by C H Chelser
My purpose in this hunt is necessity, not gluttony, he said, a sharp edge to both his thoughts and his voice.
She tilted her head. “I apologise, monsieur.”
The cane lifted her chin up. I have no need of apologies. Your cooperation will suffice.
“My cooperation?”
Your energy will draw it out of hiding.
She gazed at him in mute bewilderment.
The other has taken an interest in you before. To a devourer, you are quite the catch. He grinned. It was monstrous to behold.
Between his words and his appearance, terror rose inside her like a furious snake, ready to strike. “I am of no mind to offer myself up!”
With an air of exasperation he jabbed his cane up, into the hollow of her jaw. Mercedes flinched when it actually hurt.
“How—how can you touch me?”
He lowered the cane a fraction, but didn’t answer. You will be at no risk unless you fail to cooperate. The other will come for you. When it does, call me and I will intercept it.
“And if I refuse?”
You are smarter than that.
Mercedes clenched her jaws. She knew a threat when she heard it, but his thoughts lacked the vicious burn of vindictiveness and hatred.
You fear my appetite, but I stand to gain nothing from feeding myself with your soul.
His sheer, brutal honesty hit her hard and sent her mind reeling. All she could think of was Jean. How right he had been after all.
Pay attention!
As if by itself, her focus snapped onto the demon once more.
Be vigilant. Constantly. The other will come. You are of no use to me devoured, so when you sense it, you will call for me.
His emphasis made it an order. Mercedes wondered why, but her careful probing yielded no more from him than a strong desire that this ‘hunt’ should be success. Like a sense of… duty? His shield deflected her, but she did encounter a measure of surprise. And something else: shapeless images that came and went.
Enough!
With a sweep of his arm, his shield manifested in full and threw her against the back of the fauteuil where she remained, momentarily disoriented.
Call when it comes. That is all that is required of you!
Blinking the stars from her vision, Mercedes pushed herself upright in the seat. “You want me to call you, yet you lock yourself to me,” she countered. “How shall I know if you have heard me? I have had great trouble reaching you before.”
You did not. I merely ignored you then.
Mercedes’ lips tightened. That explained a lot.
Call. I will hear, he reiterated. It sounded like a promise, but Mercedes wasn’t convinced.
“And then?” she scoffed.
Then, it is my problem.
The finality of his thoughts numbed her mind to any meaningful repartee. The fauteuil’s physical solidity helped her to find her footing, but once she had, the deep shadows were gone and the room once again looked normal. She buried her fingers into the waterlogged folds of her dress and willed the demon to come back and explain himself.
He didn’t. In her hands, her dress slowly dried again.
Chapter XVI
Her ardent attempts to reach him pounded against his shield, even as he descended into the deep darkness. Too much distance between them, in his own opinion, but her irrational insistence required it and he had other means of gauging the situation besides enduring her proximity.
After his departure from the threshold, the more benevolent entities the woman attracted had resumed their swarming about her. Small fish that would scatter at the first sign of a predator. A crude alarm, but it would have to do. For her sake. At least until the fury burning in the pit of his soul had subsided again.
That woman! His teeth gnashed; an unpleasant vibration in his being. He had prepared to meet resistance, resentment and a multitude of violent reactions when presenting his plan. However, such an invasion of his shield had not been anticipated.
Unthinkable impertinence!
She had been terrified of him. Scared and apprehensive. How, under those circumstances, had her wordless thoughts managed to crawl under his skin? His shield was his protection, separating him from the rest of the world and safeguarding both. Guides, parasites, none could penetrate it. Never! Yet she had casually scratched at his soul to peer inside.
What angered him most wasn’t what she might have uncovered, but rather that she had managed to come this close in the first place. Any memory of consequence was safe from her, locked away too deep and too well even from himself. Such thoughts only surfaced unbidden, unwarranted. Not at the call of some brazen woman.
Even so, the incident demanded precautions. He would have to mind himself around her, not give her further opportunity to dig. What she could unleash if she did! The damage she could do!
Enticing as her energy was, from now on he would have to regard her as a neutral factor in his plan. Potentially a hostile one, depending on her future behaviour. The boy was less volatile in that respect, but it had proven a no less undependable ally. Disappointing.
Yes, disappointing, but also beyond his power to change and therefore a fact.
A fact.
That soothing notion quelled the confusion plaguing his soul. Facts, whether to his advantage or disadvantage, were a certainty. A solid stepping stone in the quagmire of existence. Facts didn’t change. Facts were reliable.
More importantly, facts could not be deviated from. And it was a fact that he had a miscreant to catch.
It was, however, also a fact that his ability to do so was limited, and that he required assistance to succeed. Of the two realistic options concerning such assistance, he considered the woman the lesser of two evils. Thus he would have to proceed despite her uncalculated demeanour. He snorted. Whatever her motivation to attempt to infiltrate his mind, he wouldn’t let her try again. That, too, was a fact.
His coat – his shield – tightened around him as he gathered his renewed resolve and put the woman from his mind. She was merely a means to an end. Only the hunt mattered. He would do well to remember that.
***
The tolling of the church bells resounded across the city, summoning the Parisians to late morning mass. Mercedes stood ready and waiting by the coat rack, desperate for the breath of fresh air that going to church would grant her.
“We are late, mon cher,” she prompted, holding out Eric’s top hat to him. “I trust you had François call us a cab to the cathedral?”
Eric slowly buttoned up his overcoat. He looked paler than normal, with bags under his eyes that betrayed the fact that he hadn’t returned from Carmen’s party until the night was more than half gone.
“No need to fret so. It’s but a short walk to the parish church,” he drawled.
Mercedes’ expression hardened. “I should like to attend mass at Notre Dame today.” First and foremost because she wanted to have a serious word with Jean about her encounter last night.
“What is it with you?” Eric growled. “Last week you didn’t want to go to the cathedral, and now you must?”
“I never said that. I merely anticipated you would want to, given my condition and all that has happened this week.”
“I see.” He brushed his fingertips down her arm, almost wistful. “As I recall, you were crying after last week’s mass.” Weary eyes found hers. “I had thought to spare you that.”
No hard, angular energy patterns of insincerity. The harsh retort on the tip of her tongue mellowed with her voicing it.
“That is... kind of you.” ‘Not necessary’, she had meant to say, but she hadn’t the heart to refute him when he was so fragile.
Because he was. In the dead of night she had woken when he had come to their bed. Rather than turn his back to her, as he had the past few days, he had put his head on her shoulder, his arms around her without expecting her touch in return. Still angry, she had pretended to be sleeping, but when warm drops had soaked the collar
of her nightgown, she had known it wasn’t the demon answering her calls. Still, feeling a measure of compassion for her husband was not the same as forgiving him his trespasses.
“What about the neighbours?” she asked. “My face has not fully healed, and after last week’s tragedy, there will be talk.”
“There already is,” said Eric, a sour expression about his mouth as he took his top hat from her. “I plan to speak with Derocher, the Cartiers and a few other notables from the quartier after mass. Congenial conversation is a perfect carrier to spread the police findings and put an end to the rumours. Another reason why we should go to the parish church.”
No doubt the primary reason, whatever his concerns for her. Mercedes tried not to show her disillusionment.
“In that case, should we not go out for luncheon today as well? We stayed home last week, but if people are to believe all is right, they should see for themselves that it is.”
Eric dusted off his hat and carefully put it on. “I fear going out for more than mass will be too excitable for you.”
Mercedes’ caught herself before her jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon? It is a meal, not another of your sister’s parties!”
He fidgeted with his cravat, his gaze downcast in something close to shame. “It was a good thing you didn’t come yesterday, ma mie. The company was... quite exuberant.”
“And entertaining, I gather.”
“Not as much so as you might think.” He opened the door and guided her to the stairs. “But perhaps you are right. I will take you to a nice restaurant after mass. Even if it is strenuous, it will be preferable to suffering another of Gagnon’s culinary disasters.”
“Her roast was not that bad, really,” Mercedes said before she could help herself.
Eric scoffed. “So you insist, but it cannot have escaped your attention that this morning the plates were not properly clean and the coffee was lukewarm.”
Indeed it hadn’t, but she refrained from answering until they stood outside and the front door had shut out the chance of the servants eavesdropping.
“I shall reprimand Gagnon for it tonight,” she said.
“No. No more reprimands. I have warned her several times what the consequences would be if she didn’t improve her work, yet she has failed to comply. Enough is enough. I will turn her out when we get back.”
“Without notice? Then who will make tonight’s dinner?”
“You said Amélie could take over Gagnon’s work.”
“In time, yes, but not at the drop of a hat!” She searched frantically for more arguments to buy time; time she needed to diffuse the housekeeper’s blackmail before Eric fired the woman and the explosion tore her life to shreds. “We ought to find a new cook first, before we let Gagnon go and put Amélie in charge of housekeeping.”
For several long minutes, they walked up the street in silence, following the rest of the people running late for mass. “Will that make you happy, keeping Gagnon on a while longer?” Eric asked as they came up to their parish church.
“Happier than the alternative,” Mercedes said, her gaze fixed on the pavement. Unlike last week, the pious crowd consisted of too many well-known faces. She sensed the inquisitive gazes around her and felt unveiled despite the high collar and the thick make-up. “Good grief, I do believe I would have been more welcome at Notre Dame.”
“Nonsense,” said Eric. “People are only curious, as they always are.”
Nosey was a better word, but she conceded by accepting his arm when he offered it. Together they entered the church and took two of the last available seats, appearing to the congregation to be a devoted couple as always. Nevertheless, remembering why the dark brown manteau resting on her shoulders was heavier than normal gave Mercedes great comfort.
The church, so much smaller than Notre Dame, wasn’t brightened through the glow of its many candles. The light that had illuminated the cathedral had been visible only to her heart, but these walls lacked that shine. Here no accumulation of angels gathered that might encourage one particular guide. Still she was determined that Jean should heed her. When the priest began his sermon, she folded her hands and lowered her head as if lost in prayer. Other people making that presumption wouldn’t be entirely incorrect, but the soundless words her lips formed had little to do with the Holy Scriptures.
“Jean? Jean, please, I need to speak with you,” she breathed at steady intervals. She sensed ghosts nearby, lighter than those she was used to, but not as bright as the angels of Notre Dame. Not as bright as Jean. She drew a shaky breath and tried again.
“Jean, for the love of all you hold sacred, answer me.”
I am here.
Mercedes’ interlaced fingers tensed until they were white inside her gloves. She felt tenderness in his presence, like a kind greeting, but all that filled her mind was ‘at last!’.
I never deserted you. Even when you thought I had.
“Shouldn’t a guide be near to do just that? Guide?”
An unfortunate human word for a state of being that does not truly lend itself to translation. Some like me indeed help humans and other incarnate souls, but my concerns lie elsewhere. I only meant to distinguish myself from the angel you took me for.
“Another unfortunate translation?”
Less so, but I do not believe you called me for a lecture on astral society.
She hid her derision in a sigh. “A simple reply from you when I asked for it would have been much appreciated,” she mouthed with taut lips. “I was at a loss.”
I’m sorry for you, but my consolations would not have helped. My being near is enough to deter the one you were meant to find. And you did find him, without the intervention you asked of me.
His delight at her success filled her being, making it hard to maintain her grudge over his previous silence. “I did nothing. I could not make the demon respond,” she muttered, as if her failure was somehow Jean’s by extension for his belief that she could.
No soul can force its will on another, his kind voice resonated in her heart as well as in her mind. Your efforts got his attention and he chose to approach you because of it. That is all anyone could have asked of you.
“You are saying...?”
You did not fail in the least, Jean confirmed, radiating warmth and acceptance.
“He turned me into bait!” she snapped breathlessly. “Your demon hung me out as a lure for the other monster, like a modern Andro-meda.”
The guide’s enthusiasm dimmed a fraction. He is one who does what he believes is necessary. Relentlessly and quite regardless of others, I’m afraid.
A hymn started. Mercedes rose with the rest of the congregation, but continued to mouth soundless words that were in no way related to what was being sung.
“You knew he would do this?”
No, but his approach does not surprise me. It would seem he wants to end the other devourer’s rampage as much as you do, if for different reasons.
She thought of Danielle, and of herself. “He said to leave the monster to him.”
At once Jean’s pleasant light grew dark red. He cannot!
A torrent of emotions poured out of him after that one thought. Mercedes barely remembered to pretend-pray as she sifted through the flood for what little was recognisable. Jean recomposed himself fast, but not before she sensed a great fear, and a sense of falling that was neither hers nor his.
He could never succeed. He does not have the essential skills to stop such a creature. You do. You will have to learn the skill of shifting, too, for it must be you who confronts it.
Mercedes frowned, shaping her lips in tune to the music. “Then why did I need to find your demon, if he cannot help?”
He can. He in turn possesses skills you do not, but which are equally vital. You saw them. You felt them.
Memories of last night surfaced and Jean prompted her to look closer at certain recollections. One of them was the cane stinging her jaw. Another was her being cast aside at the demon’s will.
She turned this latter memory back on Jean.
“Your demon refused me. To him I am just a worm on a hook. He will not help me any more than he will let me help him.”
Then make him see reason. Make him understand his fight is not his alone.
“His fight?”
She fell into her seat when Eric pulled her sleeve at the continuation of the sermon. His hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed gently. It was intended to comfort her, but Mercedes’ mind was elsewhere, contemplating questions she now realised she should have asked sooner.
“Why him? I need his shield, you say, but surely there must be other ghosts, both light and dark, who are that strong. Out of all of them, why this one?”
You are wrong. There are but few who are strong enough.
“Yet there are.” She had sensed this in the undercurrents of his thoughts. He wasn’t lying as such, but neither was he being truthful. Her jaw set. “Why him, Jean?”
I speak the truth. You need his help.
Frank, yet not the whole answer. “How can I trust you if you will not be honest? If you will not help me when I need you?”
I abide by the promise I made you. My shield keeps your daughter hidden only with the proviso that I do not share my focus for too long. The shield will weaken if I do. Sadness came over him. In life I was known for my strength, but here I’m not nearly as strong as him.
It was clear who he was referring to. “Is that why he should be involved?”
You and I made an agreement, said Jean slowly, as if the words weighed him down. She felt him take particular care to keep his thoughts neutral when he added: Have you changed your mind?
Her heart contracted and skipped a beat. Images of Danielle sprang up. Danielle playing, running, listening to her mother reading out loud. The child was not a girl of flesh and blood, but her daughter nevertheless. To think Danielle would come to harm because of her paranoid suspicions...
She blinked back a tear before Eric could see it. “No,” she whispered, perhaps a fraction too loud. “No, I have not.”