My Demon's Kiss

by Lucy Blue

  “No,” she insisted aloud, turning around, and she tripped, her foot catching on the gnarled root of an olive tree. She tried to catch herself before she went sprawling, but it was a poor effort. Scraping both palms on the tree as she went, she fell to her hands and knees.

  “Damnation!” She tried to sit back on her haunches and bumped her head on a low-hanging branch. “Ouch! Tom!” But the stable boy had gone back inside.

  “Lovely.” The ground beneath her was soft and wet, the turf disturbed as if someone had been digging there. Her skirt was soaked with loamy black mud. She looked down at her hands and found them coated as well with blood welling up through the mud from her scrapes. “Well done, Isabel,” she muttered, sitting back on the root that had tripped her in the first place. “Why don’t you make matters worse?”

  Her heart was pounding too quickly, she realized, and had been since she’d seen that murdered girl. No wonder she couldn’t think. She leaned back against the tree trunk and tried to get her bearings, to make herself be calm. She couldn’t afford to get caught up in what might have happened to some peasant from miles away, beyond the prayers Tom had so rightly suggested. She had to be sensible. She had to think of Charmot.

  Father Colin couldn’t help her, obviously, or no more than he already had. He didn’t remember Michel, or at least he said he did not, and why should he lie? Perhaps the Frenchman and his retinue hadn’t made it so far as the chapel. She thought again of the dead girl, unable to stop herself, the pitiable sight of her dead body lying on the table in the church. What could have ravaged her so sorely? Could it have attacked Michel and his party as well? Or perhaps…

  “Of course,” she said aloud, her skin prickling with horror. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Michel had told anyone who would listen that he had no fear of the Black Knight of Charmot, that he was far worse than any demon loosed from hell. Why shouldn’t she believe him? Why shouldn’t she think he had come here, that he was the Black Knight Father Colin had spoken of, whatever the priest might have thought? Heaven only knew what such a monster might have done in the chapel; hell alone could guess the effect it might have had on the priest’s memory. Who was to say Michel hadn’t murdered that poor girl, or set his dogs on her for sport? Perhaps the dog she had seen had belonged to him as well. But why had he not come yet to Charmot?

  “Oh sweet Jesus,” she whispered, a terrible thought occurring. What if he were there now? What if he had been watching and waiting; what if he knew she was gone? Brautus was in bed, too ill to rise; Simon knew nothing of Michel and wouldn’t come into the daylight if he did. She clambered to her feet, her skinned knees and ruined gown forgotten. She had to get home. She had to talk to Simon, to tell him the truth and convince him to help her, madman saint or not. He was her only hope.

  She turned to start back toward the church and stopped, her eye caught by the glint of something shining in the mud. She bent down and lifted it free… a cross. A thick silver cross on a tarnished silver chain, the sort of ornament a knight might wear around his neck. Someone must have dropped it here, but how? No one ever came to this corner of the churchyard; the cemetery was on the other side… she froze. She looked down again at the ground where she had fallen, the broken turf and soft mud, as if someone had been digging. This was a grave.

  “Tom!” she called out, running for the church. “Tom, come quickly! We have to go home!”

  At first, Tom had wanted Isabel to stay at the church, where he was certain she would be safe, and Raymond and his cousin had agreed. “Whatever might be out there, it won’t dare to come into the church,” Raymond had insisted. But she knew this was not so, and so did Father Colin.

  “Stay behind your father’s walls, my lady, whatever may occur,” he had told her, silencing the protests of the other men. “His blessings will protect you there as nowhere else. He was a godly man.”

  “He was,” she had agreed, accepting his kiss on her cheek, though in truth she had barely heard him, so eager was she to leave. “I will stay at Charmot.”

  Now they had reached the forest, and the sun had already set. Raymond and his cousin had insisted on coming with them, armed with pike and pitchfork for Isabel’s protection, but being on foot, they had slowed the party down. But now they were just inside the old druid’s grove, no more than two miles from the castle. “Not much longer now,” Raymond said with a smile, sounding relieved.

  “Not much,” she agreed.

  Suddenly Tom’s mare let out a terrified cry and stopped, refusing to go any farther. “What is it?” Isabel said, bringing her own horse around. Malachi seemed perfectly calm. “What’s the matter?”

  “I cannot tell, my lady.” The little mare spun around again, fighting the reins. “Something has frightened her.”

  “God save us,” Raymond muttered, taking a firmer hold on his pitchfork.

  “It’s all right,” Isabel said. “She probably saw a snake—”

  “No, my lady.” Raymond’s cousin’s voice was cold with fear of his own. “Not a snake.”

  She turned in the direction he was pointing and saw the wolf, the largest of its kind she had ever seen. “Is that it, my lady?” Tom said, still fighting the mare. “Is that the dog you saw?”

  “No,” she answered softly, surprised she had a voice. The dog she had seen had been smaller, thick through the chest with a broad, triangular head. This was a wolf, long and lean with longer, rougher fur. In the failing light of twilight, she could see it had brought down a stag and was feeding in the center of the druid’s grove, not from the belly as an animal would but from the throat, as if it were drinking its blood.

  “Blasphemy,” Raymond said, moving to stand at Isabel’s knee. The stag was still a sacred beast to the common folk of the forest, Christians or not, its flesh and blood a pagan sacrament.

  The wolf looked up at the word, and Isabel gasped, her heart racing faster with fear. Its eyes were faintly glowing, with a green, demonic fire. “Sweet holy God,” Raymond’s cousin whispered. “What manner of devil is that?”

  “I don’t know.” She tightened her grip on Malachi’s reins, expecting him to shy, but in truth, her mount seemed far more sanguine than she felt. The wolf was staring straight at her, a single paw laid on the neck of its prey. The stag shivered, still living, and a shiver went through her as well.

  “Run for it, my lady,” Raymond said urgently, raising his pitchfork, and his cousin raised his pike. “Ride for the castle. We will hold the beast.”

  “No.” Wrapping the reins more tightly around her left hand, she reached for Raymond with her right, her eyes still locked to the wolf’s. “Climb on—you, climb on with Tom.” Malachi pranced to one side, but Raymond managed to climb on behind her in the saddle, propriety forgotten as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  The wolf watched all of this impassively, no threat in his manner beyond the glow in his eyes. “Go, Tom,” she ordered, drawing her father’s sword.

  “No, my lady,” the boy protested. “You should go first—”

  “Tom, do what I say.” She took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow down before she fainted, and the mare galloped away. The wolf looked away from her for barely a moment, then its eyes swept back to Isabel. “Hold on, Raymond.” She lifted the sword as if in warning, and the wolf seemed to smile, its tongue lolling out as it panted at her like a friendly dog, an almost human interest in its eyes as it watched her. Indeed, she could not shake the feeling that it knew her, that in truth this was no wolf at all. She felt the man behind her tighten his grip, heard him whispering something in his people’s ancient tongue.

  “Go, Malachi!” She wheeled the horse around and nudged him hard with her heels, breaking free of the strange creature’s gaze. “Go now!” The horse obeyed, breaking into a gallop as he headed for the castle.

  Simon straightened up, melting back into his human form as soon as she was gone. He could take the shape of nearly any animal of roughly his same size, and he often did so to h
unt, particularly when people were around. Orlando had told him once that his vampire maker, Kivar, could take and hold the shape of other humans if he chose, at least for a short time. But Simon did not have that gift. He had awakened at sun set nearly starving and had come to the forest to feed, never expecting to see Isabel. What was she doing in the forest?

  The stag that had fed him shuddered again at his feet, its strength sapped more by terror than by loss of blood. “Forgive me.” He knelt beside the creature, stroking its warm velvet throat, barely touching the wounds his fangs had made. His prey screamed once, raising its head, then collapsed flat on the ground again, and tears rose in the vampire’s eyes. He was sated; this beautiful thing need not die.

  “Hush now,” he soothed, letting his tears fall on the wound. This trick he had discovered quite by accident; Orlando knew nothing about it. The tiny punctures closed with a hiss, healing as his own flesh could heal. “You will be free.” Stroking the velvet nose once more, he stood up and stepped back, purposely looking away—as long as he held the gaze of the creature he hunted, it could not run away. “Go!” he shouted, gazing off into the trees. He heard the stag rise to its feet and felt the rush of wind as it thundered into the forest.

  5

  Isabel flung her horse’s reins to a groom as soon as they stopped in the courtyard and hurried into the hall. “My lady, we were worried, you were gone so long,” Hannah said, coming to meet her. “Good heavens, what happened to your gown?”

  “Nothing—I’m all right.” Everything here seemed peaceful enough; she saw no sign of imminent invasion. Susannah was bringing dinner out of the kitchen, and Orlando was sitting with his feet up by the fire, or had been—he got up as soon as he saw her coming toward him. “Where is Simon?” she asked. “Is he still downstairs?” She started toward the cellar.

  “No, my lady,” the dwarf said, running to intercept her before she reached the door. “He went to the forest to meditate.”

  “The forest? Of course.” Where else would he have gone, her fortunes being what they were at the moment? He had no armor—not even a sword. She turned back to Hannah. “Go fetch Kevin, please, and any other men inside the gates—Raymond is outside, too. Tell them to bring whatever weapons they can find. They will have to go and find him.”

  “That is hardly necessary,” Orlando protested. “I’m sure he will return within the hour—”

  “Not if he is eaten by a wolf,” she cut him off. Hannah turned pale, but she ran for the door to the courtyard, calling for her husband as she went.

  “A wolf, my lady?” Orlando said as she went. “What wolf?”

  “The wolf we saw in the forest.” She turned to Susannah, who had set down her tray to come examine Isabel’s ruined gown. “Where is Brautus? Is he well?”

  “Well enough,” Susannah said.

  “Go and see if he is able to come down to the hall— help him if you have to.” The maid nodded, setting off. “But don’t let him know you’re helping.”

  “Have no fear, my lady,” the girl said over her shoulder. “I know what to do.”

  Kevin and the others were already coming in with Hannah, armed with farming implements and axes— Raymond’s cousin still carried his ancient-looking battle pike. “Where has he gone?” Kevin asked Orlando.

  “I couldn’t say,” the dwarf answered, giving their weapons a wary glance.

  “Did he at least take a horse?” Isabel said.

  “No, he did not,” Orlando said with an odd little smile. “He did not need one. Truly, you need not fear for him, Lady Isabel. I’m quite certain he is safe.”

  “You didn’t see that wolf, little friend,” Raymond’s cousin laughed. “Big as a pony he was, at least, as long as a man is tall, and black as Satan’s nightgown.”

  “Indeed?” Orlando said, arching an eyebrow. “As black as that?”

  “More to the point, a woman was killed last night on the king’s own road by what may have been this same beast,” Isabel interrupted. This seemed to shake the little wizard’s composure somewhat—he stared at her, surprised. “Her throat was ripped open and her heart was torn out.”

  “And her blood,” Raymond added. “There was no blood left in her.”

  “What about the others, my lady?” Kevin said. “Not that I am not heartsick to think your cousin might be devoured, but we have friends in those woods as well.”

  “I know,” Isabel said, touching his arm. “We will bring them all inside, of course.”

  “But here is your kinsman, my lady,” Hannah said as Simon came into the hall. “May the saints be praised.”

  “Absolutely,” Orlando agreed, going to meet his master.

  Simon had known Isabel and her retinue were alarmed by his presence in the forest in his wolvish form, and he waited what he’d hoped was a reasonable interval before following them to the castle. But he’d never expected she would have already raised an army before he arrived. “What’s wrong?” he asked, going to her but sharing a look with Orlando.

  “A wolf, master,” the dwarf answered, looking properly solemn in spite of the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “In the forest. Lady Isabel and her men saw it earlier, and she was quite concerned for your safety.”

  “That’s very kind, cousin,” he said, smiling at Isabel, but she didn’t seem particularly amused or relieved to see he was safe.

  “I have to talk to you,” she said.

  “Of course.” He took her hand by instinct, sensing an agitation in her all out of proportion to a single wolf in the woods. For the first time, he noticed that her gown was soaked with mud, and her warm little hand was trembling in his. And there was something else, some memory that nagged at him… somehow he had touched her before. “Are you all right?”

  “For the moment.” In truth, she was as addled by his touch as she was by everything else. He didn’t seem to even remember their last meeting, as if he really had been dreaming when he pinned her to the wall and scared her half to death that morning. Could that really be true? He had changed into her father’s clothes as well, the angel now transformed into a noble knight. But she couldn’t afford to think about such matters, clothes or dreams either one. There was too much else at stake. “You have to help me, Simon,” she said, looking up at him. “You have to help Charmot.”

  “Of course,” he repeated, raising her hand to his lips. Her hair was wild, as disheveled as her gown, and her cheeks were deathly pale, but she was still so beautiful, she took his breath away. Suddenly he remembered; she had come into his room that morning; she had awakened him from sleep. He struggled to remember exactly what had happened, but it was all so fragmented in his mind. He hadn’t hurt her, obviously, or she wouldn’t be standing here so calmly now, letting him hold her hand. But what had he said to her? What had he done? “Tell me what to do,” he said, his guilt at what he might have done to her already making him all the more willing to help her in her trouble now.

  “The cottagers,” she answered, a shiver racing through her. “Someone has to bring them into the castle.”

  “Do you have a wagon in the stables?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Kevin answered for her. “We can be ready in half a moment, my lord.”

  “Good,” Simon nodded. “And these men, can they ride?”

  “Some can,” the groom said. “We’ve only the two other horses even so after the team for the wagon. And one of them…” His voice trailed off as he looked at Isabel. Brautus was coming in, barely leaning on Susannah’s shoulder, and the groom looked at him as well.

  “Simon will ride Malachi,” Isabel said, looking at Brautus. The ancient knight looked back for a long moment, obviously not pleased. But finally he nodded.

  “Yes, my lady,” Kevin nodded, hurrying out with the others behind him.

  Simon looked at Orlando, Isabel’s little hand still clasped in his own. “You need not fear, cousin,” he promised. “We will bring the cottagers to safety.”

  “Be careful, master,” Orlando
warned. “They say this wolf has killed before.” Simon’s eyes widened. “It is said he tore out the throat of a woman last night, devoured her heart, and drained her body of blood.”

  “A wolf did this?” Simon said. A massive, white-haired knight had just come in and was watching them—the Black Knight unmasked, no doubt. But this tale of a murdered woman was far more disturbing. “That’s not possible—why would a wolf—”

  “I saw it,” Isabel interrupted. She withdrew her hand from his. “I saw the body of the woman who was killed, and I saw the wolf. That one murdered the other is more than I can tell, but it seems quite possible to me.”

  “You saw the woman’s body?” Simon asked.

  “At the Chapel of Saint Joseph, the church in the nearest village to Charmot,” she answered. “Raymond and his wife found her on the road this morning, and Raymond and his cousin brought her to the church to see if Father Colin knew her.”

  Simon just stared at her—did he doubt her word? “And did he, my lady?” Orlando asked, but her cousin said nothing. He looked even more pale than usual, and his dark brown eyes were obviously troubled.

  “He had seen her, yes,” she answered the dwarf. “She had spent the night in the churchyard two nights ago, he said, but she wouldn’t tell him how she got there. In truth, she said she couldn’t tell, that she didn’t know.” At this, Simon’s expression changed from troubled to horrorstruck, but only for a moment. She looked at Orlando, but the wizard seemed calm. “Did you see this woman?” she asked, turning back to Simon. “Did you know her?”

  “No,” he answered quickly. “Know her, no… we may have seen her—”

  “We saw many pilgrims on the road, my lady,” Orlando finished for him.

  “The horses and wagon are ready, my lord,” Kevin said, coming back in, addressing her cousin, not her. But that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted Simon to take up the burden of protecting Charmot; she wanted the people to trust him, for him to care for them. So why did the sight of Kevin deferring to Simon irritate her so? And what did he know about the dead girl at the church? What might he have said if Orlando weren’t here to speak for him?