Chapter Twenty-One
With a crackle and pop of tires upon the gravel, the minivan slowed and came to a halt in front of the main entrance to the Chateau de Castelmore.
Yvon switched off the engine, but he made no move to leave the van. “There’s always a solution. You worry too much.”
How I wished I had his confidence. “And you not enough. As I told you a few times I might not have lived quite as long, but even from my limited experience I know Murphy’s Law applies more often than you think.”
He stared at the dashboard and sighed. “I knew this would happen. It has happened twice before.”
My innards twisted. Just as I feared. “May I ask when?”
“Ishani and Maria. I mentioned them.”
“That’s not what I meant. At what time in history were you with them?”
He faced me and said nothing at first. Then he shrugged. “I found Ishani wandering in the streets of Calcutta at the turn of the Nineteenth century. The poor girl was starving. She had such a brilliant mind. Nowadays, she would have been a scientist. Back then, she stood no chance. She lived long, though, and saw her ninety-third birthday. Maria wasn’t as lucky. She was Mexican. Set her dogs on my pursuers and chased them into the agaves.”
He smiled, lost in his memories. “That was in the Fifties. Of the last century, I mean. I tried to stop her, but as you might have guessed, she was a very determined sort of woman. A lot like you. They called her a witch and poisoned her cows. Then, the one day I wasn’t around, they burned the farm. I hardly found enough of her to bury. Is this what you wanted to hear?”
I faced him. “No, but you’ve confirmed my fears. Even back then, safe havens were hard to find. These days, running and vanishing off the radar has become more difficult, if not impossible. Even if you—we try to escape, we’ll be hounded wherever we go. If I’m with you, it will only happen faster.”
Please don’t leave me.
“Bah,” he said. “Told you already, I refuse to do any more running.”
“Yvon—”
He raised his hand. “Hear me out. Yesterday, you were too stressed to listen to reason. I don’t blame you. The ins and outs of my fate are new to you. In the beginning, right after the curse and my first brush with death, I was stressed myself, believe me. But the response to Madame Gingembre’s ridiculous plot is obvious.”
“Is it?”
He gave me a toothy grin. “It is to me, my love.”
I couldn’t help the smile and wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Your efforts to lighten the mood are appreciated, but don’t overdo it. Right, tell me. What are you planning?”
He opened his door and left the car. “Come with me.”
Wringing straight answers from the man was more difficult than bathing a cat.
I clambered from my seat, and he shut the van. Behind the chateau, on the kitchen side of the building, the woods loomed dark and wild, and that was where we went. A tangle of Hazelwood, blackberries, and obnoxious saplings formed an almost impenetrable wall, and it took a keen eye to spot the trail of trampled grass leading into the thicket.
Picking my steps with care, I asked, “You seem to come here often.”
“Not only me. For the locals among my supporters, we have an agreed meeting point here on the grounds of my former home for those occasions when I’m in the country.”
“The mayor is one of them, right?”
Yvon placed a finger on my lips. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Or me.”
He was right, but it didn’t make things any better.
I dodged twigs and boughs dripping moisture into my collar from the recent rainfall. He bent the greenery away from me, but there was simply too much of it. I should have followed his advice and not worn shorts. In the car, everything was fine. Among the scraggly vegetation, my exposed shins fell prey to thorns and hungry midges.
A juniper twig got caught in my sleeve, and its thorns pricked my finger when I tried to rip it off. As I sucked my thumb, the metallic aroma of blood flooded my mouth. “How far is it to our destination? Whatever it might be.”
“ Eh bien , we’re already there.” He stepped into a small clearing, sending the sparrows skyward in a clatter of wings and much scolding.
Somewhere, a wood pigeon hooted. The fresh air was ripe with the smell of sodden soil and a touch of wild jasmine. Steam rose from the ground in those spots where stray sunbeams pierced the leafy cover above us, like ghostly fingers pointing at—a chapel.
That was what the box-like gothic structure reminded me of. It hogged the far side of the clearing, its steep slate roof crowned by a pointed mini spire, mimicking the one once gracing Notre Dame.
Unlike the castle itself, the small building was in reasonable nick. “Ah, I presume your family came here to pray, right?”
He snickered. “Only on special occasions. What you see here is the Batz de Castelmore crypt.”
Urgh.
“Nice, no? I wanted to show you something.”
Together, we crossed the clearing, the ground underfoot spongy with moss. Yvon produced a decorative key from his pocket and unlocked a battered wooden door. It opened on a second door, this one made of steel, with a keypad set into the frame.
With nimble fingers, he keyed in numbers and pushed the panel into the gloom. At this point in our explorations, I was unsure of what to expect. I had been prepared for the putrid whiff of old stones and worse, but now my brain flashed images of bank vaults at me.
“After you.” He bowed.
I entered the funeral chapel and found myself in a musty aisle boxed in by brickwork and a low ceiling. No windows, only LEDs above our heads that threw their icy glare on the brass name plaques inset into narrow recesses.
This was a proper crypt. These walls sheltered the dead. Even the mildewed air suited the atmosphere.
“Eww,” I said.
“Nothing to worry about, only a bit of saltpeter. Only the living can harm you. With certain exceptions, such as our mutual see-through friend. May I?” He brushed past me, headed for the back wall.
I studied the nearest plaque. Jeanne Marie de Batz de Castelmore, Marquise d’Artagnan. Born in 1750, died in 1834.
I swallowed. “Your mother?”
“Yes. I had Maman and my sister brought home and buried here. Papa lies on the other side. Now, this might interest you.” He tapped the nameplate he was facing.
I preferred to stay where I was, the atmosphere of the eerie, grubby place rubbed on nerves already chafed and not only because of my sleepless night. “Do I need to?”
“Please humor me.”
I did. The plate Yvon’s finger rested on bore a familiar name. His. “How charming.”
“Watch this.” When he pressed his index finger on the bronze panel something clicked, and the plaque slid aside. He fumbled around in the opening. “Someone should have...ah, here.” In his hand he held a little pouch that chinked as he waggled it.
The look on my face must have been supremely sheepish since he burst into laughter unsuited to the somber ambience. “Amazing, eh? In situations like this, I prefer to get my hands on assets I can liquidate quickly. Like gold coins and gemstones. A friend made the arrangements in case someone monitors my financial transactions. It’s something I’ve done before.”
A million questions crowded my mind, but only one rushed to the tip of my tongue. “Gold? Does that mean you do consider an escape after all?”
His smile not reaching his eyes, he said, “Always keeping a backdoor open is a good principle, or so I found. I thought it might help you to see some of my safety measures. We’re far from beaten, believe me.”
“Nifty, but isn’t this hidey-hole a tick too obvious?”
This time, the amusement was genuine, and the sound of his laughter bounced off the walls. “Oh, the English. Always suspicious. But yes, you’re right, the old family crypt is not the best when it comes to secrecy. Though nobody has ever disturbed my family’s rest.”
“How many of your enemies are likely to be in the region?”
“ Touché . This lot is worse, and I might refrain from using this place in the immediate future. By the way, no, we weren’t followed. Don’t worry. If anybody tries, my people will take care of them. Now the stupid hunt is back on again, I’ll be prepared and a lot more cautious. Not only because of you.”
“No wonder your restaurant is only open three days a week if you’re keeping a spy network busy.”
Yvon pulled a face. “ Bof, now you exaggerate. But my restaurant I will close. It’s not possible to create art with these idiots running around. I still haven’t created le menu .”
“My novel is going nowhere. This brings us back to our little problem and the answer you owe me concerning your fabulous solution. Please make it quick, this place stinks, though I guess we’re safer here than outside.”
Would that our future be? Forever watching, checking the darkness lest it hid the enemy?
Love doesn’t come easy.
Sometimes, my inner voice could be a right bastard.
“I should hope so.” Yvon, who seemed to be listening to the silent tomb, wrinkled his nose. “Now you mention it, the air is rather épouvantable . As to Paulette, it’s a piece of tarte . Cake, sorry. Since all our troubles are caused by the curse, it has to go. Once that’s sorted, I’m useless to the woman and her ilk. Voilà .”
Had he gone nuts? “Sorry, but you seem to forget one important point. To this day, you have no clue how to lift your immortality curse. Okay, Raoul will give you the spoon. Great. Let’s hope Paulette doesn’t put an oar in first. But you said yourself you had no clue what to do with it.”
“Right now, I don’t. For sure, once I have this wretched object in my possession, the Gitans will help me. It might take a while to convince them, though I can’t see how they can deny me their support, especially if I alert them to the consequences of getting captured while still cursed.”
“Trouble is, we’re running out of time. You asked them before, right? They seemed to be clueless on how to lift your idiotic bane.”
“All this happened ages ago. Things might have changed.” There was an odd glitter in his eyes. “I promise you, if they can’t or refuse to come to my rescue, I’ll run. But I must try first.”
Inspiration zipped through my mind and bolted through the back door before I could slam it shut. “Rats.”
“What is it?” he asked gently.
“I don’t know yet. Ask me again later.” The solution was out there somewhere. Prodding it would do me no good. “In principle, you aren’t wrong. Once you no longer have something to sell, so to speak, you might be safe. Might. Unless someone kills you because you screwed with their business model. Or doesn’t believe you’re not immortal anymore and dissects you only to discover you spoke the truth.”
Yvon snorted.
“Don’t laugh. I’m not joking.”
“No, my love. Will it help if I tell you I count a bunch of scientists among my friends? They’ve been all over me in the past for a cancer cure. Didn’t work. My condition is uniquely mine and not transferable.”
“Paulette’s lab rats worry me, not the other lot.”
“No, but I have no intention of falling into their hands. With a clean bill of health from my friends once I’m un-cursed, the lab rats might be more easily convinced to leave me alone. If necessary, we’ll go public. I hope there won’t be a need to out myself. I’d hate that. Let’s get hold of the spoon first. Who knows, maybe it’s enough if I simply own it.”
His words hit my diaphragm like a sucker punch. “You mustn’t touch the damn thing. What if you dissolve into dust?”
“Whoa.” He raised his hands. “That’s not what I meant. Sure, I’ll let you handle it for me. First, we need to find it.”
We had circled back to the other argument from our drive across. “For the record, I’m convinced diving on your own in the dark is sheer lunacy. Not only because Paulette and the Sansculottes will monitor your moves.”
The infernal grin surfaced again. “Thanks to your concerns, I found a solution for what is effectively only a minor obstacle. My esteemed enemies may watch us arrive at my house. If you are with me, they won’t expect me to leave again. Alternatively, Raoul can cover my exit.”
“Fine. Okay. But the diving bothers me.”
“What does it take to convince you I’m an experienced solo diver? Have been for decades. And the weather is reasonably okay. Yes, there’ll be a spring tide, but that’s not a problem while I’m at sea. Nor will I go either far or deep. And here’s the clincher. Even if I did, the bends can’t hurt me, remember?” He grimaced. “They’re nasty, so I will avoid them.”
I couldn’t say I liked his proposal, but it struck me as being a lot sounder than asking the Gitans for help one more time.
This reminded me of yet another question I had been pondering during my lonely night. “If Paulette wasn’t after you, would you want to forgo immortality? Not only do you seem to have come to terms with your condition, you’ve found a way of life that suits you.”
“My life isn’t natural. As to the curse, let’s say I cope.” Slowly, he turned around and faced his name plate. Fake, yes. But this was still a grave, and under normal circumstances, he would be in it. We would never have met.
“You don’t understand.” Yvon heaved a deep breath. “Not being able to die is...hard. These customers of Madame Gingembre don’t know what they wish for. Always be watchful, and always cover your tracks. Who can you trust? How not to be different? Never say the wrong things. Never think the wrong thoughts. How to adjust when the world around you changes, but inside you are still yourself? Life’s an infuriating string of crises, mine are endless. And not to forget your friends who age and die. You’re left behind. You lose the love, the light in your life. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about since I’ve done it twice. I can’t bear the pain again. Please.”
He raised his face to the ceiling and shook his fists. “I want to be normal. Failing that...” Yvon bit his lip and regarded the dirty mosaic on the floor.
No need to continue. The answer was obvious.
Failing that, he might lose his mind, even with me along for part of the way.
I put my arms around him and held on tight. At first, he was stiff, like a statue. Then he relaxed and breathed into my ear. His aura smacked of ash, but the air in this place was putrid.
Sudden insight made me twitch in his arms.
Hold it right there . Ash. Taste.
Taste meant something. And a spoon was meant for eating.
The sluggish synapses in my brain stirred and shifted gears. The broken inspiration I could not grasp, the fleeting thought that escaped me finally wriggled on the hook.
Like Yvon’s plan, it was out on a limb. And risky. Batty even. Unlikely it would work, but it was the only thing I could do for the love of my life.
I could sample auras and had the Romani vision. Okay, half of it. The good part. A gift of the Gitans.
I would curse him myself, curse him right back into life.
How?
No idea. To stand even a remote chance of success, I would need help.
Arbadonaro. He gave me his number.
Much too dangerous. What if you kill him?
Yvon lifted his head and withdrew. The pain was gone, the facade once more in place. “What is it? You stiffened, then you made a funny sound.”
“I’ll never be good at poker, I guess. Okay, I had a brainwave. Please don’t ask. One thing—are you serious about lifting the curse?”
His brow jiggled; a Japanese brushstroke on the move. “My love, what do you think I’ve been doing the last 230 odd years? What did I tell you a few minutes ago?”
“Just checking. Don’t get your hopes up since it might come to nothing. I’ll know more once I’m back from a quick trip tomorrow. Only for a couple of hours.”
“You found a solution. I knew it. Where are you going?” The blue of his eyes was intense.
“Itxassou. And no, you need not join me. I reckon you’ll be wildly busy, and I’m flying by the seat of my pants.”
He pursed his lips. “Fine. Will you be okay on your own? I’ll ensure you won’t be alone. But I shouldn’t leave you—”
“Yvon, please, I’m a big girl.”
A smile skipped across his face and away again. “Were you planning to take your car?”
“What else? The van is too bulky for my liking, and it’s also much too conspicuous.”
“And a Mini with the Union Jack on the roof and British number plates isn’t?”
“Contrary to you, I like to stand out in a crowd.”
He bowed and bumped his back against the nameplate on the opposite wall. It read Louis Constantin Emmanuel Georges, who must have been Yvon’s father. The dates sort of fitted. There were two more graves in the tiers below, but I couldn’t read the names.
“You do, and I’d rather if you didn’t. May I suggest you leave your Mini and take my E-Porsche instead?”
“That doesn’t stand out? The thing is electric blue.”
“Perhaps, but it’s also equipped with a tracking device, so my people can’t lose you.”
He was right. Regardless of whether I liked it or not, I was a target. In the hands of the wrong people, I would become a weapon. I hated leaving him even for a short while, but this was one journey I needed to take.
Yvon checked his watch and clucked his tongue. “It’s time to visit the Vaud-Demort farm and hear what happened to Mademoiselle Legrand.”
~ * ~?
T he farmer, a big-boned woman with teeth to match her precious prize jumpers, was friendly enough; she offered us tea and home-baked fruit bread and nodded like a donkey throughout Yvon’s explanations. At the same time, she was as stubborn as a mule.
The cup, delicate porcelain dwarfed by her chafed hands, clattered back onto the saucer.
“I understand what you are trying to achieve, and I believe you mean well. That’s why I agreed to see you in the first place. The trouble is, Berthe’s no longer young, and she doesn’t want to confront her past. She isn’t interested in money or anything else, and I wouldn’t want the old dear to get hurt. For me, she’s family. Fact is, my grandparents never formally adopted her, but she’s got papers where her name is given as Vaud-Demort, and she is like an auntie to me.”
He grinned. “Tell me all about false documentation. I feared it would be something like that. In the chaos after the great war, people could vanish at their convenience.”
Here was the expert talking.
“Correct. Oh, please don’t try to contact my aunt. I’m going out on a limb here, but Veronique said to trust you. I will call her when you are gone. I can promise you that much. It’s her decision. If you don’t hear from us in the next couple of days, donate the treasure to a good cause. Something to help children in need. Auntie mentioned it once. She remained childless.” She rose. “I’m afraid I’m a horrible host since I need you to leave. We’re preparing for a big tournament, and there’re tons of things to do. I didn’t want to keep you waiting, though. Véronique was most insistent.”
Yvon rose and gravely shook her hand. “Thank you for seeing us despite your commitments, Madame. We shall await your decision, and don’t worry, we won’t bother the old lady.”
I’m not sure whether my brain would have reacted faster had I slept better, but since I hadn’t, we were already on our way back to the coast when sudden insight clonked me over the head. “I know her.”
“Pardon?”
“The daughter of the Legrands. I know who she is.”
Yvon accelerated out of a curve. “And?”
“Berthe-Louise Vaud-Demort. She’s the last of the old ladies on the list Paulette gave to me when I was looking for war witnesses. Unlike the others, she was tough to pin down. Try nailing a pudding to the wall. I don’t think we’ll hear from her again.”
“I’m not surprised you find food critiquing a challenge if you attack your puddings with hammer and nails.”
I poked him in the ribs. Or would have, had his flesh been more yielding.
“You ought to cut your fingernails more often,” he said. “About the rest, well, Véronique warned me not to be optimistic. I can only hope it won’t matter to Raoul.”
“In a way, she’s decided things for us. Her grandniece said to donate the money to children in need. We can easily do that if Raoul agrees.”
“Hmm. It might not be the closure he was looking for, but hey, we found her.”
He raised his hand. We high-fived without enthusiasm and fell silent. Outside, fields rushed by, and a village came and went, lost in the rear mirror.
The lump in my throat had doubled in size. “Any idea how long Raoul is planning to hang around once you have lifted the treasure?”
Yvon intertwined the fingers of his right hand with mine. “I’m sure he would want to say goodbye. He said he had a last request for us both, which meant he can’t pop off without prior warning.”
A last request wasn’t miles away from a last goodbye.