Chapter 5
Sitting on the floor of a dusty top level, with pigeons cooing nearby and Marie’s box at his side, Odin took out her journals one by one and stacked them on the floor beside himself. He arranged them in order of oldest to most recent, then did the same with the letters she’d saved, and began to read through them all. Once he finished the letters, he turned to Marie’s journals, and read of her life through her own words. He read of the abuse she’d endured at the hands of her husband, and her fear that it would carry over to her daughter eventually. He read of her plan to leave him at the first chance she got, and eventually of her running away in the night with no more than the clothes she and her daughter wore, and a few coins she’d managed to hide away from the brute she’d married. He learned of the sisters in the convent taking her in and protecting her, giving her and her daughter shelter and he was glad that he’d left money with the Mother Superior and not frightened her any more than he had. And he learned of the scandal she’d caused, the shame she said that she’d brought on her own family and her husband’s when she’d run away from him.
He read of the pain Marie experienced when her own daughter, Anais, left to embark on her own life, and the joy she felt when that daughter sent word that she’d fallen in love and married. Marie wrote of the adventures she felt like she’d experienced personally through the letters her daughter would send. The foods she dreamed of, the flowers she could actually touch because her daughter had thought to tuck one or two between the pages of her letters. And finally of the joy she’d felt when a couple of years later, Anais returned with her own babe in her arms.
Odin stopped reading and glanced toward the box, knowing that most likely those flowers were still inside the letters stored there. He’d read those, too, when he got the chance. For now, though, the journals held him captive, giving him the feeling that he was actually sitting with Marie, listening to her voice tell him of all the things she’d recorded within their pages.
He went back to the journal he held and lost himself in her words again. She wrote of how every time her daughter’s husband would go away on business, her daughter would bring her own baby to visit Marie. That baby was her grandchild, and that grandchild’s name was Michele.
The sun had long been up by the time Odin was clenching his jaws at the irritation as he read. Anais had stopped all contact with Marie, even the letters she used to send stopped. The last time she heard from Anais was when her daughter, Michele, was fourteen years of age. He sat there, his indignation for Marie and the fact that she didn’t know the welfare of her own child for two more journals as he read through her mundane daily notes and thoughts. Eventually he reached a page in the journals that was both heartbreaking and heart healing. The words on that page told of receiving a letter from Michele which explained that Anais had died years before. In the years since, Michele had grown into her own womanhood, married, and had children. When she’d left her father’s home for her husband’s, he’d given her all her mother’s belongings and in them she’d found the address of the convent her grandmother was in. She’d reached out and upon finding Marie still alive, she’d taken up where her mother left off, writing letters regularly and sending money to offset Marie’s expenses.
Marie wrote of finally having some of the shame she’d lived with lifted from her shoulders when she regained contact with her granddaughter. She wrote of crying for weeks and whispering prayers every waking moment for weeks when she learned of her lost daughter. And eventually she wrote of another child so full of mischief, so full of passion and courage that she was surely meant for greater things. This other child was named Simone, and it was Simone that Odin had been charged with locating. With a greater understanding of who she was, and having the names of her mother and her grandmother, he stood a better chance at locating her. He’d promised Marie that he would, and he would. But for now, he had more of Marie’s writings and of course the letters from her family to go through.
Odin sat for hours on end, all day, and into the next night reading Marie’s journals, and reading through all the letters she’d saved from Anais and from Michele. When he’d finished them all, he took a moment to calculate the years since the first entry in Marie’s journals mentioning Simone, and was surprised to realize that the girl, Simone, was, if he was correct in his calculations, thirty-six years of age. She was no longer a child. And she was very capable of contacting Marie, whom he was sure Michele had told her about, by the tone of the letters Michele had sent to Marie. Yet there had apparently been no attempt on her part. That he wanted answers on as well. How could she not even try to contact Marie? And why did Michele stop writing?
Odin sat among the story of Marie’s life, and he cried. He cried for the time they’d been apart, and he cried for the loneliness she’d experienced. But the main reason he cried was because periodically throughout her journals, she’d written a little note to him. He found them scribbled in the margins… Orin, I hope you know that I wish you well, on one page. On another… I hope you’re having magnificent adventures, Orin! Nothing of any great consequence, just little notes to let him know that she never forgot him, and that he was always a part of her, just as she’d been a part of him. The last note she left was the very last entry in her journal and it was the most precious thing he’d ever read. If you’re reading this, and I pray that you are, know that I loved you. You were my best friend for all of my life. Even after I drove you away with my foolishness. My greatest prayer for you is that you are free. Very few people are ever truly free, but with freedom comes the ability to be whoever you wish to be and do all the things you wish you do. Think of me every once in a while, my friend, so that I won’t be completely forgotten.
Odin stood in the early dawn hours of the morning and looked out over the parts of the city he could spy through the hazy, dirty bubbled glass of the single window he sat beside. He looked down at the creased envelope and letter he held and read the words once more… Paris, France. In the name of Marie Sarrazin, Please find enclosed three silver coins to apply as needed.
“Did you send this, Simone?” he asked the silence around himself.
He put the letter back into the envelope, folded it and put it back into his pocket, then carefully put away all of Marie’s journals, all of her treasured letters from her family, and hid the box they were in, in the dusty attic. Then he stepped into the shadows, his goal to prowl the streets of Paris in search of a human woman named Simone.
~~~
Odin spent only a small amount of time hunting the streets of Paris, courtesy of the shadows he moved within. It was important that he remained hidden, completely unseen, otherwise he’d start a panic among the people. Not that he really minded frightening them half to death with his appearance and his presence, but it wouldn’t serve his purpose to have them running and screaming in every direction while he tried to calmly discern who was who and if any bore a trace of Marie’s lineage in their makeup. So, he carefully, silently kept to the shadows, making his way through the throngs of people moving through the streets. The problem? So many people. So many scents. He was overwhelmed when trying to scan each person who hurried past him. It had been a very long time since he’d moved among any who weren’t in Whispers, and the world had changed greatly.
Frustration kept him company for days, his patience dwindling steadily as he made no progress. Finally giving up his fruitless firsthand searching, he gave up wandering the streets and tried to follow the tiny thread that once connected him to Marie, hoping it would lead to her descendants, but it simply lay stagnant. The low rumble carried in his chest, became a constant reminder of his growing rage at any lack of progress. That rumble is what finally clued him in to the fact that he was not moving clandestinely through the throngs of humans alone — there were others like him in plain sight.
On the fourth day, he stood just inside a gated public square in the heart of the city. Thankfully, someone years prior had decided to plant a copse of trees in each corner of the square, and also to place them strategically along the fence here and there. It was within those shadows that he moved. He knew better than to step out of the shadow and allow himself to be seen, but staying inside the shadow and peering out was allowable to his senses. As people moved cluelessly past him, he quickly scanned their minds for a sense of who they were, their name, their character, and he scented them for any indication that they may belong to Marie’s lineage. Constantly he was disappointed.
After several hours of disappointment as he moved from corner to corner of the square, observing people as they walked past, unknowingly within only a few inches at times of the very Demon he was. It didn’t matter that he’d rebuked the practices of being a Demon. What mattered was that he still appeared to be of that class. And that in itself would cause some to grab their chests and drop to the ground as dead as any insect under a boot heel.
There were people everywhere, artists and even monks painting portraits and selling some of their completed works.
“Damn it, Simone!” he growled out. “Are you even in this city?”
Within a few seconds of his outburst, one artist in particular, loaded his supplies into a wooden wagon and moved them along with his easel closer to the trees Odin was using to hide within. The Gargoyle was positioned so that he was blocking his view of the general public as they passed. Odin, still inside the shadow world he moved within, flopped to the ground, sitting cross-legged as he glared at the artist’s back and subconsciously let go of the rumble that had become a constant accompaniment to his presence in the square the last few days.
“I would think you’d control that growl if you intend to remain hidden,” the monk said with touch of humor in his tone.
Odin sat up and focused on the monk, not sure if the man meant him or not.
“Yes, I know you’re there,” the monk said.
“What is it that keeps you from joining us in the daylight, friend?”
“I am not your friend,” Odin said.
“Because you prefer to be solitary, you do not need anyone or anything.”
“That’s exactly right!” Odin said.
“Then why do you haunt all who gather here, for the last what? Four, perhaps five days.”
“Who are you?” Odin asked.
The monk turned and looked at the exact spot in the shadow world Odin sheltered in, allowing Odin to see his face though it remained hidden by the hood and cloak that he wore. “This is my square. I believe the proper question is, who are you?”
Odin took in the distinctive looks of the male pretending to be old and decrepit, hiding beneath the cloak, keeping his shoulders hunched to downplay his height. “You are a Gargoyle.”
“I am. And you are a Demon.”
“I am Odin, Ice Demon.”
The Goyle started laughing. Either you are Odin, or you are an Ice Demon. One is a God, the other is an abomination, you cannot be both.”
Odin’s brow furrowed as he glared at the Goyle. “I am an Ice Demon, and my name is Odin.”
“If you say so,” the Goyle said, looking away from the trees to watch several people walk by.
“Who are you?” Odin pressed.
The Goyle turned back to him. “I am Malice. I keep this square safe for all who gather here. Other and humans alike.”
“You do not concern me, Malice. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours,” Odin said dismissively.
“Why are you here?” Malice demanded.
“Certainly not to threaten your precious square.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to kill you.”
Odin got to his feet slowly and stared menacingly out of the shadows at Malice. “If you are stupid enough to make the mistake of trying, you would suffer the consequences. Especially as I’ve already told you I do not mean you harm.”
“Then why is an Ice Demon taking such great pains to move within the shadow world in stark daylight while he hunts humans?” Malice asked.
“I am not hunting humans. I am hunting one human — possibly two.”
“You’ll have to hunt for humans elsewhere. Those who frequent this space are protected. We want nothing to bring closer attention to any of us.”
“What? No! I’m not hunting two random humans! I’m looking for one specific human, and possibly her mother.”
“What do you plan to do with these humans?” Malice asked.
“If it was any of your concern, I’d tell you. It is not. So I will not. You should take your little paints and move along to another place,” Odin said, waving a hand at him disdainfully while looking away from Malice to give his attention to other more important issues, like finding Simone.
“You should take notice of the area you are in, and the level of protection surrounding it,” Malice said. “We’ve created a safe haven for ourselves as well as these people. If you threaten it, you will possibly bring down attention on us. To prevent this, you will be defeated.”
“Do you think me threatened, Gargoyle? I live with Gargoyles. I have no fear of them, and you are no different than they.”
Malice took a moment to reconsider the Demon. “Why are you searching for two human females?”
“You obviously cannot help me, so please, leave me to my burdens.”
“How do you know that I cannot help you? I’m free to move about, you obviously are not. I’ve lived in this city since before the trees in this square were planted. You have not. I have friends and contacts here. You do not.”
“Hah! That is where you’re wrong. I do have a contact here. I simply choose not to involve him,” Odin said triumphantly, glad to prove Malice wrong on at least one count.
Malice shook his head as he regarded the stubborn Demon. “Do you have any idea how many females live in this city and go by the name Simone?”
Odin’s head practically swiveled as he quickly turned back to Malice. “How do you know I seek a female named Simone?”
“Because I heard you speak her name. It is the entire reason I moved closer to you. I cannot have trees speaking aloud. It will draw attention.”
“The trees didn’t speak… oh. Yes, I suppose it would seem that they did,” Odin said.
“Why do you seek this Simone?” Malice asked.
Odin sighed. “I made a promise to a dying friend.”
“Are you looking to deliver vengeance?”
“No, nothing of the sort.”
“What does this Simone look like?” Malice inquired.
“I have no idea.”
“I cannot help you if you don’t trust me,” Malice said irritatedly.
“I didn’t ask for your help. And I will never trust you. Neither fact nullifies the reality that I do not know what she looks like. I do not know where to find her. I do not even know for sure what her family name is. All I know is that her name is Simone, she is near thirty-six years of age, and she had a great-grandmother who lived her entire life in a convent, forgotten entirely by the very few people who knew where she was!”
Malice stood quietly, almost stoically as he listened to Odin’s outburst. “This old woman, she was the friend you made a promise to?”
Odin sighed tiredly. “I think I shall look elsewhere. I tire of this interaction.”
Malice quickly asked his question before the Demon had time to leave. “If not for vengeance, then why bother yourself with a promise to an old woman that will never know if you carry it out or not?”
Odin stepped close enough to the edge of the shadows to allow Malice to see his face and shoulder. “Because she was the dearest friend I ever had. I made a promise to see to the welfare of the girl. I shall keep my promise.”
Malice stared into the translucent gaze of the Ice Demon as he disappeared into the shadows. The moment he was gone, Malice grabbed his easel and tucked it under his arm, took hold of the handle of his wagon and set out towards home. He made eye contact with another of the monks there, and ever so slightly gave a nod in his direction. The monk nodded back, to let Malice know that he was aware he was alone in the square now, so to remain on alert for any sign of trouble.
Malice hurried out of the square, down the main street, then took a right turn down an alley, before a left down another. After fifteen more minutes of walking and making a maze of turns, he finally approached a small stone footbridge. He went toward the bridge, but after making sure he wasn’t watched, in the last moments he went under it, rather than over it. Beneath the bridge the base was crumbling, a loose stone here and there, with large boulders being the main support and still making a grand effort to support the bridge. On the far side of the base the boulders and stones seemed to be in the same condition. Malice went to the second largest boulder and pushed. Miraculously the boulder swung just far enough to the side to reveal a small crevice within which Malice disappeared, pulling his wagon behind him.
He walked several hundred yards into a subterranean world, too dark for most to even find their way in. Only a slight glow up ahead in the distance kept him focused on the point he needed to reach. The moment he stepped into sight, several of his brethren greeted him. “You’re back early today,” Venom said.
“I am.”
“Is all well?” Loathe asked.
“I’m not sure. Where is Simone?”
“She’s gone out with Malign. Is there a problem?” Venom asked, standing from his place beside the fire pit.
“I’m not sure. I met an Ice Demon today who is searching for a human female of about thirty-six years of age, who is named Simone and has an aging relation in a convent.”
“That’s our Simone,” Loathe growled.
~~~
Near the entrance to the hidden underground chamber, Odin sat so still he almost didn’t breathe. He didn’t want to be detected at all. He’d scanned Malice’s thoughts when he’d first approached the copse of trees he’d been ensconced in and knew his mention of the name Simone was what drew the Gargoyle to him. The longer he spoke with the Goyle, the more he was sure that he was at least familiar with a female named Simone. Was it Marie’s Simone? He hadn’t been sure until he’d heard the Gargoyles speaking. Now, though, there was no doubt. All he had to do was wait and watch. It wouldn’t be long until Simone returned to their hideaway then he’d watch quietly until he determined who exactly she was, and why she was sheltering underground with a colony of Gargoyles.