“It’s all right, Helena. Don’t worry,” Father DuChard said, smiling. He winked at me, as though I were a child. As though this was a game.
I sipped my water.
“Henri Favreau was in the shop on Friday, said his pig just gave birth,” Monsieur Leóne said, cutting into his meat.
I flinched at the mention of Monsieur Favreau, who introduced himself to me at the Leónes’ party. The man who owned the farm on the west end of La Rue Sauvage, where I first fought the Lycanthru.
Monsieur Leóne started chewing. “Third one in two months. He should be recovering well from his losses.”
Unless the wolves come back and take more of his pigs again, I thought. Or his daughter.
“Doesn’t he have more than enough pigs already?” Madame Leóne asked, spreading some honey on her bread.
“Not to his mind,” Monsieur Leóne said. “He came into the shop, all anxious. Like he’d just survived a war. Been like that for months, since he lost that handful of pigs.”
I chewed my bread slowly. You’d be anxious, too, I thought, if five large wolves strolled onto your property and threatened to steal your child.
Pierre was cutting his meat into small pieces. “Yeah, he came in to get new horseshoes. Said he found a crack in one and wanted to replace it as soon as he can.” Pierre laughed. “It’s a tiny crack. But he’s worried it might break all at once if he’s at a fast gallop.”
If the wolves are chasing him, I thought as I stabbed a piece of pork.
“You look pensive, Helena,” Father DuChard noted. “What are your thoughts?”
Every head turned toward me. “I hope you can provide him with new shoes,” I said. “So he can ride as fast as he needs to.” I chewed my meat as the conversation halted.
“Well,” Madame Leóne said. “I hope the pork is tender enough.”
“It’s perfect, dear, as always,” Monsieur Leóne said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Magnificent,” Father DuChard said, chewing.
“Yes, it’s excellent,” I said, finishing a bit and sipping more water.
I wanted to relax. I wanted to enjoy dinner and have pleasant conversation, or at least enjoy listening to it. But this peace wouldn’t last. Any more than it did for Mama or Papa or Suzette. I imagined Francois, returning home late at night, only to be surrounded by wolves out for revenge. I pictured those same wolves charging through the doors and windows of the Leónes’ home while we sat around the table laughing.
“You all right, Red?”
I realized I had stopped drinking and now held the cup in front of my lips. “I’m fine. Just remembering something.”
“Don’t worry, Helena,” Father DuChard said. “We all get distracted sometimes. No reason to be embarrassed.”
I set my mug down, fixing my gaze on him. “I’m not.”
“Well … good.”
No one spoke or ate.
“So,” Madame Leóne broke in quietly. “What else shall we talk about?”
We finally finished dinner and Madame Leóne rose to gather the dishes. “Father DuChard, would you mind helping me clear the table?”
“Of course, Lisette. I’d be glad to.”
“You, too, dear?”
Monsieur Leóne glanced up at her in surprise, but said
nothing. He simply set his mug down, frowned briefly at me and Pierre, then rose, grabbing the platter of pork remains and following her into the kitchen. After a few trips back and forth, they had cleared the entire table of everything but the water pitcher and our cups, leaving me alone with Pierre.
He stared at me. I glanced away, sipping my water. “I can’t believe how beautiful you look,” he said. I stared at my cup. “Stop.”
“I mean it,” he said. “That dress is incredible.” He lifted
my chin. “You’re incredible.” Part of me wanted to melt into his arms. Part of me wanted to strike something. Preferably the Lycanthru instead of Pierre. “Thank you,” I said.
“Where did Father Vestille go?”
“La Maison. He’s meeting with Touraine.”
He nodded. “Red. I’m sorry for – whatever happened. I
didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“I wasn’t mad, exactly.”
He knit his brows. “You were hurt.”
I didn’t want to admit that out loud. I was glad he did it for
me.
“I didn’t mean any of that.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It’s just – It’s just a
reminder, that’s all.”
“Of what?”
“That you could do better.”
He looked around the room, as if searching for something
to help h im understand. “Better than what?”
“Better than me.”
He grinned. “That’s impossible.”
I rose abruptly and moved away from the table. “You
could have any girl you want.” He followed me quickly. “Maybe,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “But that’s why I chose you. The bravest, most beautiful girl in La Rue Sauvage.”
I made a sour face at him. “You keep saying that. Like you can’t see I’m scarred.”
“Everybody has scars, Red.” His hand moved to caress my cheek. “Yours are just easier to see. And you’re still beautiful.”
I trembled, staring into his warm blue eyes. Sinking into them. “You mean that,” I said. It was supposed to be a question, but it came out as a statement.
“I’ve always meant it.”
My entire body seemed to melt. For the first time since I killed Simonet, I felt completely relaxed. “Kiss me.”
I wanted him to grab me and pull me to himself in a rush. Instead, he held my gaze, placing his hands gently on my cheeks. His fingers brushed my hair back and he leaned in, closing those magnificent eyes. I closed mine and let his lips and his gentle passion consume me, as his hands slid down my back to pull my waist against him.
The kitchen door opened and Father DuChard emerged. He saw us and his smile faded. “Oh. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just grabbing the pitcher.”
We stood watching him, arms around each other. I studied his slow gathering of the pitcher and remaining cups, breathless.
He lifted his head with a sudden thought. “Helena, I still wish to speak with you in private, whenever you are ready.”
I tightened my lips into a wooden smile. “All right,” I said. Might as well get this over with. I smiled into Pierre’s eyes. “Can you excuse us for a minute?” I added in a whisper, “Or less, I hope.”
His eyes crinkled. “Sure. Be back soon.”
I watched him walk off to the kitchen.
He was mine again. Mine forever.
Father DuChard bowed as Pierre passed him, and the door closed.
I sighed. “Very well, Father DuChard. What did you want to tell me?”
He stroked his chin. “I wish to put this delicately,” he said, pacing alongside me. “To make sure you understand.”
Again, he insisted on speaking to me like a child. I folded my hands. “All right.”
“As I said, it’s sort of a secret. One that should prove useful to you.”
I reigned in my annoyance. “Wonderful. What is it?”
He grinned. Then he lunged at me like lightning, his arm coiling around my waist and pinning me as his other hand clamped my mouth shut. He yanked me against him, whispering at my cheek as I struggled to break his iron grip. “The secret, my sweet Helena, is that I’m going to bury you. By which, I mean that I am going to kill you, very slowly. Starting now.”
My nerves flared and I bucked against him as his arm fastened tighter, while his other hand muffled my scream. His thumb and fingers pressed into my cheeks as he twisted my head to one side. He was about to yank my head off!
He chuckled. “I would so love to sink my teeth into that lovely little neck and make you really squirm. But perhaps another time.”
I tugged and tugged in vain while he mocked me. Father DuChard was the Prime! He meant to kill me right here in Pierre’s home and I could do nothing to stop him!
The kitchen door cracked open and I pulled away, screaming as he released me. I spun about, ready to fight him, even without my weapons. Anything to keep the Leónes safe.
Yet Father DuChard stood there looking shocked and concerned as the others filed out of the kitchen. “Helena,” he said in a wounded tone. “What’s wrong?”
I pointed at him, trembling. “He’s one of them,” I told the Leónes. “He’s their leader. The Prime. He just tried to attack me.”
Monsieur Leóne looked at his wife and son, then back at me. “The way you say Pierre tried to attack you earlier?”
“That wasn’t his fault,” I said. “He was being controlled. But Father D uChard is no priest. He’s a Lycanthru.”
Father DuChard cast a helpless look toward the others, as if uncertain how to react. All part of his play acting. “Helena, I know you don’t approve of me. And of course, I have trouble believing your stories about giant wolves attacking innocent people, especially men turning into wolves. But are you now accusing me of –?”
“Shut up,” I said. “No one’s believing your act anymore. Now tell us what you’re up to, and why you let me go after you tied me up last night, and what happened to Claudette and the Serrones.”
He gaped at me, looking even more confused. He shook his head, glancing at the Leónes.
Monsieur Leóne broke in. “Helena. This has gone far enough.”
Then I noticed that the Leónes – even Pierre – looked just as perplexed as Father DuChard. I must have sounded crazy. “You don’t understand,” I told them. “He just tried to strangle me while you were all in the kitchen. He threatened me, telling me the same thing he told me last night, as the Prime.”
Father DuChard held up innocent hands. “As the what?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about and who you are. How you duped Monsieur Leóne to let him invite you into his home, I don’t know, but you won’t -!”
“Helena!” Monsieur Leóne barked. “I said that’s enough.”
“I’ll prove it,” I said. “I’ll prove he’s one of them.” I strode to the table and snatched up a carving knife.
A silver one.
Everyone seemed to flinch as I whirled around with it.
Madame Leóne put up gentle hands. “Helena, before you do anything rash, let’s think a moment.”
Her husband was less patient. “You’re not laying a hand on Father DuChard. Is that clear?”
“Wait, please,” Father DuChard told them. “Obviously, Helena is very upset, and she truly believes what she is saying. I think I understand what she means, and I’m willing to submit to a test, in order to make peace. Let me have the knife.”
Monsieur Leóne fumed. “Father, you don’t have to –.”
“Yes,” Father DuChard interrupted. “I believe I do. Helena needs to know what’s real.”
Monsieur Leóne sighed heavily. “Hand him the knife, Helena.”
I had not expected this. It couldn’t be right. “No. I’ll –.”
“Hand him the knife, Helena,” Monsieur Leóne ordered.
I couldn’t trust Father DuChard, but Monsieur Leóne did. None of the Leónes would listen to me if I refused to let Father DuChard try to defend himself. I tossed the blade to him, hilt first. He caught it with two awkward hands, nearly dropping it. I bent my legs, ready to stop him from attacking me or the others. He would have to tear me to pieces before I let him harm anyone here.
He rolled back his sleeve and sighed at his bared arm.
Then he drew the gleaming blade across his forearm. A thin stream of blood appeared as he grit his teeth and groaned. Madame Leóne gasped, but I kept my focus on his arm. The line of blood remained on the skin, but Father DuChard didn’t suffer much from it. No more than any normal human would suffer from a knife cut.
Any normal human.
“Is that – enough, Helena?” Father DuChard said with a grimace. “Do you need me to – cut myself any more?”
The Leónes all stepped forward as one. “Of course not, Father,” Madame Leóne said quickly. “Here, come with me to the kitchen. I’ll clean you up.” She took hold of him with both arms, looking over her shoulder at me with hurt and confusion. Even Madame Leóne had stopped believing me.
As the door shut, Monsieur Leóne glowered at me. “Helena. I don’t know what you’ve been doing these last few days, or why you’re so obsessed with these wolves, if there are any, but you will not accuse Father DuChard any further. Is that clear?”
“Monsieur Leóne, you don’t underst-.”
“Is that clear?”
I stepped back from beneath his looming presence and turned to Pierre. “You saw him, Pierre. You could tell he was play acting, couldn’t you?”
Pierre wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know, Red. It didn’t seem like it. And – well – he just cut himself with a silver knife. And he didn’t die.”
“He’s deceiving you! All of you!” I warned, my voice rising. “Can’t you see that? He’s up to something. He’s behind everything that’s been happening. The attacks on me, the missing girl, everything. Can’t you see he’s one of them? Can’t you see you’re not safe with him here?”
Madame Leóne and Father DuChard emerged cautiously from the kitchen. Father DuChard’s arm was now bandaged, yet they both wore wounded expressions. No one seemed to know what to say.
Except for Monsieur. Leóne. “Helena. It’s time you left.”
“Papa, maybe we can –.”
“Stay out of this, son. She’s gone too far.”
I narrowed my eyes at Father DuChard. “No,” I said. “I haven’t gone far enough. But I will. I don’t know how you did that, but I’m going to bury you before the week is out. You and every one of your lackeys in DeSarte.”
“Helena, leave! Now!” Monsieur Leóne barked.
Father DuChard cast a helpless look at him. “Frayne, I don’t want to upset anyone. If you would rather I stay somewhere else –.”
“You are our guest. And until she can muster an apology, this Mademoiselle is not.”
“I’ll apologize,” I said, seething. “I apologize for not seeing through your phony disguise sooner!”
“Do I have to escort you to the door?” Monsieur Leóne warned.
Each of the Leónes, even Pierre, stared at me with horror. I ground my teeth. “Pierre, could you grab my cloak and boots and take me into town to find Father Vestille?”
“Uh, sure,” Pierre said, quickly moving to the rear bedroom to gather my other clothes. Eager to help, but probably more eager to get away from his father.
“And my crossbow,” I added.
“You’re not going to fire that contraption in here, Helena,” Monsieur Leóne warned in a low growl.
I fixed my gaze on Father DuChard. “This isn’t over,” I told him. “Just give me time.”
Monsieur Leóne advanced toward me but I was already heading out, as Pierre emerged with my clothes. I grabbed my cloak from him and swirled it onto my shoulders, then glanced back. Father DuChard made the sign of the cross at me. “Bless you, Helena. You have my pity.”
But the corners of his mouth curled with cruel delight.
I clenched my fists. “See you in DeSarte,” I said.
I turned on my heel and stomped out onto the porch, with Pierre hurrying after me.
Father DuChard had won this battle. But our war had only begun.
31.
Marching across the uneven ground of the Leónes’ back yard in my slippers, I stumbled and fell sideways. Pierre caught me as the skirt of Madame Leóne’s elegant dress tipped like a giant teacup. Moments ago, receiving Pierre’s compliments, I felt beautiful. Now I felt clumsy.
“I’m going to change in the stable,” I said in a harsh voice. “I’ll wait here.”
“Yes, you will.”
> I took my bundle of clothes and the boots from him and
strode past the Leónes’ woodshed to the stable. Diamond whinnied as I entered and dropped the pile on the straw-covered floor. I struggled to find the ties behind my back and loosen them, to work my way out of the constricting dress. I undid the laces and tugged the dress apart, inch by inch, fuming as I imagined Father DuChard, sitting down with the Leónes to describe my strange accusations against him. Wondering how I could think that he had tried to strangle me in their living room. All the while smiling to himself with his dark secret.
I’m going to bury you, Helena.
I let the dress fall to the floor, kicked off my slippers, and grabbed my trousers. Father DuChard was the Prime. But how could I prove it? He cut his own arm with a silver knife and bled, drawing Madame Leóne’s pity. But he didn’t die, as a Lycanthru would. Could he be under the wolves’ spell, like Pierre was?
No. This was different. The pure malice. Even the way he gripped me, refusing to let go. Far more violent and cruel than when Pierre lunged at me. Far stronger than a human could have been.
Father DuChard was the Prime, and he was in the Leónes’ house. And there was nothing I could do to get him out.
Finishing with my tunic, I fastened my belt and tugged my boots on. Then adjusted my cloak and slid the crossbow strap over my shoulder. My crossbow that the Lycanthru had given back to me after capturing me and leaving me unconscious on the ground, the way someone might release a harmless toad.
I needed help. Father Vestille could talk to Monsieur Leóne, and help me figure out how to expose Father DuChard’s lies. I could return to watch the house tonight to see what else he did. To make sure he couldn’t harm Monsieur Leóne. Or Madame Leóne, whose exquisite dress now lay on a pile of straw.
I hammered my fist against the stable wall, making Diamond start. I had to do something, and fast.
I scooped up the dress and slippers and stepped outside. Pierre stood in the center of the yard with his hands in his pockets. “I’m ready,” I said.
“All right,” he said, walking to the stable and edging around me like I was an angry bee. He led Diamond out and tied a burlap bag to his saddle. “Here, I’ll take that,” he said, taking my dress and slippers. He slid them into the sack, then offered me a hand up into the stirrup. Earlier, I might have let him help me into the saddle, as if I needed it. This time I practically jumped onto Diamond, ready to ride off alone. My heart beat wildly as I waited for him to climb up and lead us away, thankful that Diamond was such a fast horse.
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