Chapter IX. God’s Own Monster #2
“‘You wish me to …
“‘It is the Almighty’s will for the wolf to cull the sickened calf. And it is sin, to allow sin to go unanswered. Thou hast skulked in the dark feasting upon rats long enough. Thou art God’s own monster tonight, Celene. Embrace what he made thee.
“‘Dread filled me at those words. The anguished screams of my first kill still rang in my head if I listened hard enough, and my vow to never drink the blood of mortals had held more than six years. But it must be impressed how in awe of Wulfric I was in those nights. He was beautiful. Magikal. He held the wisdom of centuries. The power of gods. And it made me feel special that he’d taken me into his home. I’d no famille to turn to, save the brother I hated.
But Wulfric had turned his back on Gabriel too.
Instead, he’d chosen me. And in the end, there were no others on earth I knew like us.
“‘Without Wulfric … I had nothing.
“‘But … this is his home. How will I get inside?
“‘Knock.
“‘And so I did. Standing on the threshold, knuckles soft upon the wood. I heard approaching footsteps, looking back to where my master stood. But Wulfric was gone, vanished into the mist as the door opened wide.
“‘Good God, child, what are you doing here?
“‘I looked up into the eyes of a youngish man, middle-thirty. His face was kindly, concern bright in baby-blue eyes. He was handsome—possessed of the same rugged charm the mademoiselles we passed in the streets found so appealing in my master. In truth, he looked no kind of evil at all.
“‘Are you well? What is wrong, chérie?
“‘I bowed my head, face hidden behind my scarf, my voice a wounded whisper.
“‘I’m lost.
“‘Oh, poor love. Come in, lest you catch your death.
“‘I did as he bid, invited across the threshold and into his home, simple as that. He glanced about the yard, the street beyond, frowning at the gate he’d thought locked.
But seeing no soul nor sign, he shut his door swiftly, locking it afterward.
Smiling, he led me down a long corridor to a reading room, and there he bid me sit, please sit.
Speaking over his shoulder as he set a fire in the hearth.
“‘Where are you from, chérie?
“‘I replied softly, carefully forming the word with my ruined mouth. Lorson.
“‘He blinked. I’d heard Lorson was burned. Years back. Where are your parents?
“‘I stayed silent, shaking my head in answer, fingers twitching in my lap.
“‘An orphan. Oh, poor kinless lamb, have you nowhere to stay? No friends here?
“‘I shook my head again. And I thought it a trick of the light, but it seemed a gleam came over his eyes then. A gleam that in years following, I’d come to know all too well.
“‘Our Church runs a foundling shelter, he told me. One of the first initiatives I spearheaded when I moved here. These awful troubles abroad … so many innocent victims. I can speak to the Sisters of the Faith, if you wish? Would you like that? A place to live?
“‘He smiled as I nodded, blue eyes gone sharp as broken glass.
“‘Good, good. Perhaps you might do me a kindness in turn one night.
“‘I only stared, fingers fallen still.
“‘Will you not take off your scarf?
“‘His smile dimmed as I shook my head. But it was soon renewed, Beaufoy rising now to his feet. You’re cold, of course. I shall fix us a hot drink. What say you to some tea, eh? There’s not much left, but I’ve a special store for pretty lost lambs.
“‘He swept from the room with another smile, yet I heard the lock click as he departed.
I looked to the window, snow falling in the night outside, and in the lee of a frozen elm, I saw Wulfric, darker than the shadows he stood in.
His eyes were pitiless, and in my mind I heard his thoughts, tolling like funeral bells.
“‘God’s own monster.
“‘Beaufoy returned, teapot on a wooden platter.
But rather than sitting near the fire, he sat beside me on the chaise longue, handing me a steaming cup.
The long-forgot scent washed over me—memories of my mama seated at the kitchen table, Gabriel and Amélie and I playing knucklebones.
But beneath that sickly wash of nostalgia, my senses caught another perfume, just as noxious.
The same that the elderwives in Lorson would brew for new mothers after a particularly hard-won birth.
“‘Whitepoppy.
“‘I glanced to the window then, that shadow speaking in my head.
“‘As I said. A man of meagre faith.
“‘You cannot drink wearing that scarf.
“‘I looked to Beaufoy as he spoke, his smile just a touch too wide.
“‘Come, let’s be rid of it, chérie.
“‘The priest reached for the cloth about my face. But I shied away, shaking my head.
“‘Don’t be shy. You’ve such pretty, peculiar eyes. I’m sure the rest of you is just as fair. And it would be rude to refuse a brew fine as this. Real tea is rare these nights.
“‘I’m cold, I whispered.
“‘I saw a flash of pique, quickly hidden behind another smile. And setting aside his cup, Beaufoy busied himself with the fire. With the speed of the Dead, I lifted the top of the teapot and poured my brew back inside. Eyes drifting to that shadow beyond the window.
“‘He prefers them younger than thee, Wulfric’s thoughts whispered. Plucks them from the Foundling Shelter he created, whisking them away with promises of a bright future. He buries them in the old cemetery out back afterward. One rots in his cellar right now.
“‘I inhaled then, catching the faint reek of death as Wulfric pressed.
“‘No more rats, Celene. Time for thee to begin killing true vermin.
“‘Oh, you’ve finished?
“‘I turned to find Père Beaufoy sitting beside me again.
“‘Poor child, you must’ve been thirsty. Are you still…? He reached out, placing his hand gentle on mine. Good heavens, you’re as cold as the grave.
“‘The priest was smiling again, wolf’s teeth and hunter’s eye, searching for signs of his poison gone to work.
I wondered how many he had murdered. If he could remember their names.
Hunger roiled within me—a thirst never truly sated upon rats or rabbits—and I found myself wondering how evil tasted.
But still I determined not to embrace it.
Refusing to become like the monster who had destroyed me.
“‘And then he put his hand on my thigh.
“‘Sliding higher.
“‘Between.
“‘Though I could see no reflection in the priest’s pupils, I knew what he beheld as I dragged my scarf away.
And then I was on him, astride him, teeth sinking deep into his neck.
I was a stranger to these sensations—the press of his body against mine, his skin beneath my mouth, the bottomless rush as my fangs pierced flesh.
But I was drinking then, diving inside and swallowing him whole, rushing, drowning, boiling.
“‘His hand grasped mine and he gasped, shivering. I realized he was enjoying it—the Kiss’s euphoria taking hold. But I’d no desire for this bastard’s last moments to be blissful, so I bit harder, his bones grinding in my grip, flesh tearing in my teeth.
Beaufoy roared then, elation torn to ribbons as I savaged his throat, making it hurt, hurt just as he had hurt them.
“‘And in agony, in sweet and holy fear, that maggot died screaming.
“‘I lifted my mouth from his wreckage, elation like I’d never known flooding through me, hot, thick, pulsing. Gore dripping from my teeth as I whispered.
“‘Evil I do. Lest evil I be.
“‘Rising to my feet, I turned toward the window. I could see Wulfric there framed, watching with midnight eyes, smiling with bloodless lips.
“‘No more than the monster he made ye.
“‘We buried Beaufoy with his other victims, in the cemetery behind his estate.
It was old and overgrown—little more than a small crypt and a few tombstones.
There were none left alive to remember those buried there, and the snows soon covered all evidence of our crime.
Wulfric said a prayer when we were done—not for the sinner, but those innocents beside him—and past the elation of my kill, I found myself looking upon my master with new admiration.
He was a creature of centuries, Wulfric.
A monster of legend. And still he found it within him to grieve over a passel of murdered girls.
“‘Together, we headed home, up the great, snow-clad Rue de la Montagne, Wulfric close at my side.
He was a creature of many moods, my master.
One moment cold and cruel, the next, warm as mulled wine.
I knew not why at the time; how the hundreds of souls within him tore his mind this way and that.
But though he spoke no word to interrupt the dark thrill in my breast that night, I could feel he was pleased with me.
“‘This had been a test, I realized. And I had not fallen.
“‘I had flown.
“‘And then I heard it.
“‘Music—as if that word could encompass it.
Sweet and blessed music, lifting me up just as it had done years ago.
It drifted across snow-clad cobbles, hung in the night like sweetest smoke, and Wulfric too seemed caught in its spell.
We both set tread toward it, finally stopping outside a ring of high walls.
The estate was not much changed from four years back; tall towers and snow-clad garden, shrouded in candlelit mist.
“‘Chateau Durand, Wulfric explained. First house of San Yves. Its patriarchs hath ruled this city longer than I hath dwelled here.
“‘I looked through the iron bars and across the grounds.
A small soiree was being held by the look: the curtains drawn back, a humble gathering of well-frocked mesdames and well-heeled messieurs in a large sitting room.
And at its heart, I saw him, seated at a grand piano.
Blind eyes upturned as he wove his spell upon the keys.
“‘When last I’d seen him, he was but a child. But now, he’d bloomed into a young man, fine and strong. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones sharper, long blond hair framing a face that might’ve haunted my dreams if only I had them.
“‘Laurent. The elderson. Wulfric sighed, entranced by that song. A shame about his affliction. Yet who canst say if he would play as well if the Almighty had not taken his sight?
“‘He’s … I stared, hands wrapped about cold iron bars. Beautiful.
“Wulfric looked at me, and where a moment before, his eyes were softened by Laurent’s spell, now they were cold.
Have a care, Petit Monstre. We live among mortals, but ever apart from them.
Though nights are different now, still we dwell in secret, and still we are vulnerable where we sleep.
To truck with the living is foolhardy. Dangerous.
“‘So we can have no ties to this world at all?
“‘Bonds earthly we sever, his servants forever. A greater calling hath we, Celene. Ye learned part of it tonight. And to it, to Him, we must be faithful. Wulfric’s gaze roamed those folk, gathered in candlelight and song. They are not our kind.
“‘Is that what you told my mama?
“‘I looked up at him then, jaw clenched tight.
“‘She was of like enough kind for you to have seeded my brother in her.
“‘Leaden silence fell between us, and in his eyes I saw not just simple coldness now, but terrible rage.
You might think it foolish for me to have talked so.
But I was young, remember; barely fifteen years alive and only a handful of years Dead.
And defiance is ever the province of a child who refuses to think of herself as one.
“‘Be that the reason ye suppose I took thee in? he asked, voice gone dark. Some sense of guilt over thy mama’s fate? Some desire to amend past sin?
“‘I do not know why you took me in, Master. But I am grateful for it.
“‘Grateful? This spit in my face, thou wouldst name gratitude?
“‘Wulfric’s hand rose, and I half expected it to fall on me. I’d grown up around violence, remember; my papa’s hand heavy on my brother’s skin.
But instead, Wulfric tore off my scarf, casting it onto the snow.
I could feel the night air playing on muscle and tendon, licking at the gore-slick rope of my tongue.
I tried to pull away, but Wulfric stopped me; the strength in his arm and the wrath in his eyes.
“‘Let me tell thee why I took thee under my wing, Celene Castia. He looked me over, lip curled. Thine is a face only God could love. And so the love thou shalt bear him will burn with a brightness like no other. But thou art no liathe yet. Ye still hath much to learn.
“‘Wulfric glanced to the chateau, the figures within.
“‘Have a care, lest ye learn the hard way.
“‘He walked away, leaving me in the arms of that beautiful music, bloody tears welling on my lashes. I was wounded by his cruelty, ashamed as I snatched up my scarf. But more, as I looked through the chateau windows, I was cut by the truth in his words. That beautiful boy, that beautiful world; firelight warmth and smiling guests and slender fingers pressed like lover’s lips to ivory and ebony … it could never be mine.
“‘And turning my back on it, I followed my master home.’
“I fell silent, the deck of Dawnseeker swaying in the arms of the rolling waves. Dior was watching me through a haze of smoke, eyes narrowed against its sting.
“‘I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. This Wulfric sounds a fucking prick, Celene.’
“Tell her the rest.
“The voice rang in my mind, so close I flinched, looking over my shoulder and almost expecting to find him there. But there was only that porthole glass, that shadow within.
“Tell her the rest of it, Petit Monstre. Or shall ye lie to her, as ye lie to thine own self?
“‘… Celene?’
“I met Dior’s eyes, nodding. ‘A prick. That he was.’
“She smiled, and I chuckled, and together, we set back to task; sword and blood and bruises. But while we worked, I could feel him moving in that reflection, looming once upon my horizon, but now, so close I could feel the cold breath on my ear as he whispered.
“Liar.”