Our visit to the police station was brief. LieutenantGeneral Vitton was happy to receive us and spoke privately with me about everything that happened. He encouraged me to continue watching the Strineaus and the activity in DeSarte. “Dig up anything you can, anything we can use as proof,” he said. “Let me know the moment you learn anything.”
I nodded and stepped away to rejoin Pierre and Father Vestille, letting them know what the Lieutenant-General said. We rode back to the Leónes’ house, where Father Vestille went inside to speak further to the Leónes. He knew Monsieur Leóne would need more convincing and assurance that I wasn’t out of my mind, especially after the way Father DuChard discounted my entire story.
“You all right?” Pierre asked.
I nodded.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the back of the
house.
I smiled. “Come on where?”
“The woodshed,” he said, trying to stifle his own smile. I turned into him, wishing I could sink into his embrace
right here, out in the open. “Why?” I asked in a coy tone. “What’s in the woodshed?”
“I want to kiss you,” he said simply, spoiling the game.
I didn’t mind. “All right,” I said. I wanted to kiss him just as badly, but he didn’t need to know that.
I walked ahead of him, moving quicker than I expected. After the danger of the last two nights, Pierre’s strong arms and soft lips would be a welcome relief.
Stealing glances toward the closed shutters of the house, I hurried into the shed. Pierre followed and shut the door behind us. It was dark and dusty, the thin rays of sunlight making the drifting dust motes sparkle like snowflakes. I stepped back, ready for him to envelop me in his arms, to consume me. He didn’t move. “Here we are,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said without enthusiasm. He remained by the door, staring at the floorboards.
“I thought you wanted to kiss me,” I reminded him.
“I just said that to bring you here,” he said, sounding annoyed. “You have to keep pushing, don’t you, Helena?”
I stared at him. “What’s wrong?”
“You,” he said. “Everything has to be about you and those stupid wolves. Why can’t you let it go?”
My body felt like it was caving inward. “Because – Because we have to rescue that girl.”
He sniffed. “If there is a girl.”
“– I thought you believed me.”
“Of course I do,” he said with a snide tone. “I believe everything you say, no matter how ridiculous it is. And every story is more ludicrous than the last one you told.”
I stared at him, a swirl of emotions rushing through me. I wanted to strike him for insulting me. Wanted to run off and cry somewhere, alone. And I wanted to hold him tight and never let go.
I chose the latter, moving to embrace him, to drive this argument away with our closeness.
He pushed my arms back. “Get your hands off. I’m sick of you clinging to me, day after day.”
I swallowed, angry and wounded. “I – I didn’t know –.” I clenched my teeth. “I didn’t know I was bothering you. I thought you wanted me here. You – You said you loved me.”
He laughed. Harsh and cruel. “Of course! I’m in love with Helena Basque!” He laughed again. “You were right. I could have any girl in town. Even Celia Verdante, if I wanted. So why should I waste my time on a scar-faced girl who dresses like a boy?”
I gaped at him. “– How can you say that.”
“Easy. It’s true. You know it better than anyone. Now get out of here. I’m tired of looking at you.”
He was casting me aside. Like I always feared he would. “You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do. Go haunt someone else, you ugly witch.” He moved behind me, putting me between him and the door, and shoved me to the ground. Just like his father did. “Get out or I’ll throw you out.”
I blinked at him. Just like that, his love turned to hatred, his kindness to cruelty. Everything I ever knew about him, all his professions of love and care for me – they were all lies. It only took a day for him to show his true self, arrogant and cruel. I fought back tears. His shove was far worse than the one his father gave me. Far worse than the rocks thrown by Jacque Denue and his cronies. Almost as horrid as the abuse I suffered at the hands of …
The Lycanthru.
I squinted up at him. At his face, contorted in a vicious snarl, delighting in my humiliation. He no longer looked like Pierre, the boy who said he loved me. Who proved it over and over, helping me fight those monsters. As he sneered down his nose at me, I felt the same chill that came whenever the Lycanthru taunted me.
As though he had become one of them.
“Pierre, listen to me. This isn’t you.”
“Of course it is. This is who I’ve always been, Helena. You were just too blind and too stupid to see it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then why aren’t you calling me ‘Red’?”
He paused, lowering his chin. Crouching as if ready to spring at me. He bared his teeth, his chest heaving. “Red,” he said in a strangled voice. “– Help.”
I rose, seeing the pain in his face. “Pierre?”
Then his vicious smile returned and his eyes shone with wicked glee. The same expression I saw last night on the hairy face of the Prime. He gave a guttural laugh. “I told you I’d bury you, Helena,” he said in a low voice.
He lunged, slamming into me as his arms coiled around my waist.
29.
We fell hard on the woodshed’s dusty floor. Pierre’s flying tackle knocked the wind from my lungs as I struggled to push his leering grin off me. He pinned me with his full weight, snapping his teeth at my face like he had fangs. I freed one knee and jammed it into his ribs. He grunted as I planted my foot for leverage and pushed him off, rolling on top of him and clambering to my feet.
He groaned, rising on one knee as he clutched his ribs. “You’re stronger than you look, Helena,” he said in the Prime’s low voice. “But so am I.”
“Pierre, listen to me. The Lycanthru are controlling you. You’ve got to fight it.”
He laughed. “You can think you can resist the Prime, Helena?”
He leaped in front of me so suddenly that I gasped. Then he punched my jaw, sending me spinning backward. Stars danced in my vision as I fell against the stacked wood.
He seized the back of my neck.
“Let’s test how strong you are,” he said. His other hand locked onto my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back. I grunted, grinding my teeth.
Then he rammed my head and shoulders into the woodpile.
Stars swirled before me again as I fought the nausea churning in my gut. He hammered me into the wood a second and third time, and I expected to vomit and pass out.
As he prepared to ram me again, I kicked against the wall, pushing him sideways to the floor. He toppled to the ground and I rolled away from him, jumping to my feet. He turned to look up at me, looking confused and hurt. “Red?”
I kicked his face hard, knocking him aside. He cried out in pain, but not the guttural moan of the Prime.
“Pierre?”
He groaned with the sound of pain and outrage. “What on earth are you doing? Why did you kick me?”
“Pierre, you – you weren’t yourself.”
“So you’re kicking me now?”
“You were – You attacked me. You were trying to kill me.”
He looked up at me, massaging his bruised jaw, like he was staring at a stranger. A stranger who had lost her mind. “Why would I try to kill you?”
“You were being controlled. By the Lycanthru. They did it to me a few months ago. They cast some sort of spell to invade my mind and attack me from far off. They’re doing the same thing to you now, except they’re controlling your actions.”
He blinked. “Controlling my actions?”
“You need to see Father Vestille. Let’s go back to the house. He can help you,
the same way he freed me of their control.” I marched toward the door. “Meanwhile, I need to return to DeSarte.”
Pierre’s jaw dropped. “You’re going back?”
“I can’t let them frighten me off. They still have Claudette, and maybe the Serrones.”
“Just be careful, all right?” He put his hand on my shoulder.
I pulled away.
“Red? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Come on. We need to see Father Vestille.”
“Why are you pulling away from me?”
“– You said some things.”
He furrowed his brows. “Like what?”
I bit my lip. “That you could be with any girl you want. So why should you be with – an ugly scarred witch like me.”
“Red,” he croaked. “I would never say that.”
“But you did.”
“No, I couldn’t have -.”
“I know you were being controlled. But to hear those things from anyone – it still hurts. More now than before. I’ve always been ugly and strange. But you made me feel normal. Even special. Only to take it away, in one cruel moment.”
He swallowed. Then he crossed toward me quickly.
I held up a hand to stop him. “You’ve told me how you feel, several times. But I don’t know if you’ve told me everything, or how much the Lycanthru drew from your true thoughts. And it hurts to know that you could actually feel that way, like I always feared you would. To know you’d likely be happier with someone else. Anyone else.”
He knit his eyebrows, looking pained. “Red. When I said those things, whatever I said – that wasn’t me.”
“I know,” I said, feeling my humiliation rise to the surface, about to burst. “But it was still me.”
I rushed past him and out the door. I ran across the yard toward the house, as the rear shutter opened and Madame Leóne looked quizzically at me from the kitchen. I felt trapped with nowhere to hide my tears. I ran awkwardly to the stoop and pressed my back against the wall of their house, trying to weep quietly. The same stoop where Monsieur Leóne pushed me to the ground a few months ago, when he ordered me to leave his family alone. Now Pierre – his son that I loved – had kicked me aside, too. I knew he didn’t mean to. I knew he was speaking and acting under the vicious control of the Lycanthru. But to hear it from his own lips, whether he believed it or not – I couldn’t bear it, not from him.
The door opened and Madame Leóne stepped onto the porch. Her arms were wrapped around me in an instant, pulling me close to her chest. I sobbed, trying to stifle my moans. I had become a fragile child again, bawling over the nasty names I was called by the mean boys in town. Except this time it was a boy I trusted. The only boy I ever had – and ever could have – loved.
“It’s all right, Helena,” Madame Leóne said, stroking the back of my head. “Everything will be all right. What happened?”
I tried to gather my breath. “Pierre – something happened to him. It wasn’t his fault, but – he said some cruel things.”
She broke the embrace and blinked, her eyes popping. “Pierre? To you?”
“As I say, it wasn’t his fault. He was being controlled by the Lycanthru.”
Her hand rose to her chest. “Controlled? They – They can control people?”
“They cursed me, a few months ago. I could barely move and they kept – kept clawing at me, without even being present. They’ve done something to Pierre. He threatened me in the Prime’s voice. And – he called me an ugly witch.”
Her eyes bulged. “He WHAT?” She stopped herself, shutting her eyes and raising her hands like claws, then lowering them slowly. “Well – He would have to be controlled to say something like that. Where is he?”
“In the shed. Or coming in to have Father Vestille pray over him. He broke the curse over me before, so I told Pierre to see him.”
She sighed heavily with an abrupt nod. “That should take care of it, then.”
“Yes,” I said. “It should.”
She lifted my chin. “But it doesn’t,” she noted.
I shook my head. “It’s just – When you hear insults your whole life, and then someone comes along who seems to accept you completely …”
“It hurts more,” she finished.
My head drooped, like my neck had been fastened in prison stocks. “A lot more.”
“Well, that proves one thing, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“You love him. What others say always hurts, but it’s the ones we love that can hurt us the most.”
I trembled. Perhaps with the discomfort of acknowledging that. Or from the fear of losing his love someday. Like today. “Yes, I do love him.”
“So you can forgive him. Again and again. Believe me, if you love Pierre, this won’t be the last time he hurts you. He’ll drive a knife through your heart a million times, whether he means to or not. And if you love him, you can choose to forgive him a million times.”
I stared at the distant woodshed, still feeling the sting of Pierre’s insults. Far more than the bruises he had given me. “I’m not sure I know how.”
She waved it off. “You’ll figure it out, over time. Meanwhile, you can help me. I’ve made a silly mistake and prepared too much pork for tonight’s dinner. You can stay for lunch and help us eat it.”
I swallowed, picturing myself seated at the dinner table, trapped in conversation with Monsieur Leóne, Father DuChard – and Pierre. “That’s very kind of you, Madame Leóne, but –.”
“Please. We can’t eat it all and it will spoil. And Father DuChard doesn’t eat as much as you might think.” She clasped my hand in hers and leaned close, her forehead against mine. “It should give you and Pierre time to talk, whenever you’re comfortable.”
I soured. “I’m never comfortable.”
She laughed. “Well, I hope you feel comfortable with me.”
Staring into her smiling eyes, I recalled the lazy left eye she had told me about. “I do,” I said. “I’ll stay.”
“Wonderful,” she said, releasing me. “I’ll let Frayne know we have a lovely young lady joining us. I have another dress you can try on.”
“How many dresses are you making for me?”
“Enough, I hope.” She waved me off again, so I must have looked uncomfortable. “It’s only to borrow, unless it looks so good on you, you’ll have to keep it. Now why don’t you –?”
She froze as Pierre came around the corner, hands in his trouser pockets. “Hi,” he muttered.
Madame Leóne struck her hands on her hips. “Helena says you insulted her?”
He stared at his shoes. “She says I did. I don’t remember it.”
“Well, I’m glad you don’t remember saying anything so vile. She said – she said you’re under the control of those wolves.”
“I guess so.”
“Then go inside and have Father Vestille and Father DuChard pray over you.”
“No!” I said, too suddenly. “Just Father Vestille.”
Madame Leóne knit her brow. “Why?”
I cleared my throat. “I just think – he’ll be more experienced in it.”
She continued to study me, unconvinced. I didn’t know how to explain that I still didn’t trust Father DuChard that far. How could he effectively pray against the Lycanthru’s influence when he didn’t even believe they existed?
Madame Leóne shrugged and returned her attention to Pierre. “Very well, then. Go see Father Vestille.”
“Yes, Mama,” Pierre said, trudging past her into the house.
She turned to call after him. “And see that you don’t call him an ugly witch!”
Pierre winced, hanging his head lower. “Yes, Mama.”
“Pierre,” she called again, softer. “I know this isn’t you. Just – Just ask Father Vestille to help you.”
He nodded and shuffled into the next room.
“Come on inside, Helena, and help me start cooking.”
I hesitated. “I’m not
a good cook.”
“Well, then, it’s time you learned. Come along.”
She pulled me closer. Then she leaned in and hugged me, whispering in my ear. “You’re good for Pierre. Don’t ever imagine anything different.”
She tugged me inside and began showing me the pork and carrots and potatoes she planned to serve, and set me to work peeling the vegetables.
A minute later, Monsieur Leóne burst into the kitchen. “What’s this about my son hurting someone?” he demanded. His deep voice sounded defensive and accusing at the same time. He furrowed his brows, looking impatient, as Father DuChard entered behind him. “Come on, out with it.”
Madame Leóne spoke up. “Helena said Pierre insulted her a while ago.”
Monsieur Leóne appeared to be waiting for more. He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows at Madame Leóne. “Is that all?”
“He also attacked her,” Madame Leóne said. “She had to fight him off.”
Monsieur Leóne somehow looked even angrier. His eyes narrowed on me. “Why would he do that? What happened between you two?”
“It’s not him,” I said, quick to defend Pierre.
Monsieur Leóne cocked his head, then exchanged looks with Father DuChard. “Then who is it?”
“The Lycanthru. They’re controlling him. They did it to me before.”
“And made you imagine things that weren’t actually happening?” Father DuChard asked, smiling.
“No,” I said, clenching my fists. “Father Vestille can tell you. Pierre needs him to pray and break the curse they put on him.”
Monsieur Leóne waved a hand toward Father DuChard. “If Pierre actually needs prayer for anything, Father DuChard is right here.”
“Of course,” Father DuChard said. “I’d be happy to pray for your son. Whatever he needs.”
“No offense,” I said evenly. “But he needs to go to Father Vestille for this.”
Father DuChard chuckled to himself. “I understand, Helena. I know you’re not comfortable with me.”
“It’s not that. But Father Vestille -.”
Father DuChard held up a hand. “Of course. He’s been your priest for some time. I understand you prefer to go to him for all matters. I need to spend time praying in my room, as I promised you I would, Helena. Excuse me, everyone.”
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