“Yes,” Pierre said. “You saw them, at La Maison de Touraine.”
Father DuChard chuckled. “I saw some large wolves that had been killed. And the former Duke’s advisor, whom you say was leading this group that worshipped wolves, as I understand. You’re telling me the wolves and the men were one and the same?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but they were killing people here for years. Until Helena stopped them.” He nodded toward me.
Father DuChard looked back and forth between us. “And how did you do that, Helena?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, not wanting to discuss the details.
He smiled dubiously. “I imagine it is.” He took a sip from his mug, as if closing the conversation. As if he considered us the most amusing children in the village.
“Look, the Lycanthru are real,” I said, hearing my own agitation as I gripped my cup tighter. “They killed my Grand’Mere Marie and a friend of mine, Francois Revelier. They went on to kill my father, my mother, and my little sister, and they spent a lot of time trying to kill me.”
“But you killed them instead, yes?” he asked, his voice full of doubt.
“Yes, I certainly did. Every last one of them! And I spent every day and night working at it to –!”
Father Vestille interrupted with a hand on Father DuChard’s shoulder. “Yes, I assure you, Father DuChard, the Lycanthru were a genuine cult, trying to take control of our village and the throne. But Helena spent all of her energy to fight them and drive them out. We’re safe because of her.”
“I see,” Father DuChard said, preparing to sip his drink again. “So this evening’s celebration is to honor this little girl who chased away a pack of monsters.” He smiled as he sipped, saying nothing more.
I’ve never wanted to punch a priest so badly. Not even when I was angry with Father Vestille.
Who intervened to rescue me again, casting a concerned glance at me as he spoke. “Father DuChard, I understand you have a few skills of your own.”
“Ah, yes,” Father DuChard said, almost as happy to change the subject as I was. He set down his mug and stepped forward, almost in the center of our small gathering, and started to search the pockets of his robe. After some searching, he pulled out a small gold coin and held it up for us to see. He rolled it about on his fingers. “Do you folks believe in magic?”
I shuddered, remembering the way the Lycanthru cursed me with a lock of my hair, making me blind and attacking me in spirit form. “What kind of magic?” I asked. I must have sounded too harsh, as everyone turned toward me with surprise. Only Father Vestille, the one who had broken that curse, looked sympathetic, probably sensing the reason for my concern.
“Not real magic, of course,” Father DuChard assured me, palms open. “Just some tricks and illusions I learned a while ago, to entertain some of the children at the mission in Burgundy. Would you like to see one?”
“Certainly,” Monsieur Leóne said, sounding just as eager to stop discussing the wolves.
“Sure,” said Pierre.
Father DuChard took another step toward Pierre, grinning. “Very well, young man. But I’ll need a ducat from you.”
Pierre flushed as he looked at Monsieur Leóne. “Uh – I don’t have any money on me.”
“Of course you do,” Father DuChard said, pointing at his head. “I can see it, right there.”
Pierre looked back and forth, from me to the others. “But I don’t. I don’t have any –.”
“What do you call this?” Father DuChard said, reaching behind Pierre’s ear to grasp at something. Opening his hand, he showed us all a gold ducat.
I blinked. Pierre clutched his temple, gaping down at the ducat that had mysteriously appeared.
“And what about this one?” Father DuChard said, plucking from the hair at the other side of Pierre’s head to produce another ducat in his palm. “And this one. And this one!” He made a few more grabs, each time producing another coin, until he had collected half a dozen. “Why, you’re rich, Pierre!”
“Amazing!” Monsieur Leóne said as everyone laughed. “How did you do that?”
Father DuChard shrugged, smiling. “It’s just an illusion. I’m afraid I can’t tell you the secret. It’s a matter of making people believe what you want them to believe.” He stared directly at me, pausing. “I suppose that can easily happen in life, can’t it? It’s easy to imagine things, after a severe trauma or shock. Easy to make up stories to assuage our grief, or perhaps our guilty conscience. I’ve seen it happen to many people. Some of them mistake their fantasies for reality, so much that they ultimately believe all sorts of wild stories. Better to keep our feet grounded in the truth, isn’t it? That’s why we pray and attend mass, to receive instruction, yes?”
“Of course,” Monsieur Leóne agreed quickly.
The way Father DuChard said it – the way he kept staring at me with those pitying eyes – made me want to scream. Was he now accusing me of being delusional, right in front of everyone?
“Excuse me,” I said, not bothering to attempt another curtsy before stepping away from everyone. Away from Father DuChard and his condescending remarks. “Thank you for the magic trick,” I said as I pushed past him.
It took a lot of restraint to walk away with my cup, instead of slamming it against the table.
Or across Father DuChard’s jaw.
He smiled and put the coins into his pocket. “You’re welcome, my dear.” He turned to Monsieur Leóne. “Frayne, if you’ll assist me, I have something amazing to show everyone. It’s just outside in my wagon.”
“Of course,” Frayne said, stepping away with him to the rear door.
I strode halfway across the room before Pierre caught my arm. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t let that bother you. He’s new here. He doesn’t know what we’ve all been through. You can’t expect everybody to believe the Lycanthru are real.”
I stopped and stood, fuming. “As long as you still believe me.”
He smiled. “I was there, remember? Hard to doubt what you’ve seen. Especially when it’s trying to kill you.”
“Perhaps you should tell him that.”
“I will,” he assured me. “But not tonight. Give him some time to figure things out. If he still doesn’t believe us, it doesn’t matter. Everyone knows what happened.”
I sighed, feeling foolish for my outburst. “Thanks.”
“You look amazing, dear,” said a woman behind me. I turned to see Madame Denue, swaying slightly with something harder than champagne on her breath. I didn’t know women allowed themselves to get drunk.
“Thank you,” I said.
She waved her mug vaguely at Pierre. “I’m sure this handsome young man thinks so, too. Don’t you, young man?”
Pierre smiled. “I certainly do.”
Madame Denue took another sip. “Such an impressive thing. To – to fend off those beasts. And still such a pretty young girl.” She waved three fingers at my face. “Those nasty marks notwithstanding.”
I maintained a tight smile.
“My boy Jacque had his eye on you, too, I imagine. Didn’t he? You can tell me, dear.”
Only to attack me for being so ugly, I thought to myself. “It wasn’t like that,” I said cautiously. “We were – just friends.”
She smiled, nodded, lolled her head as if grasping a deep secret that we were now sharing. “Yesss, he never seemed too interested in anyone, except for that Verdante girl. He mentioned her a few times, though I don’t know that he ever spoke to her much. He spent all his time running about with those rough boys he knew, never standing still long enough to enjoy the company of a nice young thing like you. Welllll, it’s his loss, isn’t it?” She suddenly stopped and frowned down at herself. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. Terrible. I – I’ve had too much – too much to drink. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I said, uncomfortable.
“In any case,” she said, lifting her mug. “Here’s to the g
irl who rescued our entire village.” She drained her mug and smiled at me. I forced a weak smile in return. Then she seemed to run out of things to say. She cleared her throat. “Well – um – So have you
– Have you settled back in at home now?”
I looked away. “… I went to the house this morning.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. What was there to say about my house, empty of the people who once lived in it?
She blinked at me, looking awkward. “Well – in any case …” She stared blankly. She leaned forward and smiled, in a way that was almost comforting. “Well, see that you take care of yourself, dear.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded, as if we had enjoyed a meaningful conversation, and stepped away, stumbling once. Monsieur Denue arrived at her side to help keep her from toppling over. “Careful, Marguerite,” he said, meeting her eyes as he eased her back upright.
She patted his hand. “Thank you, dear. You always know when I’ve had too much, don’t you?”
“We had best be going,” Father Vestille said, appearing at my side. “I planned to spend the evening with the Denues, and Madame Denue insisted on accepting Lisette’s invitation to honor you. But they’re both tired, and need some time away from crowds.”
I nodded, wishing I could escape, too. “I understand.”
“Will I – see you later?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said, staring after Madame Denue. “I suppose I should return home. At least for tonight. I don’t know.”
He smiled and touched my shoulder. “Whatever you decide,” he said. “I’m proud of you, Helena.”
“Thank you, Father.”
He turned as Father DuChard and Monsieur Leóne returned from outside, wheeling in a large cabinet and moving it toward the wall at the far side of the dining room. Father DuChard held a small black wand between his hand and the cabinet, presumably a prop for his next trick. Father Vestille cast a cautionary glance at me. “Try to get along with everyone,” he urged.
“You know me,” I said.
He shook his head and patted my shoulder, as Monsieur Leóne stepped up to bid him farewell. Father Vestille gave his hand a firm shake. “Frayne, I hope you appreciate all the sacrifices this brave girl has made to save us.”
Monsieur Leóne tossed me a look that seemed like a grumble. “Yes, Father,” he surrendered. “Thank you for coming.”
Father Vestille smiled and extended his arms to Monsieur and Madame Denue, like a shepherd gathering in stray sheep, and led them toward the door. The Denues looked melancholy, as if enjoying the party but needing to grieve in private. They gave partial smiles and nods to everyone as they passed by, heading out the front door.
“Now this is a grand illusion,” Father DuChard announced to the attentive crowd circling around him as he held up his wand. “But I’ll need a volunteer.” He looked about at each face.
Then settled on mine.
“Helena. Perfect. Our guest of honor. Would you be so kind as to assist me?”
I looked to Pierre for a rescue, but he shrugged as everyone gave mild applause. Try to get along, Father Vestille said. I smiled though clenched teeth and set my cup on a table, letting Father DuChard take my hand.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now let me instruct you so you won’t be frightened. As I said, it’s only an illusion. No harm will come to you.”
I smiled broader, hoping I looked compliant.
He bent toward my ear. “Thank you, Helena,” he whispered. “I hope I didn’t offend you earlier. It’s simply – well, it seems a bit much to believe, but perhaps we can discuss it further another time. For now, how well can you keep a secret?”
I thought of the underground longhouse beneath Father Vestille’s hovel. And the undisclosed fact that he was now my father. “Well enough,” I said.
“Wonderful. Now I’m going to let everyone believe you have vanished. You’ll step into this cabinet and I’ll close the curtain. While I speak to the crowd, find the latch that opens the rear door and step through it. I’ll strike my wand against the cabinet three times and tell everyone you’ve vanished. Then wait in the compartment at the back of the cabinet by the window, until I strike it three more times to command that you re-appear. Understand?”
I did. It sounded clever. “Yes,” I said.
He straightened up. “She feels confident and unafraid,” he said. “Now, before your very eyes, I am going to make our young Mademoiselle vanish. Don’t worry. I promise to return her to you in due time. Helena, if you please, step inside the cabinet.”
I smiled, feeling strange. Sharing a secret, playing a game, like I was a child again. Perhaps this was what it would be like now. What peace and joy would feel like. I stepped inside, enjoying the entertained faces of everyone watching me. Watching me without disgust or confusion, but as one of them. For the first time in our province, I belonged.
He closed the black door. “And now,” he continued, sounding muffled. “I will wave this powerful wand, and our sweet Helena will vanish.”
I turned, feeling for the latch. It was large enough to find easily. I flipped it up, pushed against the door, and slipped into the rear compartment to wait. Father DuChard continued to address everyone, though he was harder to hear now. But I could hear him thump the door with his wand.
Then something tapped three more times behind me.
I turned, finding a small peephole in the back of the cabinet. I could see the window curtains, parted slightly. Someone was standing outside.
I leaned closer, and found that the peephole was part of a small rear door I could push open, allowing me to see better. I could stick my whole face through it. Apparently for other illusion that Father DuChard performed.
I craned my neck toward the window, as a man’s finger tapped against it once more. I squinted to peer into the darkness beyond the curtains at the man smiling back at me.
It was Siegfried Simonet.
10.
All thoughts of calm and joy had been ripped from my soul, along with all reason. I was starting through the trick cabinet’s opening at Simonet, waving at me from outside through the window. Siegfried Simonet, the last of the Lycanthru.
The man I killed last night. I opened the secret compartment just as Father DuChard opened the front cabinet door. I burst through it.
“And as you see, Helena has now van– What?” Everyone laughed, seeing me emerge from my hiding place in the back of the cabinet. Father DuChard blinked, astonished, then chuckled with the others. “Helena, dear. You’ve ruined the illusion.”
“I need a knife,” I said.
Everyone gaped at me in silence.
I turned to Pierre, breathless. “Pierre, I need a knife. Or something sharp, with silver in it.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Give me a knife!” I exploded.
No one moved. So I did. I was as stunned as the rest of them, surely more so. But there was no time to be afraid or confused. I pushed past everyone, scanning the tables until I found a sharp carving knife.
A silver one.
Pierre followed after me as the others stepped away to give me room. “Red, what’s wrong?”
“Simonet,” I told him, brandishing the knife and turning toward the door.
“WhWhat about him?” Touraine asked.
“He’s outside. I saw him.”
Everyone exchanged glances as couples drew closer together, stepping further away from me.
Just as well, since it cleared a path to the front porch. I hitched up one side of my dress and ran, as best I could in my slippers. I threw open the door and jumped down to the porch, nearly toppling over on my heel. I rushed to the edge and leaped to the grass, turning to find Simonet and plunge the knife into his chest.
The lawn beside the house was dark and empty.
He must have run around the side of the house, toward the rear shed. I ran to the end of the wall and into the back yard, where Father DuChard’s horse a
nd small wagon sat between the house and the rear shed. I ran past the wagon, searching all around it and beneath it. Then I searched around the shed, and everywhere inside it. I couldn’t see everything in the darkness of the tools and woodpiles, but I could certainly see well enough to spot a tall, lanky man within the small space.
But he was nowhere to be found.
There were no sounds of horses fleeing. Or of Lycanthru footsteps. He couldn’t have escaped that quickly.
Unless it wasn’t him. Unless I had imagined it somehow.
But I didn’t. It was Simonet, grinning at me, gloating. Because he had returned from the dead. Could the Lycanthru do that? They were a cult of witches, but could they cheat death?
Could Simonet still be alive?
“Red!”
I jerked away from Pierre’s grip on my arm.
“Whoa!” he said.
“… sorry.”
“Red, are you all right?”
I stepped past him, scanning the area. Every dark recess. Every distant tree. Every wall around the house. “He’s here somewhere,” I said, wandering about in circles, searching for a ghost, finding nothing.
“Who?”
“Simonet.”
“Red, he’s dead. You killed him.”
“I know.”
“So … you lost me.”
I turned to face him. “Pierre, I saw him at the window. Staring at me. He’s alive.”
“That’s impossible. You killed him yourself.”
“Nevertheless, I saw him spying on our party.”
Pierre blinked at me.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I – I mean …” He struggled for words. “That doesn’t make any sense. Are you sure it was him?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “And I know it makes no sense. So we’ve got to find out how he did it, and what he’s up to.”
“Wait, Red. Slow down. Is there any chance – any chance at all – that you saw someone else? Or something else? Something that just looked like him?”
No, I thought. It was him. It was Siegfried Simonet, the man I killed last night, now wandering about La Rue Sauvage and peeping in windows.
Red Rider Revolution Page 7