A Monster's Coming of Age Story

by G. D. Falksen

  “I know what was done, Louis,” William said. Thankfully all of Louis’s servants were inducted into the cult, and William was at liberty to speak freely. “Not an hour ago my granddaughter and her tutor were set upon by a beast in the woods shared by our lands. A beast that assaulted only von Fuchsburg. A beast that my gamekeeper described as being ‘like a bear.’”

  “William, you cannot possibly believe that I had anything to do with this,” Louis said. “There are beasts about. Do not forget, we cultivate them so that we may hunt them when we grow old and weary of stag and fox. Who am I to say who is attacked by one?”

  “Do not trifle with me, Louis,” William said. “Do you have any sense of the scale of this affront? You have meddled in my family’s affairs time and again, and this time you have gone beyond the pale!”

  Louis tried to lay a hand on William’s arm, but William pushed him away with a sharp growl.

  “Where is he?” William asked.

  “Who?”

  “You damn well know who!” William snarled. “Your trained hound! Your grandfather’s illegitimate whelp! The only creature that would have savaged my granddaughter’s tutor while leaving her unharmed.” He raised his finger and held it before Louis’s eyes. “I know what you are about. You know that Babette has no interest in your son, so you seek to kill off the only young man in her life!”

  “William, how dare—” Louis began.

  “Let me tell you, Louis des Louveteaux, your plot is of no avail! Even were he the only man in all of Europe, Babette would never consent to marry your son! And were it not for your meddling, he would seek no claim on her either!”

  “William, I insist that you leave at once!” Louis barked. “Or else I shall bring complaint against your trespass on my territory!”

  William only half heard Louis. A scent had caught his attention, and he sniffed at the air. It was blood. The boy’s blood, if he was not mistaken.

  Where was it coming from?

  William pushed Louis away and advanced deeper into the house, past the parlor and the dinning room. With every step, the smell of blood grew stronger. And with every step, Louis struggled to deter him.

  “I have had enough of this foolishness, William,” he said, grabbing at William’s arm. “Leave at once!”

  William swatted him away. Louis grabbed for him again, this time with a serious grasp. William spun about and growled, baring his teeth in challenge. It was an unthinkable thing to do in another Scion’s home, and Louis drew back from the very shock of William’s sacrilege.

  At the back of the house, William flung open the door to the servants’ passage. In the half-light, he saw Gustave’s ‘beast’ just as he had expected: a tremendous mass of fur and muscle, not quite badger, or wolf, or bear, that glowered back at him with pale blue eyes. A pair of servants struggling to wash the creature in the cramped space turned and stared wide-eyed at William.

  “Good day, Gérard,” William said.

  The beast snorted and bobbed its head in a nod.

  William turned to Louis and said, “Perhaps next time you should hide him in the carriage house.”

  “I frighten horses,” the beast growled.

  Louis made a noise.

  “Be quiet, Gérard,” he told the beast.

  “The scent of the boy’s blood is still on him, Louis,” William said. “No more of your lies. You sent Gérard to kill him.”

  Louis hesitated but finally spoke:

  “The boy is human. There are no protocols against such a thing.”

  “As my granddaughter’s tutor, he is a member of my household,” William said. “That is an affront in itself. What is more, the crime was committed on my land. These are grounds for war, Louis.”

  Louis laughed at his words.

  “You would not dare. My family alone outmatches yours. Your allies are few and mine are many.”

  “My cousins in England may have exiled me,” William said, “but if it comes to war, they will defend their blood. I am certain that they should be overjoyed to expand their lands into Normandy and beyond.”

  “A gamble,” Louis said.

  “Yes,” William said, “but one that the elders will take seriously when I bring it before them along with my complaint against you for your abhorrent trespass against my estate.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Louis said.

  “Good day, Louis,” William said, turning and walking back toward the foyer.

  “Wait!” Louis snapped.

  William did not stop.

  “Wait!” Louis repeated, hurrying after him. “What is it you want?”

  William smiled a little. Those were hard words for Louis to say.

  In the foyer, William turned toward Louis and said, “You will withdraw your suit toward my granddaughter. Your son will no longer court her, you will relinquish your claim before the elders, and you will stop your damnable attempts to convince my son of the union’s wisdom. You and yours will leave my family alone. Do this, and I will be silent. Do not, and by our great ancestor, I will bring every shame and fury down upon your head. Are we clear?”

  Louis worked his mouth without speaking for a minute, while William looked at him in silence.

  “Very well,” Louis said, “so agreed.”

  “Good,” William said with a smile. He snapped his fingers at the footman and motioned for him to open the door.

  “But William,” Louis continued, “understand that this matter between us is not finished.”

  “Such matters never are, Louis,” William said. “Not until death.”

  * * * *

  Babette had never prayed before in her life. Not properly. She had been forced to attend church, of course. It was extremely important to Father, as it had been to Mother while she had lived. But each time Babette bowed her head, each time she said her rosary, it was a lie perpetrated to deceive those who could not accept the truth: that there was no God, just like Grandfather said.

  But as she sat at Korbinian’s side, holding his hand tightly while Doctor Artois struggled to stitch closed his chest, she found herself offering a few silent words of supplication to the Almighty for Korbinian’s safety.

  Just in case.

  Korbinian, in the throws of a brief period of lucidity, fluttered his eyelids open and smiled at her. A moment later, he gasped in pain at the next tug of the thread and clenched his eyes shut.

  “There,” the gray-haired Doctor Artois said as he snipped the thread. “The wounds are clean and closed now.” He motioned to Vatel, who stood nearby. “Come, help me bandage him.”

  “Will he…will he live, Doctor?” Babette asked.

  Artois shrugged, sympathetically and with sincere uncertainty.

  “Who can say?” he asked. “He is in God’s hands now. But,” he added, “the Baron is young and healthy. Strong. I believe that he has as much chance as any man in his place.”

  Babette squeezed Korbinian’s hand and felt him squeeze back.

  “Liebchen…?” he asked.

  Babette looked down and touched his cheek.

  “I am here,” she said.

  “Good,” Korbinian said, smiling weakly. He patted the table on which he lay. “Is this a table?”

  “Yes,” Babette said, laughing, relieved that he was strong enough to ask such a silly question. “You are in the dining room. It was too difficult to carry you up the stairs.”

  “Have I bled all over the Persian carpet?” Korbinian asked.

  “No,” Babette said.

  What a fool he was to worry about such things.

  “Where is he?” came Grandfather’s bellowing voice from the hallway. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, hat in hand. He looked upon the assembled and ran a hand through his mane of hair.

  “Doctor,” he said to Artois, exchanging a nod, “thank you for coming.”

  “It is my pleasure, as always, Monsieur Varanus,” Artois said as he cleaned Korbinian’s blood from his hands in a small basin of water. Dryi
ng them, he added, “Mademoiselle Varanus was of great assistance to me in keeping the Baron awake during the procedure.”

  Babette smiled proudly and was rewarded with an approving nod from Grandfather.

  “Where is James?” Grandfather asked.

  Everyone else in the room exchanged awkward looks.

  “Father had to lay down in the morning room after the great strain of worry,” Babette said.

  In fact, Father had fainted at the first sight of Korbinian. Or perhaps it had been Babette, unharmed but also covered in blood, that had caused him to be overcome. Knowing Father, that was the more likely.

  “Will he live?” Grandfather asked, motioning to Korbinian.

  Artois laughed a little and said, “That is the question of the hour. I believe that he will. The Baron von Fuchsburg is a strong young man. But for that to happen, he must be allowed to rest.”

  Babette rose and joined them.

  “Can we move him from the table?” she asked.

  The hard wood surface must be of great discomfort to him.

  “Yes, I am finished here,” Artois said. “If Gustave and Vatel would be good enough to prepare the stretcher, let us move the good Baron to someplace more comfortable. But he must remain on this floor until he can walk. He will be too difficult to carry upstairs without aggravating the wound.”

  Grandfather looked at Babette, who still held Korbinian’s hand tightly.

  “Gustave, Vatel, do as the good doctor asks. Put him on the chaise longue in the library. That should be comfortable enough. And once he is well enough to sit up, there will be plenty to occupy him while he convalesces.”

  The library? Babette smiled. Then I shall have every pretext to see him.

  She looked at her grandfather, wondering if he understood that implication.

  Grandfather caught her gaze and smiled at her. Babette knew the look.

  He knew. And he approved.

  * * * *

  “Babette, what are you doing here at this hour?”

  Babette looked up from her book and laid it in her lap. She saw Father standing a few paces inside the library door, wearing his dressing gown and cap. He was ready to retire.

  What time was it?

  Babette glanced toward the clock on the mantelpiece. It was near midnight.

  “Babette?” Father said again. “Babette, do you hear me?”

  “I am reading, Father,” Babette said, smiling. “Plutarch.”

  “Ah, yes,” Father said. “You and your Greeks.” He shook his head. “But why are you reading at this hour?”

  Babette patted Korbinian as he lay on the chaise longue next to her chair.

  “I am watching over the Baron through the night. Doctor Artois felt that we should not leave him alone.”

  Father frowned and said, “Surely one of the servants—”

  “Father,” Babette said, “the Baron von Fuchsburg risked his life protecting me from the beast that attacked us. It would be dreadful and callous of me not to sit the first watch.”

  Father sighed but nodded.

  “I suppose that much is true,” he said. “You are such a good young woman. So dedicated. So much like your mother.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Well…” Father said, clearing his throat. “I suppose I shall retire.”

  “Goodnight, Father,” Babette said.

  Father hesitated in the doorway.

  “I am so very glad that you were not killed today,” he said.

  “I know, Father,” Babette said. She smiled at him, strangely touched by the sentiment in his voice.

  He was truly afraid that I had been hurt, she thought.

  “Well, goodnight, Babette,” Father said.

  “Goodnight.”

  Babette watched her father depart the library and close the door behind him. She picked up her book and resumed her reading. After a moment, she felt a hand upon her leg.

  “Liebchen?” Korbinian asked amid a wide yawn.

  Babette took his hand and squeezed it.

  “I am here, my dearest,” she said. “I am here.”

  “Good.” Korbinian yawned again. “I am very tired.”

  Babette smiled. She leaned over and kissed him gently. Brushing the hair away from his face, she said:

  “Rest then, my love. And I will be here when you wake.”

  Korbinian regarded her with heavy eyes, a smile playing delicately about his lips.

  “Always?” he asked.

  “Always.”

  Chapter Nine

  Winter, 1861

  Babette lowered her book and gazed off into the cold sunlight outside. The remainder of autumn had passed by with Korbinian confined to bed—his bed, thankfully, once he had been able to hobble upstairs with Vatel’s aid—and now winter had gripped the land with its chilled fingers. The orchards were bare, the trees skeletal.

  Babette had not ridden in weeks, not that she had planned to do much riding in any event. She had lost track of how much time she had spent at Korbinian’s bedside. Almost every waking hour had been devoted to watching over him. Babette simply found that she could not trust anyone else with the task.

  A bird landed on the branch of a tree outside and fluttered its wings. Babette watched it in silence. How terrible it must be for the poor creature to be alone in the cold. How had it come to be there without others of its kind?

  At her side, Korbinian shifted in his bed and slowly blinked. He had been sleeping a great deal since the attack, but his eyes were as bright as ever. He looked up at her and smiled.

  “Ah, my dearest,” he said, “as ever, you are the morning star, greeting me with your radiance each time I awaken.”

  He took her hand and held it against his lips. Babette sighed and smiled.

  How lovely life was.

  “I have been asleep for how long?” Korbinian asked.

  “Today?” Babette glanced at the clock. “Ten hours.”

  It seemed longer. But of course, Babette had lost proper track of time over the days. All that mattered was Korbinian.

  “I have been too long in bed,” Korbinian said, sitting up with Babette’s assistance. “I must not be so idle.”

  “Shh, shh,” Babette said, placing one hand upon Korbinian’s chest and pushing him back against the pillows. “You must rest.”

  “I have rested for weeks,” Korbinian said, frowning. “I grow tired of it.”

  Babette rested her chin on her hand and smiled quietly.

  “And I have watched over you as you rested every day,” she said. “Do you grow tired of my company? For I can easily depart and leave you in peace…all on your own.”

  That would get a rise out of him.

  Korbinian laughed and touched her cheek with his soft fingertips.

  “Hush, my darling,” he said. “I have treasured every moment we have spent together. But surely, our time would be better spent out and about.”

  “In the bitter cold?” Babette asked, giggling.

  Korbinian held his head high and said, “Amid winter’s monstrous majesty.”

  “Monstrously cold majesty,” Babette corrected.

  Korbinian smiled at her.

  “The cold is one thing that makes us human. Who but man braves the worst of winter? Animals seek shelter in their dens when the earth is frozen and the land wrapped in snow. But man braves the cold without complaint. It is part of his mastery over nature.”

  “I believe,” Babette said, “that man’s greatest mastery over nature is his ability to build houses, to create shelter where there is none.”

  She smiled and tilted her head, looking out of the window through the corner of her eye. She could almost feel the sharpness of winter’s chill on her face.

  “We honor the greatness of civilization,” she said, “by sitting here and staying warm.”

  Korbinian smiled at her and took her chin between thumb and forefinger.

  “That is not at all adventurous of us,” Korbinian said.


  Babette took Korbinian’s hand and lifted it to her lips. She gently kissed his fingertips and said:

  “Nonsense. We can be far more adventurous, and comfortable, if we stay here.”

  Korbinian stroked her cheek with his free hand and murmured, “Well, that sounds very sensible of you.”

  “Grandfather has always said that I am the sensible one in the family,” Babette said.

  She ran her fingers along Korbinian’s chest, across the soft bandages. They were clean and dry, though they had not been changed in a day. It was a good sign. Korbinian was recovering quickly. Soon there would be no excuse for her to insist on his remaining abed, nor any excuse for her to wait up by his bedside.

  Best to take advantage of the time that they had.

  She leaned over and kissed his lips gently. Korbinian ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her sharply to him. Babette gasped with delight as she tumbled onto the bed.

  Giggling, she rested her head on his shoulder and murmured, “It seems your recovery was unexpectedly swift.”

  Korbinian undid the buttons on Babette’s cuff and slid his fingertips along the length of her wrist, making her gasp with delight.

  “I have had a good nurse,” Korbinian said. “One who encouraged me to improve quickly.”

  “I see,” Babette said, touching Korbinian’s lips with her finger. “And have you improved?”

  Korbinian took her finger between his teeth and bit gently. Babette felt his hand brush along her back down to her waist. She took Korbinian’s head in her hands and kissed him with vigor, all but devouring him. Her head swam and she was lost in the scent and taste of him.

  She felt Korbinian pull up her skirts and reach beneath them. His hand caressed her thigh, making her sigh. She kissed him again with even greater fervor. Korbinian took her by the back of the neck and held her, desiring her, possessing her. Babette grabbed his arm and thrust it away.

  How dare he? she demanded silently, delighted all the same.

  She kissed the soft flesh at Korbinian’s collar and bit his shoulder, drawing blood. Korbinian snarled and laughed. He grabbed her by the throat and flung her onto the bed beside him. He rose to his knees, looming over her, and Babette grabbed him by the arms, pulling him down to her.