Chapter 1- Prison
…
Paris, France, circa 1770's
La Maison pour Crimes Noirs, the official Magical government prison, was secreted beneath Paris in an underground bunker. Cell blocks formed of glass were stacked in rows four stories high. The blocks were guarded by not only wizard guards, but by magical creatures- giant black cats with large, glowing blue eyes, enormous centipedes, and other beasts which prowled the halls and swam in the central moat.
A tall man, fair-haired with a golden beard and a black cloak, strode along the cell block hallway. He shot electrical sparks at the leaping cats and giant centipedes with his wand as they tried to approach him. The creatures let out strange, otherworldly cries as they were subdued.
Alexis Xavier Sauvageon was a member of the Magical government police, working for the recently appointed French minister, Bartholomé Bertrand. He was there to survey his two latest prisoners, as well as to gloat in triumph.
The first prisoner he approached was his own aunt, his father's sister. Agathe Ophelie Sauvageon. Inmate Number 247. She was the talk of Magical France over the last year or so, having cast what was both praised and scorned as 'the most outrageous curse of the century' on a Sans-Magie prince, his castle, and 'all who lived there.' Her curse had been broken, due to a young woman's true love for a hideous, large horned Beast.
Her true age was forty-six, but she tended to change her appearance back and forth to that of a lovely young blonde or an elderly, impoverished hag- rarely her true age and station. Currently, she was in her youngest form, but her despair over being caught and confined caused her face to pale and dark circles to form under her eyes. Her long golden hair hung limp.
Sauvageon approached the cell where she sat on a straw cot, his gaze triumphant. "Bonjour, Aunt Agathe," he said to her in derision.
"Good evening, Alexis," she said quietly. "Have you seen your father lately?"
"Yes, and he has disowned you from our family. It's disgusting how you have meddled with Sans-Magies in such an arrogant way. Giving them complete awareness of our powers, and our world. And not only you, but your friend here."
Sauvageon gestured with his arm to the young man confined in the glass cell next to Agathe's. He was ignoring their conversation, quietly writing on a small pad of paper with a quill.
Sauvageon's former underling spy, Marcel Clement, was Inmate Number 248 and the newest arrival to the prison. He had been Sauvageon's loyal worker only a few weeks before, having gone undercover with him investigating Agathe's latest crimes. The officer had been thankful for his help in apprehending Agathe. He'd planned to give him a promotion to deputy investigator, even offering to fund his further training.
But that was no longer. Marcel had betrayed him, with lawless use of magic of his own! He'd just exposed his powers like a foolish charlatan in front of an entire Prince's court of Sans-Magies. Sauvageon had no choice but to lock him up.
He took a few steps forward to the glass cell and leaned down, seeking eye contact with the man. "Clement!" he exclaimed. "Do you have anything to say to me?"
Marcel kept his eyes down on the pad of paper. "There's a werewolf behind you, Monsieur," he said softly.
"I know that," Sauvageon said through his teeth, wanting to send a shock-curse on the wolf-man but resisting the urge. As an officer, he had a reputation to uphold.
Sauvageon was perfectly aware of the presence of one Robert Lefebvre, Inmate Number 213, a burly and muscular man who occupied the cell across from that of Marcel and Agathe. The man was now known simply as 'LeLoup.' His hair and beard had grown long and matted, and he resembled the beast who had bitten him, years before.
LeLoup was an inmate for three years now, as well as the jailers' constant headache. Whenever a full moon came over Paris, LeLoup in his creature form had the ability to attain such great physical strength to break open the thick glass of his cell wall. No matter what charms the jailers cast over him, no matter what body-binds or torture they could set upon LeLoup to weaken him, he always broke free at his transformation. He had bitten two jailers to date, as well as three inmates, causing them to be werewolves.
Presently, Sauvageon resisted the urge to turn around and look at LeLoup. He was quiet, likely sleeping. It would be five days until the moon was set to be full. The thought came in his mind that perhaps he should have Agathe and Marcel moved to the very top floor rather than the bottom. They were troublesome enough as they were; he didn't care for them to become a werewolf and she-werewolf on top of it.
Sauvageon gestured to the paper Marcel was writing on. "And what is this?"
"Nothing." Marcel hid the pad of paper behind his open-buttoned waistcoat.
Sauvageon, a Lecteur d'Esprit, or mind reader, pointed his wand at Marcel's forehead. He studied the man's pleasant face, watching his expression tense and his eyes close. Thought-words in the other's voice entered Sauvageon's mind.
'He won't take away my words, even if he burns my diary, they're still in my mind-'
"Ah, you're fighting me, aren't you, mon garçon?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Stop it!" Agathe commanded her captor. "If you're going to mind-read and torture anyone, do it to me, not the boy."
"Why? I know you can resist it," said Sauvageon. A smirk came over his face as he flicked his wand at Marcel and caused the small diary tucked in his waistcoat to fly into the air and catch aflame, turning to ash. A few flames and burnt embers licked Marcel's hand, causing him to wince with the pain of a burn.
"You are nothing but a common bully! A henchman for Bertrand," said Agathe.
"And you are nothing but a has-been, Aunt Agathe!" Sauvageon hissed. "You have had your name in the papers and have been the talk of Paris for too long, and now you can rot here. Adieu to you both. I am off to one of Monsieur Bertrand's society functions, where I will get my honors for catching the criminal of the century."
"You forgot I helped?" Marcel said, turning his gaze up to the tall man on the other side of the pane of glass.
"You are irrelevant now," said the officer with a glare.
"I doubt they think of me as a criminal of the century," said Agathe. "I performed a foolish spell, that was all, and it was broken by the love of a girl, for a Beast. That hardly puts me in the ranks of the great dark Enchanters."
"Quit your false humility, Agathe," Sauvageon said with derision as he walked away, leaving their cell block.
All he had needed at the moment was seeing them there, where they belonged. His relative, with her 'Beast' curse discussed with enthusiasm at parlors, wizards' watering holes, and witches' sewing circles, would be but a by-word in the Magical history of the age soon.
He himself hoped to rise in the ranks until he became the right-hand man of the minister, Bartholomé Bertrand himself. He and his associates would bring forth a new order of law against Sans-Magies, Magicals born to Sans-Magie parents, and Defectives. The laws were becoming stricter, and the lines between both societies would be more defined until they were certain who the haves and have-nots were.
Aunt Agathe had a clever idea indeed, he thought to himself. Why didn't they think of it earlier? Simply using powerful curses of magic to punish those inferior people- just like that selfish Prince turned into a beast creature- would bring forth a new utopia. Some lives may be lost, but it will be for the best, Sauvageon thought. When he reached the end of the cell blocks, he threw his pinch of enchanted dust into a large copper pot on the floor. When he stepped into it, one black leather boot before the other, it immediately whisked him up to the busy streets of Paris.
…
A gigantic, four-foot-long centipede with bristle-legs felt free to crawl over the front doors of both Agathe's and Marcel's glass enclosures once the officer was gone. Its sickly grey underbelly and pincer-mouth was exposed as it slithered across their new home, looking like a thick snake with an unsightly hairy multitude of appendages.
"Dear God, I hate those things," said Marcel, turning his gaze from the creature and trying to relieve the pain of his blistered knuckle by sucking on it.
"I'm sorry you were hurt by him again."
"I wanted him to burn that diary before he read it. If he'd read it…" He sighed.
Agathe's tone towards him was kind as always. She still wanted to make amends with her prison neighbor and have all be forgiven, but the fact remained that Agathe had once transformed Marcel's innocent sister into a feather duster. She'd nearly died when Prince Adam's life ebbed away, that cruel Enchanted Rose having lost its petals.
Over the last several days, though, the two had begun to forge an unlikely alliance, if not actually friends.
"Perhaps a good thing he burned it then? Clever of you," she complimented.
"Thank you. And I'll be fine," Marcel muttered.
Agathe noticed the young man trying to hide his despair with a neutral and indifferent expression, gazing at the inmate across the hallway from them. Agathe had known Marcel's mother in Paris. Sabine, her name was, a talented African potions enchantress. The woman must be devastated knowing her son was here.
"I see Monsieur LeLoup is awakening," said Agathe, following his gaze.
"We ought to keep ignoring him. The more attention we pay to him, the more reason he will pay attention to us. And then he'll have us in mind, when the moon happens," Marcel said in a whisper.
"I disagree. I think we should engage him. Befriend him. He's just a man still, suffering from a bite. He can't help his transformations."
"Mademoiselle Agathe, he might not be able to help it, but I don't know...I haven't seen what it's like once he does. Uh...have you?" he asked her nervously.
"Oui, Marcel dear, I've seen it. The poor man," said Agathe in sympathy. "He began to crack his cell wall open the last time he transformed into an enormous wolf. The guards were ready for him. They must have set at least a hundred torture and lightning-shock curses on him!"
"If I were a guard here, I would have done the same," Marcel whispered.
"It was beyond cruel and brutal!" said Agathe, shooting him an indignant look. "The sounds of pain he made. And the other werewolves above me made such a fuss, howling and screaming! He is their leader, now. I'm afraid that next time the guards might just kill LeLoup. Execute him without trial."
Marcel looked across the hall at the big man, now sitting up and rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"Lightning-shock curses?" he whispered to Agathe. "I'm impressed at his strength having survived that! Still not looking forward to his next transformation. I only hope our walls are well protected," he added.
Agathe and Marcel watched as LeLoup stretched his burly arms, yawning and making a show of licking his lips and gnashing his teeth. He looked across the hall at Agathe and Marcel and grinned, his long brown locks hanging and partly obscuring his broad, bearded face.
"Bonjour! Good day, my fine neighbors!" he said cheerily.
"Good day, Monsieur LeLoup," said Agathe. "How are you feeling?"
"Hungry!" he growled. The werewolf was showing some surprising friendliness to them now.
Ever since Marcel had arrived, he'd only experienced threatening rants from LeLoup about how he was going to sink his fangs into his and Agathe's throats and mark them as his wolf-kin, with his trio of goons howling and laughing from the cell floor above. This had been the case for nearly a week now. So to be perfectly honest, a 'good day' welcome from someone like LeLoup was promising.
One of the giant centipedes crawled on LeLoup's enclosure; they watched him swipe at it and stick out his tongue. Marcel cringed at the sight, though he wouldn't mind if those creatures could be devoured.
"I'm getting very bored, Mademoiselle and Monsieur," said the werewolf. "This porridge gruel they give us is quite lacking in protein, don't you agree? I need meat, baaaadly." LeLoup bared his rotting teeth, the incisors notably pointed.
"Perhaps you can ask the jailer for something different. A few of them seem kind enough," Agathe said, deciding to make conversation.
"Oh for God's sake, Agathe!" Marcel whispered.
"He speaks! Hello, Monsieur Pretty Boy!" LeLoup cackled, his throat hoarse from just awakening. "You're still new, after a while you might not look as pretty. I never quite caught your name."
"Clement," Marcel said quietly, bowing his head in an attempt at politeness.
"Is that your last or first name? I once knew a Clement Duchamp. Hated him, arrogant ass. Should have sought him out to bite before I was sent here."
"It's my last name. I, uh…I was mentioned and pictured in the Paris newspapers a few times, years back. I was a star athlete for a while."
Marcel became more bold, caught up for a moment in fond memories and grasping for anything that might elevate himself in the werewolf's favor. "For my Académie when I was a boy. The team Étoiles Bleu, and then for the Faucons de Paris for almost three years, until I had to quit due to-"
"Faucons? The Faucons de Paris?" LeLoup spluttered. "You were on the team?"
"Yes, back in 1767 through 69."
"Is that so?" LeLoup's face lit in fond memory. "I was at a game with my old girl, back in '68, the Faucons played against Les Ouragans de Lyon, and won two hundred points to forty! They were master formation flyers, it was like art in the skies! One boy made the winning catch and the entire stadium went wild! The boy was named Marcel something-"
"That was me." Marcel smiled bashfully at the big man.
"It was you? I want your autograph, mon garçon! I have been a true-blue Faucons fan my entire life. At least-" LeLoup frowned- "until I was afflicted, and imprisoned for what I did under the full moon. Which was bite, maim, and infect a total of twenty-two people so far. Including my three friends whose cells are above you."
Agathe smiled sadly as she listened to his confession. She knew that it helped to get along with the other inmates, particularly if this inmate might possibly break through the glass in five days and devour them.
"Merci." said Marcel, his spirits lifted a bit. "I'd like to write one for you, though I hardly feel as if I'm famous! I only played for a few years, but coaches and team owners are fickle. Once I went too many games without making enough good catches, my career was over before I was twenty and I had to go back to driving carriages for a living. Oh well, c'est la vie."
"But you still have the memories, mon ami. And now...my lady," LeLoup said, grinning hungrily at Agathe. "From what I recall, when you arrived some time back there was a buzzing of rumors going around that you were that 'Beast' Enchantress. I doubt that is true. I don't even believe that 'Beast Prince' story. It sounds like nothing but a Sans-Magie crock of foul stinking merde, some fairy tale legend. Tell me, Mademoiselle, what are you really in for?"
Agathe shrugged. "Misuse of magic. The same as he is."
"Dark magic?" LeLoup asked.
She sighed. "Oui, some of it may have been dark. I used pain curses on a man."
"You did?" He grinned in a rather creepy way. "I like ladies who can torture."
Agathe narrowed her eyes at him. "I was feeling sorry for you last time, but if you try anything with me, or this fellow next to me, I have no other option but to use it, sans-wand."
"But the two of you would be so good as my werewolf-kin," LeLoup replied, licking his chops.
"Monsieur LeLoup, when you are under, um...the full moon, do you have any control over what you do?" asked Marcel. "Or do you just...wake up and not realize that you've maimed and infected people the night before?"
The bearded man's face fell. "I can never control or know what I'm doing. I am conscious, but it is like an animal's consciousness. The last times...I remember the pain. The guards attacking me. With their lightning shocks. Nothing but the pain."
"Do you think you could try breaking out?" Marcel asked.
"Breaking out? I try every time I transform! I've broken this cell countless times and that is how I have my kin! Rousseau! Bouchard! DuMarre! Where are you this evening, you worthless pups! Speak up!"
"We are here, LeLoup! What is your request?" a gruff male voice came from somewhere above the ceiling of Agathe's cell.
"No request. I cannot see you, but I want to hear you, brothers!"
The men upstairs began to howl and emit canine barks, echoing through the chambers. The noise greatly disturbed the other inmates around them, including Marcel and Agathe. The giant black cats began to run down the hallway, sounding out their own hissing vocalizations.
Soon the footsteps of guards sounded in the floor above; their angry voices shouting. With a few strikes of wands and yelps of pain, the three werewolves upstairs were chastised.
"They are such stupid men," said LeLoup. "I would rather have you as company now, Mademoiselle. I'd like to get to know you better."
"I suppose wouldn't mind getting to know you," replied Agathe. "As a friend."
"Ahh, did you expect more?" LeLoup fixed Agathe with a toothy smile. "You could only hope."
"I highly doubt that," she replied. "I'm much older than you think. If I weren't here, I would show you that I can change my appearance to be older or younger. I now wish I was in my elderly-crone form, to tell you the truth."
"I would like that as well," Marcel mumbled. "Less embarrassing for me. I'd think of you as a grandmere."
"I trust that you don't look at me when I need privacy, dear. I do the same for you," Agathe told him softly.
"I don't. I assure you," Marcel said in a chagrined whisper.
"But I do!" LeLoup cackled. "I've enjoyed seeing both of you! Pleasant human bodies to look at, though Mademoiselle- you are much too pale and thin for my taste. And Monsieur, you as well. You aren't pale, but you need more manly muscles to match your assets, ha-ha! But for all purposes, my neighbors- you are feasts for my eyes in this lonely place. I go both ways, if you know what I mean!"
"You mentioned you had a girl once," Marcel said, after overcoming his utter mortification. This was a literal personal hell, being confined to glass walls where he and Agathe were seen every moment of the day by someone else. The only comfort in this prison was the fact that the guards used their wands to give the inmates clean warm-water showers. But it came at a price- the utter humiliation of being forced to strip naked inside transparent chambers.
"I did have a girl- before I was bitten. She left me. She was afraid," LeLoup said, his demeanor quickly switching from manic to sorrowful. He made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sob. "No one loves a man doomed to become a monster one night of the month! One who would sink his jaws into her throat. I'm forever doomed!"
"To tell the truth," Agathe said, trying to console the man with logic, "I knew a woman who loved a monster. It is the reason she broke my powerful spell," said Agathe.
LeLoup barked a scoffing laugh. "I can see you're still a very humble woman who never boasts!"
"It is true, Monsieur LeLoup." Marcel interjected. "Agathe is not a woman to be trifled with...plus she turned my sister into a feather duster shaped like a dove," he added softly, biting on his blistered finger.
LeLoup shook his head in mirth. "Ha! I still find that hard to believe, those rumors. What sort of spell was this, that turned that prince to a beast?" LeLoup asked in a challenging tone, crossing his arms.
"It was a spell that I learned from a book my father owned when I was a schoolgirl. It wasn't allowed in the Académie curriculum because it bordered on dark spells," Agathe told him. "It was more a...complex series of spells, not just one."
"Really?" Marcel said, his expression perking up with intrigue. "What kind of a series of spells?"
Agathe glanced at him, then back at LeLoup, hoping to convince him that what she was infamous for in Le Monde des Sorciers was actually true.
"The curse I performed which turned that young Prince into a creature...was something in my father's old book of magic called 'L'Intérieur Dehors.' A spell which could be either a charm or a curse. It causes a person's true inner self- his ego and motivations- to show on the outside of him. It is truly amusing when one thinks about it. This prince, living in a luxurious castle, was my victim. He was spoiled, selfish and unkind, living a life of greed and indulgence. I remember the look on his face- sneering at me in my disguise as an old beggar hag, through a coat of ridiculous court makeup he wore for one of his masquerade balls. I had no idea what would manifest when I turned it on him. I was quite surprised. And a bit horrified - it turned out to be very brutal and painful for him. The end result was shocking."
"So it was a dark deed," Marcel said. "And you have no regrets about having done this?"
"Not any longer," said Agathe. "Not after the girl claimed her love for him and after he was humbled in spirit. He became the caring and loving man he always had the potential to be."
"A girl loved a monster?" LeLoup scoffed again. "What did the Prince look like 'on the outside' after you were through with him?"
"He was very tall, very large. Covered with fur, but he resembled a bison more than a bear. With two long horns on his head, rather like a ram's," said Agathe.
"The girl must have been out of her mind!" LeLoup snarled.
"I met her!" Marcel cut in. "She actually seemed very nice and normal. They ended up getting married, you know." He glanced over at LeLoup. "You might even find someone someday. Just have hope."
LeLoup tilted his head rather comically, giving Marcel a leering grin again. "What if that someone is you, my angel-faced Faucons star player?"
"Don't push it!" exclaimed Marcel in indignation.
"I'd love to taste that milk chocolate colored skin of yours, when the moon is full…"
"Do you want me to freeze your oversized testicles solid? 'Froideur' is my best Offensive! I can perform it wandless!" Marcel yelled in exasperation.
"Oversized, you say?" LeLoup's large body shook in self-indulgent laughter. He was joined by Rousseau, Bouchard and DuMarre up above, chuckling at their leader- though not quite so loud as to incite the guards.
"Boys!" Agathe scolded. "The guards will be alerted, and they will Bouche de Colle us. And with that annoying sniffling nose of yours, Monsieur LeLoup, you might suffocate to death if you can't breathe through your mouth."
"I wouldn't mind if they seal his mouth closed for a few years. Or forever," said Marcel.
"Dear, remember what we want to do regarding our ami here?" Agathe said quietly through her clenched teeth. "The moon is in five days."
Marcel closed his eyes with tension, and glanced back over at LeLoup, giving him a friendly wave. "I'll write you my 'autograph' as soon as I can, Monsieur. I'm glad you came to my winning game that day. My good friend," he added with a soft smile.
"Merci. You know I was only teasing. If you do cast 'Froideur' on my sensitive parts, I honestly won't mind," LeLoup said to him, giving him a goofy grin.
Marcel nodded politely. He turned back to Agathe, eager to change the subject to one that concerned him, rather than that of Monsieur LeLoup's testicles.
"Agathe, can you tell me more about the spells that you cast on Prince Adam? Why was it that everyone who had known the Prince and his staff- including me- our minds were erased regarding them? I went for years having lost touch with my sister, because you altered my memory of her!"
"You were the last person I wanted to be aware of it. In fact, you were the one whose memory I erased first. I knew that if you hadn't seen your sister for a long time, you would use your own Magic Mirror to search for her. I couldn't have just anyone coming to that castle. Especially my fellow Enchanteds."
"Why not?" Marcel demanded. "You cursed a man and all of his servants, then made it so they're all impossible to find! Until Belle and her father came around, which was only by chance!"
"They were the ones I chose. Well the girl in particular. Belle. I strongly suspected she could be the one to earn the Beast's love, and to care for him in return. Years had gone by. I had to finally take action, or the spell would go on until he met his doom. So...I was able to pull a few tricks to direct her father Maurice to the castle. And then Belle came looking for him there."
"Tricks using vicious wolves," Marcel said accusingly.
"True," Agathe replied in a quiet voice.
Marcel sighed, putting his hands on his forehead with exasperation.
"I keep wanting to like you, Agathe. I really do. I've forgiven you for what you did to my sister, at least a factual forgiveness. Just because she's doing well now. But the more I learn about every spell you've cast, the more I know that you deserve to be locked up here. And that makes me not regret working for Sauvageon."
He waited for her to answer him. To argue and defend her case, as she was apt to do. But instead, moments went by. A minute- five minutes. No comment.
Agathe had turned away from him, resting on her cot. She had gone silent and aloof. Marcel felt uncomfortable again. Lonely.
As long as he was conversing and socializing with Agathe or LeLoup- hell, even being tortured by Sauvageon- he could forget. Agathe remained stone-faced and stubborn, no longer debating with him. Perhaps guilty, or merely tired.
LeLoup lazily lounged on his cot at present, playing with the drawstring of his worn-out shirt collar, chewing on the end of it like a salivating canine. Marcel didn't feel like talking to him at the moment. Perhaps later, if he became desperate enough for somewhat-human interaction.
Nonetheless, with their lively conversation over, Marcel was left alone with his thoughts. So of course that meant that she returned to his mind and heart.
Adelaide Fortier.
She was back working for a nobleman's family, performing her lady's maid duties, Marcel was certain. He remembered how it felt to embrace her and hold her close, when she'd believed her pet kitten had drowned. He had to use magic then, to make her happy. When she'd been happy, she had such a sweet smile and laugh; dimples on the corners of her mouth, and such innocence for a woman about his own age. He recalled her soft form in her pink cotton dress. The freckles on her fair forearms, cradling the little cat he'd given her.
Marcel never told Adelaide that her kitten, Lorette, was actually once a bark-beetle. He'd performed an Animal Transformation Charm without her noticing.
Her laughter had been infectious and warm. So different from all of those arrogant, sophisticated witch girls from the Académie.
Marcel and Adelaide had talked only about simple things during their days together as they traveled from Paris to Alsace, riding on the buckboard of the coach he was driving. Her family. His sister, the castle they were heading to where his own sister was a maid. Music and festivals. Pets and animals. It felt good to talk and think about things that had nothing to do with the threat of an Enchanted War.
He wanted to tell her he grew up caring for colorful, fluffy Peluche Balle pets- but didn't know how to explain them to her. But he did dare to tell her about his love for his favorite sport. She loved the idea of it when he described the game. They'd even joked about flying over Paris on a broom together.
He knew that eventually, Adelaide would forget about that brief time she spent with an Enchanted man. She would find a good, hard working Sans-Magie man. She'd marry, have a few Sans-Magie children. It was how it should be.
He tried not to cry, but it was difficult.
...
A.N.- Back with a new story spinning off of 'Exile!' If you have never read Exile, which was a Gaston redemption fic, I am writing this so that the OC characters are as well introduced as I can. After a lot of thought and discussing with my beta friend, I decided not to make this an actual crossover with Harry Potter. There are no HP characters here, it takes place in the 18th century, and I don't want to be limited to the changing rules of JK Rowling's books and movies. But I am going to give JK Rowling credit for some of the 'world' ideas I have borrowed. This takes place in a 'Potterverse-like' world, but is more canon with Disney Princess magic. -Civilwarrose
