Spirits of Gascony

Chapter Twenty-Three

Yvon squatted on my terrace, checking floppy dog ears for water. When he found none, he patted the faithful hounds on their rumps and sat next to me. One after the other, canine domino-style, the musketeers lay on the tiles, apparently none the worse for their rescue mission.

The same could not be said about me. Despite a steaming hot shower at Yvon’s, a thermos flask of scalding tea, a warm water bottle on my belly, and a fleece blanket wrapped around my trembling limbs, I channeled a survivor of an arctic nightmare.

“Are you sure you want to sit here and not in my living room? I could put the fire on,” he said. Finally finished with the yelling and cussing, the man had switched to the other extreme.

“Since Raoul can’t make it past your hedge, changing locations is out of the question. Apart from that, my legs are no good.” At least I could talk again without my teeth chattering like a short-circuited nutcracker.

Raoul was but a smudge in the shadows, his voice subdued, hard to hear. “There’s not much left to say. Other than why don’t you fetch your spoon?”

Despite the blanket, a sudden hoarfrost chilled my marrow. I shook it off. Raoul couldn’t be leaving yet. There was still too much to do, enough time to say goodbye.

The box in question, a steel contraption much smaller than I had imagined, lined and wrapped in wax cloth—the bundle Yvon had carried to shore— sat on my garden table. Corrosion had gnawed away at the crate’s edges, and its outer shell hadn’t been entirely watertight. The inner box fared better, but only Raoul’s clever packaging decades ago saved the contents from damage.

“You sure you’re okay if I take it?” Yvon asked. “I mean, you gave your life to protect the treasure intact.”

A bodiless grin floated in mid-air, the human version of the Cheshire Cat. “Nobody said anything about it being intact. At first, I didn’t know you, so I needed to be careful. Come on, my friend, help yourself. You’ve earned your spoon. If you don’t take the thing, Paulette will get it. Third parcel from the right. The longish, slim one.”

Yvon stood and regarded the packages inside the box.

“Don’t touch the spoon.” When I heaved myself from my seat, the hot water bottle plopped onto the ground.

Yvon grabbed it and placed it next to the box. “True. It’s all yours.”

After unwinding miles of string and folding away the greasy wrappings, a glinting object with a slender ornamental stem slid into my hand.

It wasn’t heavy; it wasn’t pretty or elegant, not at all what I expected. The gold was untarnished, but otherwise, the thing was unremarkable. “Uh, I imagined something more dramatic.”

He scrutinized the amateur engravings scratched into one end.

“It’s not much, is it?” Raoul said. “It’s not even gold. I checked.” A translucent finger gently tapped a scratch on the back of the stem.

“Gilded silver,” Yvon said. “Lots of show and little substance, a bit like nobility.”

“As long as it is what you need,” I said.

“Oh, yes. A ragout spoon, most likely.” He nodded to himself.

“Yvon, for heaven’s sake, can you please forget food for once? Yes or no?”

“I said so, didn’t I? The engravings match the drawing the Gitans made for me.”

Where I should have been excited, triumphant even, I sensed a heavy hollowness spreading inside. Raoul’s mission was over. Mine had just begun. What would happen next?

As if he had read my thoughts, Raoul spoke. “Pleased to be of service. I’m afraid, it’s now in your hands, mes amis .”

Coldness returned to my limbs. “To the best of my knowledge, Madame Vaud-Demort hasn’t called yet, nor can we be certain Berthe is the person we’re after. You simply need to hang around for a while longer.”

Yvon said nothing. Raoul smiled sadly.

“What?”

“Sorry, Mel. I’ve fulfilled my dying oath. I swore to protect the Legrand’s property with my life and ensure it gets delivered to them, their relatives, or their descendants. You found Berthe, and Yvon has retrieved the stash. There’s no need to pass it on in person. How Mademoiselle Legrand disposes of her sudden wealth is no longer my problem.”

Raoul’s face was luminous, his body as solid as when I saw him for the first time. “Thanks to both of you, I could do some good in a whole dung heap of wrong. Such is life. There’s only one more thing you can do for me. Make sure the female horror doesn’t get hold of my bones when I’m gone. I’d hate that. Will you promise me?”

“Raoul...”

Yvon placed his hand on my arm. “I’ll dig you up tonight.”

This shouldn’t be happening yet. I struggled to find my voice. “I swear, I’ll whack Paulette with her shoes should she try to mess with your bones.” That wasn’t my voice. A robot could do better. “Raoul, seriously, you can’t leave. We need you.”

Dainty fireflies of light flickered into existence and danced around Raoul. They appeared swirly, cheerful. He laughed. “As much as I would like to stay on, I can’t. You are welcome to make Paulette’s life hell but don’t tempt fate again. Yvon, you look after Mel. Mel, you look after him. And take a word of advice from an old spy—never, ever start a mission without ensuring your backup is in place. What you did today was sheer lunacy.”

“We’ll miss you,” I said in the same alien voice.

“Thanks for everything you did, mon ami .” Yvon didn’t sound any better.

The fireflies became a golden storm hiding the man behind. “Ah, bah. Don’t be such drama queens. Death is completely overrated. I’ll be all right. Maybe I’ll even be able to wrangle some extra hours of haunting from the powers that be. Whoever they are. One never knows. Bonne vie, mes amis .”

The fireflies winked out. A cold eddy swirled around my feet. Then it was gone, the terrace silent apart from the panting of the dogs.

Yvon and I didn’t need words. We embraced, his iron-hard chest warm against mine while the remains of the evening bled into nightfall. I wasn’t cold. I didn’t hurt. It didn’t matter anymore. Raoul was gone.

But I still had Yvon, who shifted at the same moment and breathed into my ear. “Would you have a tissue for me?”

I did.

He blew his nose in a trumpet blast that would have made Dumbo proud. He wadded the tissue and gave me a lopsided and somewhat watery grin. “May he finally rest in peace.”

“Raoul deserves much more than this, yes. I can only hope his bones will be easier to find than his treasure.” The words made my chest ache.

“He showed me the other day exactly where he lies buried. At the top of the dunes, close to the footpath. Paulette got close with her metal detector once or twice.”

“Bones aren’t made of metal.”

“No, but bullets are. Can we please talk about something else? For example, you can tell me off for not being around when you needed me.”

Sudden warmth flooded my system. He was a wonderful man. “Let me guess. You never planned to rest. You went straight out.”

“I didn’t lie to you if that’s what you mean. Bruno was waiting for me. Everything was ready. All I needed to do was change and off we went.”

Under different circumstances I might have taken offense. Not when I was bone-tired. “Explains why I didn’t spot anybody in the street when I was hoping for backup.”

“I sent two of them back to watch over you. By then, it was too late, you had disappeared.”

“Hunkering in the bunker, most likely. Didn’t the high tide cause you any problems?”

He raised a brow. “Why should it? The waves were rough, but not dangerous, not for an experienced immortal diver with lots of backup. Which I had. The area around the World War Two relics is tricky during spring tides because of the eddies, but at sea, it wasn’t a big deal. You were in much greater danger than I was.”

A shiver ran through my body. Like scars I would carry the memories of today’s stupidity for the rest of my life. “All for nothing.”

“You didn’t know. I would have done the same.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, but I’m better equipped to deal with this type of merde than you are. Much more used to people coming after me with evil intentions, explosives, or sharp instruments.”

He was acting the hero again. “In that case, I’ll make sure to get fit and—”

His mobile burst into chanson, Je ne regrette rien by Edith Piaf. He ripped it from the pocket of his jeans. “Batz.”

As he listened, his eyes narrowed. “No, I won’t accept your excuse. You’ve compromised your position, Madame. What? I don’t care. If you can’t keep your hired guns under control, it’s your problem. I don’t do business with unreliable partners. Huh? No extensions. I’ll see you tomorrow as agreed, and you better have something to offer.” He thumbed the call away, frown lines on his forehead.

I tilted my head. “Paulette?”

“Yes. The man acted without her authorization.”

“Oops, he’ll regret that. Yvon, I get you want to make a stand, but for me, this evening was a wake-up call. Whatever we do, we can’t stay here. We’re the proverbial sitting ducks.”

“Agreed. Madame Gingembre is scheming again. She wanted to use the attack on you as an excuse to extend the deadline. Since she was the one insisting on an ultimatum in the first place, it means bad news. She’s probably negotiating with the lab as we speak.” He eyeballed the box on the table. Groaned. “This needs to get stored somewhere safe. I’ll sort it out. What about your trip tomorrow?”

“Did you change your mind over the bit with the curse lifting?”

“No. Not when I finally found the spoon. And we need to act fast here. I don’t trust the woman.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“Not on your own,” he said grimly. “Nor are you driving. I can’t be with you, too many things to prepare, but I’ll find you a chauffeur. What if you’ve caught pneumonia? Perhaps you want to wait a day—”

“Give it a rest. The sooner I know the curse can’t be lifted, the better.”

He glared at me. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

With my body aching all over, the last thing I needed was an argument. “Yvon—”

The wattage in his glare dimmed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Nor did I. Heavens, it’s late, I’m tired, we both are, and I’m ready for bed. With that I mean a good night’s rest, not the other variety, not if I want to be fit for the trip to Itxassou. But I want you with me. And my cat.”

Yvon kissed my hand. “You shall have all of it, my love.”

~ * ~

? I n the stillness of Monsieur Arbadonaro’s living room, the grandfather clock meted out the time in measured strokes. A cup of peppermint tea steamed gently at my elbow, and a plateful of macarons tempted my greedy fingers.

Like last time, Arbadonaro was sipping his Armagnac, deep in thought. Beside him, on a velvet cloth, lay the spoon. I sat on the cold leather of the armchair, trying to move as little as possible. Funny, yesterday I had only been achy and chilled to the core. Today, my body had turned into one big, hurting bruise.

I squirmed on the cracked leather of the old armchair.

The old man looked up, his dark eyes amused. “Ah, forgive me for keeping you waiting. I wish you would come more often, Melody. I know this must have been a horrid experience, but you have proven yourself to be most resourceful, and you also are a superb storyteller.”

He had received an edited version of our exploits, in which Raoul didn’t feature, since I didn’t want to over-complicate matters. “I had help.”

He nodded in a thoughtful manner and reached for the spoon again. “I feel nothing when I touch this. Is it different for you?”

“No. Yvon didn’t handle it. I was worried he might crumble to dust if he did.”

Arbadonaro heaved a deep breath and struggled to sit upright in his chair. “I fear, it’s a distinct possibility.”

Yesterday’s icy chill returned in an instant, even without all that water.

“It might be safer to run for the hills as they say,” he said.

“We will if we have to. It’s simply—we won’t be able to keep it up for long. Nor will we get far. Even if Paulette stuck to her promise and didn’t take Yvon to the lab, someone else would hear about the story and come after us.”

“He doesn’t wish to be cursed anymore. It’s getting to him.”

I shifted in my chair. A cramp shot through my legs. Massaging my aching calves, I said, “It’s an added complication, yes.”

“You’re aware of the consequences of your actions?”

“That I might lose him? Oh, I know. We both do.”

A chasm gaped between knowing and accepting, too wide for me to cross. But the decision wasn’t mine to make. It was Yvon’s life at risk. I swallowed the sob threatening to escape. “It appears he’s taking a stand here.”

“And you accept this?”

“Yes. As much as I would like to stop him, I understand the reasons behind his actions. Heck, if I were in his situation, I might well do the same.”

Arbadonaro nodded to himself. “True love. These days, it is rare.”

The tears pricking my eyes were hard to ignore. Mustering the dregs of my willpower, I managed. “Please, Monsieur Arbadonaro, are we discussing hypotheses, or do you have something more concrete for me?”

He drained his Armagnac and placed the empty glass on a side table stacked with books. “It’s Jacques. And yes, I can and will help you and your man.”

He steepled his fingers and gave me a sharp look, his frailness forgotten. “I talked to my granddaughter. She’s a doctor. Not the classic type, mind you. Cécile is into alternative healing, plus she has a degree in psychology. She’s also a psychic, but her patients seldom notice. Other than that, the lore of our people is her hobby. She knows everything there is to know. Or so I think. I admit I might be somewhat prejudiced.”

“Sounds like you can be proud of her.” Impatience made me twitch in my seat, but there was no rushing the old man.

“Oh, I am. I am. This is her.” He reached for a picture in an ornamental silver frame, dark with age. Then he sucked his teeth and let his hand drop. “Forgive me, you are not here to view pictures of my family. Next, I will show you old videos.” He chuckled at his joke.

Once more, I shifted in my seat. Drank some tea. Listened to the tic-toc from the clock.

“Of course, my granddaughter knows about your Yvon. His story is a legend among the Gitans .”

“The one curse that worked.”

Arbadonaro chuckled again. “Let’s say it’s the one curse that stuck the longest. Cécile’s read every scrap of information on the man she could find. Being the scientist she is, she analyzed her findings. She tried to contact him many times. But he hid well. There’s a wall of people around him.”

I sat up. “Yvon told me you didn’t want to talk to him. And that your people avoid him.”

“Correct. When he nosed around the Legrands, I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do. Call me an old fool, but I think I might have been afraid of him. Afraid he would hate me for what a long-dead woman did to him once. The others feel the same way, I fear.”

“No need to. He’s a wonderful man. Bit arrogant, perhaps. Flies into temper tantrums at the slightest provocation, but then these days he’s also a chef.”

“It’s what surprised me most. That the man who once was the Marquis d’Artagnan would take on such a profession. Well, it’s been a while. People change.”

“He has, believe me. Now he wants to change one final time. Be human again.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for getting the conversation back on track. The next moment, I wondered whether I should have let Jacques ramble and return with empty hands, pretending there was no solution.

You can’t grow love on a lie.

No, but I might lose Yvon. Despair sneered behind these words, and it took all my willpower not to give in to the tremble in my throat.

Arbadonaro sighed. “If you must know, Cécile is convinced that, given your power to see the good in people, you’re likely able to create a pull that will curse him back to life. I must admit, I didn’t quite understand the concept. Something related to your positive outlook on life counter-balancing the negativity of the curse. Does this make sense?”

My what? Since when did I have a positive outlook on life? This sounded more ominous by the minute. “Not sure I get it, but if she thinks it works, then it probably will. Well, I hope so. But how?”

Arbadonaro raised his hand. “Wait. Don’t ignore the danger. Let’s imagine you’re successful, and he might be mortal once more. Now, one of two things can happen. In a best-case scenario, he will live out the rest of his days, not knowing how many of those he will be granted. In another scenario, he...departs soon after, since his sojourn on planet Earth should have been over centuries ago.”

He had given voice to the horrors troubling my night. “We know.”

“I’m not finished yet. If you fail, he might stay the way he is now. Or he might be damaged by the double cursing. It’s true. We don’t know what might happen.”

“What would you do?”

“Leave the curse well alone. Run,” Arbadonaro said without the slightest hesitation. “I had hoped for Cécile to be able to curse you. It appears she can’t.”

Pain tore at my heart with greedy teeth. Yvon mustn’t go ahead. This was madness. Once more, I forced myself to remain calm, to keep a clear head when I wanted to bolt from this room. “Okay, let’s assume we risk it. What do I have to do? Is that clearer?”

He wagged his head. “Clearer than the outcome. My granddaughter investigated every known curse and counter-curse. None of them are comparable, none of them of this magnitude. The principle seems to be the same, though, and it’s straightforward. The easiest way to solve this would have been for the woman who caused the curse to lift it. Since it’s no longer possible, you need the counterbalance. In your case, it’s the spoon.”

“The what?”

“Every curse has to come with, uh...a counterbalance, a real object to absorb the energy of the curse. Otherwise, it wouldn’t work. These days, many people aren’t aware anymore. They curse away as they see fit, and nothing happens. But that woman took things seriously. They did, you know, back in the old times.”

“The damn spoon wasn’t even available when Yvon was cursed.”

“It didn’t need to be. As long as the object existed at the time, no matter where, and the person doing the cursing envisioned this particular object in their mind, it would have done the job.” He sighed and stared at the shelves, bursting with books and vinyl LPs. Rows of them crowded the walls, the collection of a lifetime.

I felt like biting the armrest of my chair, but it would have been impolite.

Arbadonaro pulled a face as if he didn’t like the view and turned his head, slowly, like a tortoise moving in its shell. “Ah, good, you’re still here. For a moment, I thought you might have gone.”

“I wouldn’t.” What I might have to and soon too, was take care of a pressing need. Either the stress or the tea, or both, were too much for my bladder.

He smiled. “Not before I have told you, eh? So be it. It’s your decision. Right then. You need to lift the old curse first for the new one to work. The spoon as the counterbalance will do that for you since it creates the connection between you, the dead Gitane, and Monsieur d’Artagnan. Cécile suggests you cook something for him and stir it with your spoon, which he then uses to eat. You can cook, right? I mean, prepare a proper meal, not reheat something in a microwave or fetch something from a fast food place?”

Was he even serious? I searched his face. Yes, he was. “Not in line with Yvon’s lofty standards, but yes, I can cook. What happens next?”

“You curse him.”

“Uh, how do I do this? Cursing’s not something I do every day. There must be some sort of trusted and tried formula.”

Arbadonaro shrugged. “No, sorry. You could say the old curse is lifted, and instead, you now curse him to be mortal once more. You keep stirring whatever you are cooking, he eats it, and voilà .”

“And this counterbalance thingy?”

He did a facepalm. “Of course. I couldn’t do this. I would forget everything. So, what if you use the spoon again for your mortality curse? You have it, might as well use it.”

“Something along the lines of ‘this spoon that made you mortal shall make you immortal again’?”

His eyes shining, he clapped applause. “I like this, oh I like it very much.”

A wild giggle bubbled in my throat. Who would have thought I would once script-write a curse? The merriment died. This was for real. If I got things wrong, the consequences could be monstrous.

He snapped his fingers. “There’s something else I’ve forgotten.”

My stomach lurched. The list of potential disasters kept getting longer.

“You only get one chance. You can curse again, but not the same person. At least not for quite a while. My granddaughter was a bit vague on that point. You had better succeed on the first try.”

Oh, super. Just what I needed. “Is that it?”

He nodded.

“Can you do me one more thing for me? Ring your granddaughter and tell her what we discussed. Uh, perhaps she can write everything down. To make sure we have covered all the angles and not forgotten a step. This is scary enough as it is.”

“I will.” He reached for the phone.

“And if you don’t mind, could I use your bathroom?”

“Corridor. First door on the left.”

I dashed in search of relief. When I returned, Arbadonaro had placed a glass with an amber liquid next to my chair and was shambling back to his. “I took the liberty and poured you some Armagnac. I think you might need it. You said you’re not driving yourself?”

“No, I’m not at my fittest today.” An Yvon supporter called Michelle had cheerfully chauffeured me all the way here and would take me back later.

“My granddaughter will email you the list. She will recheck everything, but she thinks what we agreed on will suffice. If you want to do it, of course.”

Another glance from those shrewd eyes, but there was a softness in them that had not been there before.

He cared. So did I. Arbadonaro was right. No matter how much I understood Yvon’s motivation, no matter how much I rationalized my fears, the man would have to forget this crazy scheme, a plan where the slightest misstep could land us in disaster.

No way would I curse the love of my life.

Never, ever.