by C H Chelser
Mercedes hackles bristled. “Why would I do that? Your work should speak for itself.”
“Madame knows well the very high standards monsieur sets,” said Gagnon, none too subtly pointing at Mercedes’ still bruised cheek. “There is no denying I’m getting older and some things don’t go as smoothly as they used to. But should I be turned out, I would lose my home upstairs as well as my wages. I’d starve, madame.” She stuck her bony chin up. “And I don’t like starving. I’d like it no more than you’d like it if monsieur knew about those herbs you take.”
Mercedes’ heart skipped several beats as the ground beneath her disappeared. Every muscle in her body turned rigid, which for a long moment was all that kept her upright. Gagnon’s eyes squinted to slits of glee at the sight.
“You hide them well, madame, but a cook’s got to know her herbs. Especially when serving a household where the lady may be expecting.” She tutted. “Can’t have her accidentally eating something which might hurt the baby, now can we?”
Mercedes had gone cold to the bone. “How long have you—?”
“Oh, long enough,” the old housekeeper shrugged. “A year or two now?” Her lips curled in the mockery of a smile. “None of my business, of course, so I never let on.”
“Eric must not know!”
“Oh, I imagine it’s better if he doesn’t. But if monsieur turns me out, I shouldn’t have a reason anymore to keep quiet, should I?” Gagnon bobbed a lopsided curtsey. “Sorry to have interrupted, madame, but I thought you’d like to know.”
The housekeeper hobbled away, leaving her mistress rooted to the floorboards. As soon as Mercedes remembered how to move, she paced back inside and slammed the door.
The chair by the desk groaned as she let herself fall into the seat. This couldn’t be happening! Eric would be outraged if he found out she was taking contraceptives. No matter that another pregnancy could kill her, she had always wanted children, and he knew that. In the light of Doctor Hubert’s diagnosis of hysteria, her use of the herbal tea would surely classify her as insane, a lunatic.
“Oh God.” Both hands clasped over her mouth. “Oh God, the police charges.”
The allegations of infanticide had been years ago and Eric had convinced the authorities they were false, but who was to say the investigation would not be reopened when this news came out? The difference between contraceptives and abortives was non-existent to the law. Officially hysterical and with her husband siding against her, too – it would mean the guillotine!
Time ticked away as Mercedes stared into oblivion. She felt like a seam barely holding together the pieces of fabric she consisted of. When stretched too far, that seam would tear. Slowly at first, just one or two stitches, until suddenly it ripped apart all at once. Her anxiety over Danielle had been the first stitch to come away. Between Eric’s mistrust, the shops’ commercial problems, the threat of a soul-eating demon, and her deal with Jean, the pressure on her mounted to breaking point. And now this...
Each threat hung over her like the sword of Damocles, a catastrophe waiting to happen. However, the pragmatic part of her mind reasoned, for as long as the swords were still suspended, there was time to find a solution. She took a deep breath and brushed away the onset of a tear.
“Whichever blade falls first, I will not sit here and wait for it.”
She forced herself to value each threat rationally. The shops were Eric’s concern, not hers. He had been clear about that by now. The laudanum and the implement had put his suspicions of further infidelity on hold, too. Danielle’s safety was a greater worry, but for the moment the girl was not unguarded. Lastly, there was Gagnon, the most tangible threat. That blade was the blade of the guillotine. If that fell, all other problems ceased to be of consequence.
Except protecting Danielle. Death was not the end of existence, but how could she hope to be reunited with her daughter when that devourer might take either of them first?
Mercedes gritted her teeth as she picked up the Snake card from the table. Whatever else she did, whatever else happened to her, the demon had to go. The sooner the better!
Her eye fell on the only two cards in the spread she hadn’t reconsidered yet: the Man and the Cross. A nasty piece of work, as Anne had so aptly summarised. But which piece of work? She picked up both cards with her other hand and glanced from the Man to the Snake and back.
“The other one,” she muttered with a wry smile. “The Man is Jean’s demon. And the Cross...” Anything with a taste for souls had to be nasty, but she couldn’t help but follow her initial instinct that the Cross represented a burden. Whether the Man was a burden or whether he was himself burdened with something, she couldn’t tell from this spread, nor was there any trace of a clue on how to defend herself against him. It would seem she truly would have nothing but her own shields to protect herself from this dark figure.
It was a risk she had to take. The threats to herself and to Danielle grew with each passing moment. Further delay simply jeopardised the situation.
She reshuffled all cards but the Man back into the deck and put them away. When the table was clean and void of distractions, she placed the card of the Man before her.
“Well, then, monsieur. Jean said you can help me. Let us find out if he was right.”
***
The taste of acid lingered, a dull burn throughout his being, but he held on to it like a ship relying on its anchor to weather out the storm. Hunger still raged within, not yet completely subdued. The boy had been right about him needing to feed soon. Despicable as the act was, he had no choice. The chance of losing control again was substantial if he didn’t. But he had to wait for the night, for more favourable conditions to venture out. Until then he would have to bear the ravenous storm.
He drew in on himself, exhausted by the failed hunt and his unforgiveable lapse. The darkness of his haven rushed by him. He rarely paid attention to the ceaseless currents that demarcated his silent niche, often preferring to focus on the void they created. Now, hovering closer to the threshold than he tended to, he listened to the water streaming by the base of his pillar, and by him. There was greater calm to be found if he sank deeper, but doing so would risk isolation. He couldn’t afford that now.
His awareness caught more background noise than the water alone. This city was bustling on both sides of the threshold. Tuning out the melee of presences would have been his first choice, but he kept his mind open for traces of potential human prey for tonight, and for specific calls. Should the boy want to contact him after all, he would give it the opportunity to do so. That fragile hope was the only reason he bore the discomfort of this higher and lighter plane.
The boy... It was crucial to this hunt. His indiscretion earlier had proven exactly how attractive a bait the boy’s experience presented to the likes of a devourer, and how perfect it was to lure their prey out from the outer edge. Losing that asset was detrimental to his efforts; a loss he wasn’t sure how to compensate for if the boy decided to forego this operation.
Even so, that had to be a later concern. After he had fed and recovered his self-discipline.
Scouting prey from here proved to be poor tactics, so he abandoned the attempt. Come nightfall he would venture to the city’s slums, where deceit, theft and assault thrived. There he would be assured to find suitable prey to feed off. That accomplished, he would seek out the boy himself and settle the matter.
Thus having eliminated his reason for suffering the threshold in this tormented state, he shifted to a deeper plane. Yet as the darkness increased around him, a sharp burst of light flared in his mind and resonated in his soul marker with singular intention. The hunger leapt at the foreign energy, but he snapped out of his surprise in time to rein it in.
‘Come. Now,’ he heard.
Tentacles in all shades of red sprouted from the call’s energy and grabbed him to pull him forth. Of no mind to comply, he vaporised them with a flick of his wrist. Their mist, however, still red when everything else was a
dark grey, betrayed their origin.
‘Her again.’ Involuntarily, his hand went to his face, remembering the sting of her rejection. ‘Twice now she has called me since then.’
Another flare hit him. ‘Come. Now!’ it repeated. He refused again, but this time the blossoming tentacles took more effort to disperse. Whatever the reason she called on him, it was deliberate.
‘Come! Now!’
A third time blazing red tentacles ensnared him. Fed up, he escaped them by shifting deep into the darkness, where she could not reach. Yet as he went, he was astonished by how long her energy held onto him before at last letting go.
Interesting.
He wasn’t able to discern from her anxious pull why she wanted him to answer her, but the colour, the feel and the intensity of her call spoke of a great and urgent need that he should do so. Why him? She had the aid of a guide, so what could she hope to gain from the likes of him? He would not deny feeling some curiosity on that subject. That alone merited a closer examination. And, the darkest part of him added, responding to her summons meant he could feast on her colourful, promise-laden energy. For all her courage to stand up to him, without the guide that had been with her before, she would be helpless against his true nature!
Oh.
He let the acid of hatred burn deep to restrain himself, yet the truth would not be denied. The parasites had known how desirable she was. The other devourer had, too.
Oh!
Of course! What better bait than bait that had already been successful? He couldn’t count on the boy’s cooperation anymore, but the woman made for just as tempting a lure, if not more. Better still, she was desperate, and desperate souls were the most compliant. A magnificent opportunity!
All in good time. Feed first, then respond, lest his own hunger should derail his plans. A need that urgent would continue to exist a while longer, and there was much to be gained by leaving the woman to stew in her own despair.
He smirked. When it came to springing a trap, timing was everything.
Chapter XV
“You slept soundly last night.”
Eric’s voice rang loud in the quiet of the dining room. His fork screeched on the porcelain as he skewered a piece of tonight’s roasted chicken.
“The, ehm, implement, does it help you to find relief?”
Lost in thoughts of a different nature entirely, Mercedes looked up in irritable surprise. She found his gaze fixed on the charred edges of his meal, a distinct blush on his cheeks. Only then did she realise what he was talking about.
“Why, yes, it is a wonderful solution.” Catching his disturbed expression, she waved airily. “It is not the same, of course, but this way I need not keep you away from the shops.” She took a bite from the cooked cabbage. “Speaking of which, how is it going downstairs? Have the police findings had any noticeable effect on sales?”
“Not yet, but hopefully the rumours will die out soon. I have hired two men to be hommes-affiches for the advertisement boards for all of next week.” He attacked his vegetables with vigour. “For now the lack of activity is not inconvenient, I must admit. Managing both shops and the workshop is…” His shoulders sagged; the cutlery he held rattled on the edge of his plate. “I do hope you will be better soon, ma mie. Yvette is capable and the women obey her, but somehow they respond better when you are there. Also, the undeterred regulars have been asking about you, so Nicole informs me.”
“That is kind of them,” said Mercedes, suppressing a quick smile and resuming her front of discomfort. “I will return to work as soon as I can, but for now I believe you were right, mon cher. I should rest a while longer, at least until my face no longer shows signs that could be misinterpreted.”
She ran a tentative finger over the healing bruise. While the swelling had gone down and the yellow edges meant that the mark was beginning to fade, it was still clearly visible beneath her make-up. She should feel no satisfaction when he averted his eyes from the sight. He was her husband. It had been his right. Even so, the faint traces of shame she detected in him pleased her.
Eric cleared his throat with a nervous cough. “I warned Gagnon about messing up her chores. I didn’t hire a cook to be served burnt meals.”
“Burnt?” Mercedes said and shrugged. “I must say I quite like the crispy bits.”
The lie came all too easily. The taste of it disguised the charcoal tang that had permeated the better part of the roast, and she hated it. How could she be more afraid of an old woman with a vindictive disposition than of the soul-eating demon she had tried to hail? The very notion was preposterous!
Yet she took another bite as if nothing was wrong.
Across the table, Eric had cut the last bit of uncharred roast. “Carmen sent an invitation this morning,” he said, glaring at the mouthful of dry chicken. “She is throwing an impromptu party.”
“When?”
“Tonight.” He abandoned his fork, chicken and all, and forced a smile. “The invitation is addressed to both of us.”
Of course it was. Carmen was obnoxious, but never ignorant of social decorum. Mercedes finished the last of her meal, pretending she didn’t already know what Eric meant.
“However, ma mie,” he continued tentatively, “I don’t think it would be wise for you to attend, considering your condition. My sister never has just a few people over and the sort that she invites, well…” His smile became a grimace. “In fact, it would give me a world of peace if you were content to stay home tonight.”
Mercedes put her cutlery down and dabbed her lips with her napkin while casting him a glowering look over the edge of the fabric.
“It is for your own good,” he added. “Surely you understand?”
“Do I have a say in this?”
He pursed his thin lips. “Not really, I’m afraid.”
“Then stop suggesting that I do!”
He visibly started at her outburst. “Ma mie, please. The limitations your illness imposes do not only affect you, you do realise that? I’m only trying to make the best of the situation.”
“By running off for a night on the town while I sit here and wait for you?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a social obligation. What else would you have me do?”
“Decline! Stay home to look after your sick wife. That sounds like a perfectly viable reason to me.”
She rubbed her temple. “In sickness and in health, Eric. You said so yourself. Is it so hard to fathom that I might want your company at this time? Your comfort?” Turning to him for comfort had always seemed natural, and for years that was what she had done. But with the past week in mind, she wasn’t hurt by his contemptuous scoff.
“I can’t decline the invitation. She is my sister.”
“I’m your wife!”
Mercedes made to say more, but swallowed her words at once when Gagnon came in to clear the table.
“I hope it was all to your satisfaction, monsieur, madame,” the housekeeper said, her tone rhetorical as usual.
Already riled by the argument, Eric bustled. “No! Not at all. The chicken was—”
“Perfect, Gagnon,” Mercedes interjected. “Roast should never be underdone.”
The housekeeper smiled despite Eric’s thunderous scowl and curtsied politely. In her eyes, Mercedes saw the same nasty glint that she had detected yesterday.
When they were alone again, Eric’s lips twitched in anger. “I shouldn’t blame you for such impudent outbursts, but that was uncalled for.”
“If dinner was so disagreeable to you, there will be enough wine at Carmen’s party to wash it down,” Mercedes said curtly as she got up. “I wish you a pleasant evening, mon cher. And do give my regards to your sister.”
***
He hadn’t gorged himself prior to this vigil. As always, he had been careful not to draw more sustenance from his victims than was essential and justified. Nevertheless, letting that third brigand go while the man still possessed the strength to stand galled him. More so since t
he intentions he had caught promised severe misfortune for whoever crossed the thug’s path now. Knowing this, he would have interfered had this criminal been his primary prey. It wasn’t, and he didn’t. Not while he suspected that like him, the other had gone out to feed tonight.
It pleased him to find the woman’s soul marker unchanged. He paused, watching. She attracted other entities as usual, but none that posed a danger to her. Yet. It was only a matter of time.
She had called on him again, not long ago. Again he had ignored her overbearing emotions. Even from this considerable distance he could sense she was angry, frustrated and nervous, all with the same undercurrent of despair. It didn’t make for the most appetising energy, but it was strong. Irresistibly strong.
‘Patience.’
He wouldn’t have to wait long – insofar as time had any value in this plane – for the other to take the bait if she kept flaunting herself like this. Her energy flared wildly, exhilarating to the point of—
‘Nonsense!’
With a growl he dismissed the shredded memories. Energy was not a skirt, and the woman not a whore displaying her thighs. Although the way her emotions were all but screaming out loud, she was showing far too much of her soul. A chance for him, but a considerable risk for her.
He had to get closer. If the other appeared, he had to act instantaneously, before his best lead became its next victim.
That posed a problem. Coming closer meant she was certain to detect his proximity. She had called him. She was waiting for him. Whatever she wanted, she would spring it on him as soon as she sensed his presence. Given their previous encounters, he had to expect a measure of violence. An unacceptable inconvenience. He would not allow her lashing out to hurt him again, but the mere attempt would be enough of a distraction. His mouth contorted at the thought. He had lost prey to distractions before…
‘Not this time.’
Before he set the ambush, this complication would have to be eliminated. Somehow.