by Arial Burnz
“Thank you, Abbot.” He followed behind Cromer, who waved his hand at passing monks, snapping orders for Angus’s trunks to be brought to the guest cottage.
As he toddled alongside Angus, the abbot cast him an annoyed glance. “You honor us with your presence, Father. I do hope you find your time here comfortable. I was sure to have the cottage readied for your stay. In fact, the Prince-Bishop—”
Angus waved him off. “I’m sure what you have to offer is more than adequate. As long as I have a place to lay my head and some privacy to conduct my studies, I need nothing more. I am but a humble servant.”
“Of course, Father. Of course.” Cromer nodded. Pompous youth. He led Angus to the eastern side of the courtyard to what he had thought was a small chapel. The tiny yet elegant structure was made of stone and stained glass windows, depicting the Prince-Bishop in all his holy glory. The abbot pulled the large ring of keys dangling from his rope belt and, after fumbling to find the right one, inserted the key into the lock of the decorative oaken door. Riveted to the center of the door, which was carved with various images of saints and angels, was a large iron knocker etched with olive branches. The abbot stepped inside and immediately strolled around the room, lighting candles and oil lamps.
Angus followed, sauntering to the center of the finely furnished room. A large, wood-carved canopy bed was the centerpiece of the east wall, opposite the entrance. A matching carved desk and chair stood on the north wall next to a tall wardrobe. A sitting table and chair on the south wall, for eating or reading. All crafted in intricate detail and dark wood. The room would not be complete without a prominent display of the beaten and bleeding crucified Christ, which hung on the west wall. Delightful dining décor. “I’m impressed, Abbot Cromer. This is so much more than I had anticipated from such a modest monastery.”
“Yes, Father.” He bowed briefly before Angus and folded his hands before him. “As I was saying, the Prince-Bishop was most insistent on having guest quarters that met with his approval. He commissioned the carvers and the builders himself. Very generous of him.”
Four monks shuffled into the room, bearing Angus’s two trunks, which Angus instructed be put at the foot of the bed.
“Inform Father Angus’s attending deacons that he has arrived and summon them immediately,” Abbot Cromer instructed, once the trunks were in place. He clapped his hands twice. “Hurry along, now.”
“Wait, that might not be necessary.” Angus addressed Abbot Cromer. “Unless Father Wilhelm is available now. Is he?”
“I’m…afraid he is not. He has been on a small pilgrimage, but is expected back on the morrow.”
Angus clenched his jaw. “I see.” He leveled his gaze at the one monk that remained, waiting for instructions. “Don’t waste the time of my deacons by summoning them. Just inform them I’m here and will call upon them when they are needed.”
The middle-aged man nodded and exited. The abbot closed the door and faced Angus. “Father Angus, with all due respect, are you sure you were given the correct information about Father Wilhelm? He has been at our monastery since his he was a young boy of eight. Orphaned, he came to stay with us and has only known the teachings of the church. How could he possibly be a heretic?” Overzealous young chap isn’t going to get one of my own killed just to advance his undeserved position.
“That is how well he has hidden himself, Abbot. He has fooled one of the people closest to him.”
The abbot reigned in his temper…on the surface. “As I said, I mean no disrespect. I just can’t imagine Wilhelm doing anything resembling what might be interpreted as heresy. I’ve known the boy most of his life!”
Angus’s brows rose. “I understand how upsetting this might be, Abbot Cromer, but you should be careful when questioning your superiors.”
Cromer’s mouth flattened to a grim line and his face flushed. “I have been a diligent member of the Church for twice the length of your years and—”
“Abbot, I’m an Inquisitor.” Angus grinned and cocked an eyebrow.
“Are you threatening me, young man?”
Angus laughed. “Oh, no. I’m just reminding you of something you have obviously forgotten. Or perhaps you weren’t informed. Questioning me is questioning His Holiness the Bishop of Rome, our Pope. You see, I was appointed by him for an elite task. I’m not eliminating just any heretic. This isn’t about catching witches or people who don’t regularly attend church. And it isn’t about me abusing my undeserved position.”
Cromer blanched.
“This is about a secret sect of individuals who have invaded the heart of the Church and I have a special talent for finding them, in spite of my youth. I assure you, I’m older than I appear.” He stepped closer. “No, dear Abbot, I’m not threatening you. I making it very clear that I am here to do a job and I will do whatever it takes to get that job done. Do you understand me?”
“Of course, Inquisitor Campbell.” He glared at Angus. We’ll just see about the results of your interrogation.
Angus smiled. “I like your passion, Abbot. Just don’t let it best you. That will be all.” He gave the abbot his back and strolled to his desk, rearranging the writing implements.
The abbot grumbled and slammed the door behind him.
Damn it! Just when he thought he was nearing the end, he had to wait another day. Angus clenched his fists and inhaled deeply, then relaxed and released his breath. I’ve waited this long. Another day will just have to do. He only needed one more member of the Army of Light…and he would finally have Broderick where he wanted him.
* * * * *
Monika arched her back in a feline stretch, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her naked skin, which still tingled from Broderick’s caresses and endless kisses. She sighed and tangled her legs in the coverlet while she peeked out at the early morning sky through the partially opened shutter. Although her dreams—actually memories from her previous life as Davina—were true to form, the reality of making love to Broderick far surpassed the misty images she’d had while she slept. He’d made love to her until dawn was almost upon them and neither of them wanted to stop.
In spite of how lethargic her limbs were, she rose to perform her ablutions, anxious to finish the transcriptions. Whether she’d actually complete all the notes, though, she would be walking home with the book by the day’s end.
Breaking her fast with some bread, honey and cheese, she then gathered all the loose papers she’d transcribed thus far, shoving them into her basket of remedies, and hurrying out the door toward Vollstadt.
“Another early morning?” Thomas frowned at her as he braced his forearm against the door frame, assessing her with bloodshot eyes and mussed hair. Again, he had not yet shaven and was bare-chested. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Come in, my dear.”
She nodded and padded past him into the room and straight for the desk, where the book awaited her. Setting her basket aside, she pulled the ink bottle, quills and parchment from the drawers, then sat and began opening the book.
“Nothing to report since yesterday?”
Monika twisted in the chair and regarded him. He stood with his rump against the center table, his arms crossed. The expectancy on his face forced her to swivel around to face him. She folded her hands in her lap, doing her best not to release her temper. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve come up with nothing else in my reviews of the notes I’ve made so far. I believe the answers I seek will be in this final segment of transcriptions, which I hope to finish today.”
“I see.” His eyes searched her face, ever-so slightly narrowing in speculation, but he shrugged. “I suppose I will let you continue, then, if there’s nothing you need from me.”
Monika evaluated her supplies then shook her head. “No, I believe I have everything I need, thank you.”
“There’s something…different about you.” Thomas swaggered forward, bending over her and forcing her to lean back. He braced his hands on the desk on either side of her, trapping her in his arms, his face very close to hers
. “I can’t quite name what I’m seeing or…” He inhaled through his nose. “Smelling.”
Monika inwardly cursed for not putting the barrier up before she entered the room, like she promised Broderick. However, now that she was in this situation, doing so might have caused Thomas to become defensive before she could get the book. She pressed her hands on his chest and pushed back. Relief swarmed through her when he retreated, though only enough to give her some breathing room. “Herr Carr, I am flattered by your attention. There’s no denying you are a comely man, and I’m sure you will one day make some woman very happy. I’m just not that woman.” She offered an apologetic smile, even though her heart rammed furiously in her chest. “Let me finish the job you’ve paid me to do.”
He chuckled and crossed his arms. “I appreciate your directness. Perhaps once this werewolf business is finished, we can revisit this obvious attraction betwixt us.”
Her lips pulled into a tight smile and she inclined her head. “Perhaps.”
Thomas strolled to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened the lid. He then bent over, sliding his pants down his perfect backside and muscular legs.
Monika gasped and choked. “Good God, Herr Carr! Have you no decency? You insist on trying my patience!” She averted her gaze and dashed into the hall, grumbling at his muffled laughter.
Thomas eventually emerged from his room with a rakish grin. “I shall return before nightfall.” He winked and swaggered down the hall.
She slammed the door behind her and stomped across the room to the desk. Monika flipped through the pages to the place she last marked with a scrap of parchment and grumbled. Only after several deep breaths did she relax. She counted the remaining pages and groaned—three-and-twenty.
She was exhausted and her mind kept wandering to Broderick throughout the day, but with diligence, she refocused on the task at hand. She learned she was correct about her mother trying to find a balance through the elements, and Katrina directed the rest of her studies on perfecting the herbs to that end. However, the further Monika progressed in the notes, the more emotional the job became as she discovered how matters had escalated. Angry tears clouded her eyes, making it difficult to write. She had to keep her kerchief at the ready, continually blotting away tears. However, she was able to finish transcribing all the pages. And none too early. Thomas waltzed into the room just as she was organizing all the notes and stacking them neatly for him. Grabbing her basket and cradling the book in her arms, she stepped away from the desk and left the pile of notes for Thomas.
“Were you able to finish as you hoped?” He set his hat and satchel down on the center table and ambled to the desk.
“Yes, I was, but the notes are incomplete.” She struggled to keep her voice from quavering. “My mother died before she could finish the work.”
His eyebrows creased. “So there is no cure? Then why did Marcus say the cure was in the book?”
“I don’t know, but he should have known it wasn’t in those pages because he’s the one who killed her before the cure could be found. Perhaps he was experimenting with what he knew. What did he tell you?”
Thomas flipped through the latter entries of the transcriptions. “Only that he was going to try the cure on me and said it was in the book.”
“Well, I didn’t read anything that said they developed a cure. However, there were several more experiments that took the lives of my parents’ friends in the village, the people who were bit by this other werewolf Marcus claimed was running about while he chained himself up. As I touched upon already, he had convinced Mama to ask for volunteers to test the cure. He may have been conducting his own experiments based on what he’d seen her do.” Monika’s bottom lip quivered and she stilled it between her teeth. “He seemed too callous about their deaths. My parents knew something wasn’t right, so they confronted him.”
“I’m sorry. Reading about what your parents and their friends went through must have been difficult.”
Monika narrowed her eyes. Only now are you sorry? His concern didn’t deserve a response. “Marcus confessed he was indeed the one infecting others and didn’t seem the least bit regretful of his actions. He had even said he did her a favor by providing subjects. Werewolves weren’t in vast numbers roaming the countryside, he said. He claimed she would have been experimenting for decades if he hadn’t infected them. After that, my parents refused to work on the cure. They told Marcus to take his money elsewhere.” Monika flipped to the final entries of the book in her arms. “My mother quoted Marcus saying, ‘I understand your hesitation. Perhaps I went about this all wrong and money wasn’t the proper incentive like I hoped. I’m sorry.’ Only on the next cycle of the moon, Marcus attacked our cottage, infecting my father and killing my mother.” She clenched her jaw and tears scorched down her face. She closed the book and hugged it to her chest, fighting the tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m sorry to have put you through this, but you’ve done a wonderful job so far. We’re almost there.” Thomas ambled back to the center table and produced a few gold coins, dropping one on the floor. When he bent to pick it up, he grunted and favored his left leg—the same leg Broderick said he’d slashed with his sword on the werewolf he fought last night.
I knew it! But Monika wasn’t going to confront him about his lies now. She had the book and she was getting out of there. “I’ve done my part. I’ve transcribed all the pages related to the research. I would like to take the book as final payment. You don’t need to pay me any more gold.”
Thomas chuckled. “I can’t do that, my dear. You haven’t found the cure yet. I feel we’re very close, though. I’m sure if you read those final entries, you’ll finally arrive to something, and you have Brynner in which to help with your findings.”
He didn’t seem any less moved by Brynner’s plight than Marcus had about the others. He disgusted her. “I’m still going to continue my research, but I can’t do it here and I need the book to proceed.”
“I agree you need the book, but you can’t take it with you. I didn’t guard that book with my very life for ten years just to give it up because the pages were translated. Leave the book, Monika. You can return on the morrow and conduct your research here.”
The blood drained from Monika’s face. She mumbled the chant under her breath, erecting the barrier around her person.
He set the gold coins on the table and gathered the pages into a neat pile once more. When he glanced at her, he stopped fussing with the papers and frowned. “Is something wrong? You look positively distraught. All is well, my dear.” He set the pages aside and walked toward her, his outstretched hand obviously going toward her face to comfort her. His knuckles slammed into the invisible barrier less than a foot in front of her nose and his skin hissed. He grunted and stepped back, shaking his hand. “What in—” His brows crossed and his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Would you care to explain?”
“You said ten years.”
“Pardon me?” He placed his hands on his hips.
“You told me…Marcus captured you six years ago, yet you just said you’ve had the book for ten years.” She clenched her jaw and gripped the book so hard her fingers ached.
“Did I?” His gazed up to his right, as if trying to recall his words. He chuckled. “I guess I did, but it was a slip of the tongue. I would hardly say that’s cause for alarm and such drastic measures.” He pointed his index finger forward to the barrier, where his fingertip sizzled. He jerked back and frowned. “That’s quite enough! Monika, give me the book.”
She shook her head. “For as many years as you have been a werewolf, locking yourself up as you say, the procedure should be routine. And yet you attacked the village last night, trying to create another test subject.”
Thomas’s jaw dropped. “I think that journal has you a little too entrenched in the past. Are you actually comparing me to Marcus? You speak as if I’m in control of my faculties when I’m a wolf. What kind of a monster do you think I am?”
“A desperate one…Marcus Sparenland.”
“You’re mad!” His eyes flashed yellow and he pounded his fist against the barrier. “You’ve lost your senses!” He slammed his shoulder into the magickal barricade, not once but several times, pounding and grunting, but unable to get to Monika or the book. He panted and stomped away from her, pacing the room and grumbling. Then he pointed an accusing finger at her. “You know there is another werewolf around here. You have been so desperate to get your hands on that book because you want the cure for your father! He’s alive because I’ve seen him. Perhaps you should ask him who he’s attacked lately.”
“I don’t have to.” She dropped her tearful gaze to his bleeding leg. “I already know it was you. And that scar on your ribs…given to you by my father the night you attacked him.” Her lips trembled and angry tears flowed down her face. “You infected so many of our friends, with no thought of their lives. They meant nothing to you! Were you stupid enough to think my parents wouldn’t figure out it was you? And when they held you accountable, you killed my mother and gave my father the curse. Why?”
Marcus glared at her, his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes glowing yellow.
“It doesn’t matter. You can burn in hell for all I care.” Monika fled to the hall and, when she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she dared a glance to see how close he pursued. Marcus leapt after her and slammed into the barrier, which threw him backward, where he crashed into the table at the opposite end of the hall. A collective gasp hissed from the patrons below.
“That magick won’t protect you for long, Monika,” he snarled, as he picked himself up from the floor, grunting.
She scampered down the staircase, where the innkeeper narrowed his eyes at her from the bar. She pushed past the slack-jawed and stunned faces of the patrons and ran out onto High Street to escape any other attempts Marcus might make to pursue her.
Monika gripped her basket and the book and clipped down the street, trying not to give anyone reason to be suspicious, skirting the buildings and avoiding the main thoroughfare. When a firm hand seized her arm, she screamed and whirled to face Jason.