets’ to check on Romy—and returned to the gathering outside the church just as the doors were being opened.

  Elena reached for my hand as the priest stepped forward and began to speak. “We have gathered here today to hear evidence against Grainger Colbert on the charge of attempting to murder a small child. Monsieur Colbert was given every opportunity to admit his guilt and beg the tribunal for mercy, but he insists that his aim was true. That the child he fired an arrow into is actually a wolf, capable of changing its appearance into that of a little girl in order to corrupt the good souls of Oakvale.”

  Monsieur Colbert and the baron’s representative stood on either side of the priest, and while Father Jacque spoke, Grainger’s papa stared at the ground with one hand on the pommel of his sword.

  “It is our judgment, absent any witness to support his claims, that Monsieur Colbert is feigning madness in order to excuse his carelessness and ineptitude in the position of village watchman. He was appointed and armed in order to watch over the village—trusted with our very lives—and he has betrayed that trust by gravely wounding one of our most defenseless citizens. We therefore demand the removal of Monsieur Colbert from the village watch—along with the removal of his right hand.”

  A gasp went up from the crowd.

  “Oh no . . .” I whispered, as dread sat heavy within me. “No, no, no.”

  “At least they don’t want his head,” Elena whispered in return, her hand tightening around mine.

  But that was little comfort, considering the reality.

  With only one hand, Grainger wouldn’t be able to work at the sawmill. He would have trouble mounting a horse, plowing a field, or even swinging an axe, which meant it would be very difficult for him to provide for himself. To maintain his own dignity.

  “The sentence is to be carried out immediately,” the priest announced, drawing silence from a crowd determined not to miss a word. “Please gather in the village square.”

  “No, no, no . . .” I moaned.

  “Adele,” Elena whispered, a warning for me to be quiet as the crowd began to flow around us like the current of a river.

  My mouth snapped shut hard enough to jar my jaw, and I could only stare as two members of the village watch pulled Grainger from the church. His father stood by, watching stoically, while his mother fought tears.

  “No!” Grainger shouted, pulling on the rope that bound his wrists. “Don’t turn a blind eye to evil among us! Romy Paget is loup garou! She will be the undoing of this entire village! She and her family must undergo trial by fire!”

  The crowd split down the middle, and I stared at the ground like a coward as Grainger was hauled past me toward the massive stump at the near end of the village square. A man was beheaded there once, before I was born, but that stump hadn’t been bathed in blood in my lifetime.

  “Adele!” Grainger shouted, and I flinched. Then I made myself meet his gaze. “Tell them the truth! Tell them what you saw! Don’t betray your neighbors amid the threat of corruption from the dark wood!”

  Eyes turned my way, and I felt the gazes on me like bugs crawling over my skin.

  Elena slid her arm through mine and held me close. “Don’t listen,” she whispered. “He’s jus
t desperate to save his hand. None of this is your fault.”

  But this was all my fault. Guilt was a ball of flames burning in my gut, scorching me from the inside. My own personal trial by fire.

  Grainger kept shouting as they dragged him toward the stump, where another member of the watch already stood, holding an axe. The tribunal must have alerted him of the verdict before it was announced.

  They untied Grainger’s wrists, then they forced him to his knees and pulled his right arm forward so that his hand lay over the chopping block.

  “No!” Grainger shouted, flailing so that the watchmen had to press down on his shoulders to keep him in place. “To hell with you all!”

  I couldn’t watch. But I couldn’t let myself leave. I couldn’t spare myself entirely from the painful spectacle, because it was my fault. Because the very least I could do was remain present for the injustice I had heaped upon a man I’d hoped to marry. A man I would probably always love.

  I knew the axe had been raised by the gasp of the crowd, and a second later, I heard the gruesome thunk of a blade into wood.

  Grainger screamed, an agonized sound like nothing I had ever heard. Tears filled my eyes, and I opened them to see his mother wrapping the end of his right arm in cloth.

  His hand lay on the ground beside the bloody tree stump the axe was still embedded in.

  “The devil take you all!” Grainger shouted, while his mother tried to make him hold still, so she could wrap his wound.

  His father turned and walked away.

  “Adele?” Max stood in the bakery doorway as I approached my home, his face pale and drawn from lack of sleep.

  Tom sat at the table, rolling a ball across the surface, from one hand to the other. He seemed anxious, glancing frequently toward the open door, as if the tension in the village were setting him on edge.

  Behind him. Jeanne and Sofia played with dolls, seemingly unaware of the gruesome event going on right outside the door.

  “Not now.” I brushed past Max into the cottage, and on my way into the back room, I realized that my sister and her friend were reenacting the tribunal’s sentencing announcement with their dolls, having evidently heard the event through the open window.