A/N: Hm...I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I love bits of it, but as a whole, I may fix it at some point. Anywho...I want to thank Rantings of a Madman for adding the story to their favorites *warm fuzzies* And to Topgallant for their review of my one-shot, and for being a dedicated lurker!
"Louisé…" Cervantes' voice was little more than a whisper.
"Oh my God!" Louisé gasped and backed out of the room. She turned to leave, riddled with disgust by what she had just seen. The image was burned into the eyes of her mind and disturbed her on many levels.
"Louisé! Stop!" Cervantes yelled from somewhere behind. Her…his voice sounded distant, flimsy from the fog of disbelief Louisé found herself in.
Bumbling, stumbling, Louisé made her way into the hall and proceeded to walk back the way her anger and confidence had carried her. Noises kicked up behind her but she couldn't pay attention to that now. Now, all she wanted to do was sit somewhere and make sense of what just happened.
"Louisé!" Cervantes grabbed her arm and Louisé instinctually smacked at his face.
"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, backing away from the person she now considered an abomination. "You're a man! But you dress like a woman? Why do you dress like a woman?!" She shouted at Cervantes, whose body was tensing and eyes darting in plot.
Then it turned into a tussle. Louisé noted the panic in Cervantes' gaze just before the elder Kindred launched their body at Louisé, sending the both of them toppling over chairs and small tables. Items shattered when they hit the floor but it wasn't a concern for the two vampires struggling against one another. Louisé wriggled her body and kicked Cervantes in the stomach to get free of his clawing fingers. Thin lines of blood ran down Louisé's skin as she scrambled up from the floor and darted for the exit. It was clear Cervantes didn't mean for Louisé to live, let alone leave.
Hardly an idiot, Cervantes scraped for Louisé's ankle and when that didn't work, grabbed hold of two fistfuls of her dress and yanked. Louisé was jerked to a brief pause then resumed the fight by moving forward as hard as she could. The sound of tearing fabric echoed around the room; Cervantes came up from the floor while Louisé tripped forward and caught her balance on the spine of a couch. Louisé became keenly aware of the sound of splintering wood and looked over her shoulder to see Cervantes wielding a make-shift stake. This was the threat to her desires she had mentioned to Gawain. She had no intention of allowing this wo…man to drive that piece of table leg into her chest. That didn't mean Cervantes wasn't going to try with all his might. He darted with that incredible speed and drove them both toward the nearest wall. Louisé focused on nothing else but her opponent's wrists. One hand caught the upper arm wielding the stake while the other shoved its palm into Cervantes' face, forcibly angling his face away, nails tangling into scalp and hair. Concentration on her hands allowed the vengeful man to thrust her up against the wall. Tit for tat, so it was.
Cervantes looked more like an animal than the prettied-up courtier he had pretended to be. Fangs bared and eyes wild, he pushed with all his might against Louisé's grip. Moments like this made her thankful for a practical mind, for money well spent on defense lessons and hours honing the fortitude intrinsic to her clan. Presence was all well and good for seducing lecherous men out of information, but it couldn't protect her from would-be assassins. Dominate could hold the assassins at bay, but not render their weapons useless. No, junctures like this required an abandonment of fear and a confident, clear mind to literally harden her exterior. But, after dominating three ghouls without a proper meal, Louisé could only thwart Cervantes' attack for so long. She was tired and fatigue was making it harder for her to hold back the pressure Cervantes put against her hands. Louisé's hands were shaking like branches in the wind, bones aching and begging for relief. When it became clear the stake was moving closer and closer to her chest, Louisé resorted to down-right dirty fighting and swept her right leg up to knee him between the legs.
Cervantes gasped, dropped the stake and grabbed his crotch before crumbling to the floor in agony. And men thought penises made them so superior! Louisé didn't take time to gloat. She grabbed up the stake and used what physical strength remained to drive it into Cervantes' unprotected chest. Her opponent's body went limp, but his eyes never lost their feral anger. Cervantes subdued, Louisé took a moment to just let herself calm down, to collect her thoughts and figure out what in the world just happened. Ventrue need little time to do this and after a moment, she looked down at Cervantes with contempt.
"I don't know what makes me angrier: that you just tried to stake me or that you're actually a man."
Her head throbbed, eyes burned and she didn't need to look outside to know the sun was starting to rise. Tempting as it was to leave Cervantes there for the dawn, she did not want to have to go the trouble of killing three, for all intents and purposes, innocent humans to cover up the homicide. There was also no guarantee she wouldn't be connected to her murder, or Devereux from suspicion's sake. Neither Louisé nor her mentor needed a blood hunt on their heads. What Louisé needed, she already had: she needed something so scandalous on Cervantes as to shut her up forever. And now she did. She just didn't expect it to be this foul. Louisé also needed a good day's sleep and plenty of blood to drink. Priorities…priorites…
Grabbing Cervantes' wrists, Louisé dragged his limp body back toward the bedroom. She offered soft apologies every time Cervantes' head inadvertently knocked against a corner or thudded on some other hard surface in their way. It was exhausting, hauling the heavy body from one end of the home to the other with the sun draining away any remaining energy she might have had after the scuffle. She wanted to pause, but couldn't. She wanted to leave the effeminate man to burn, but couldn't do that either. So, she thought on happier things until the garish trappings of Cervantes' room surrounded them. Louisé dropped Cervantes' wrists and locked the door. The remaining minutes of night were spent finding a way to keep Cervantes secure. Supposing she could bind her with sheets, Louisé yanked the covers off the bed. Red fabric glaring against the white of the sheet linen near the headboard caught her attention. Louisé grabbed the material and pulled. Somehow, she just wasn't surprised to find silk ropes tied to the head posts of Cervantes' bed. Whips, ropes…honestly, what did this man do all night? Louisé asked herself.
The young Ventrue didn't dwell on that scenario long, she just used her new found resourced to her advantage. She hauled Cervantes' body onto the bed, careful not to dislodge the stake and went through the grueling process of trying to tie his wrists. Staked and securely bound, Louisé did nothing more but close Cervantes' eyes and collapse at the foot of the bed, allowing herself to slip into inky unconsciousness.
A constant knocking drew Louisé from her dreams rife with phallic symbolism and hunger. She hissed, head pounding, and slid off the bed to answer the door. When she opened the door, an impatient servant stared back at her. The poor human didn't get to speak so much as a word before Louisé yanked her inside and bit deep into her neck. Not at all her preference, Louisé sucked on the blood only to end her hunger, not satisfy it. She fed until the woman was unconscious. Then she dropped the servant, with a thud, to the floor and moved back to the immobile owner of this domain. Paranoid, she double checked that the ropes pulled Cervantes tight before she dared to remove the stake from his chest. Cervantes threw open his eyes and hissed, kicking at Louisé with furious strokes.
"Calm down or I shall stake you again!" Louisé threatened, holding the stake up to give her words merit while dodging the legs.
"Vicious little whore! Let me go and perhaps I will make your death a swift one!" Cervantes shouted.
Not needing more drama to this, Louisé straddled Cervantes' thrashing legs and used her weight to still them at the knee. She held the tip of the poorly made stake against Cervantes' healing chest and glared at the man. "I'm no whore! But, yes, I am very vicious and I don't intend on dying anytime soon."
Cervantes yanked on the ropes to little avail. He bared his fangs and laughed in his captor's face, "Do you honestly think I'll let you live?"
"Do you honestly think I won't kill you if I think you'll kill me? Do you think I won't ram this into your chest and tear out your throat with my fangs?"
Cervantes chuckled, losing all femininity in his voice, "Then why haven't you killed me yet, darling? Too afraid to end the life of a fellow Kindred?"
Louisé growled and pressed the stake harder, "I'm not afraid. I just don't see the point of it when we can all get what we want." She watched suspicion bleed into Cervantes' eyes. He relaxed, but probably because of how hard she was pressing the stake. "Just listen to what I have to say and how you react will determine whether or not I shall be required to take your life."
Cervantes sneered. "Go ahead, then."
What Louisé really wanted to know was why he was dressing like a woman. She wanted to know what compelled him to conduct himself in such a way. She wanted these things, but Ventrue in precarious positions don't waste times on wants. They use their time to get what they need and what Louisé needed was to convince Cervantes not to kill her now, or anytime in the near future. "I came here to find something dirty about you. Needless to say, I believe I have what I need but I also recognize how using this information threatens my life. I don't want to die and you don't want whatever reputation you've built up to be destroyed, so I suggest a truce between us."
"Why would agree to a truce with you when I can simply have you killed to keep my secret?"
"Because, right now, you're at a huge disadvantage. I can stake you again, leave you tied up and go straight to whomever I want and tell them all about your sordid little mystery. All they would need to do is come and check for themselves to see that it's true. A penis isn't exactly something you can hide when you're pretending to be a woman and I doubt, very much, any of the men you've been courting in this city would appreciate knowing they've been seduced by a man." Cervantes jerked forward and Louisé shoved him back with her free hand. "But that wouldn't guarantee you wouldn't hire someone to end my life in the future. And what I want I can accomplish without necessarily telling anyone about your extra appendage."
"Oh? And what is it you want little, black bird?" Cervantes asked, eyes on the stake. Louisé felt his leg move beneath her and pressed down more to keep them in place, squeezing them together with her thighs.
"I want you to give Devereux a break and quit isolating him from the power he was accustomed to before you moved to Dijon. I want you to stop making it so difficult for me to do my job!" Louisé hissed. As an afterthought, she added, "Also, I want you to end to banishment of the Childe of Sir Gawain."
Cervantes' brow arched up, punctuating his silence as he considered the rough terms of Louisé's agreement. "What Devereux did, he did to himself by sitting on his laurels for too long instead of constantly cultivating. What should have been a very difficult challenge for me was no more than a chore. Now, what does that say about him, hm?"
Louisé licked her lips, her loyalties bound by blood but frail in comparison to reality. "I know that. I am not disagreeing that he should never have assumed his influence was built out of stone. But that was then and this is now. And now, I want the scale tipped to a balance. I would be an idiot to ask you to give everything up and I am no idiot."
"Sitting astride a scantily clad man isn't the smartest thing you could be doing. Neither is holding that stake," Cervantes murmured.
"I'm trying to make a point!" Louisé said, ignoring the glaring pun. She huffed, "Everyone knows you've monopolized the sources of meaningful information in this town. Where Devereux once held pride and power in acquiring the secrets and profitable information from both kindred and kine, you now own that right. It makes for very poor business and very bad nights for me."
"I don't particularly care how difficult your nights have become."
"You will if you want your prick to remain between us. Though," Louisé smirked, "From your choice in personal companion, observation suggests you prefer your prick to remain between yourself and other men."
Cervantes jerked again, returning his face to close proximity with Louisé's. His hips bucked and Louisé was completely unsure what to make of such a move. "Who is between me and my prick is not your concern. Male or female, all I care about is my pleasure. Now quit using your Ventrue monologue before I tear these ropes, use them on you and give you a taste of what it really means to be between me and my prick," he growled.
"I understand you can't just throw people's favor back to Devereux. You earned their admiration for a reason, devious as those methods and reasons might have been. What I am asking is that, in exchange for holding your secret to the death, you share with me a portion of those you acquire rich and meaningful information from."
"And what portion would you like exactly?" Cervantes smirked.
"Half should be reasonable," Louisé answered.
"Half?!"
"Yes. I don't see how this is a problem."
"Louisé, I don't keep track of the numbers of people sliding me juicy tidbits. I get the tidbits and make use of them. I don't do math," Cervantes groaned.
Why someone wouldn't keep track of prime informants was beyond her. But this wasn't a Ventrue she was dealing with, after all, so Louisé let it go. "Very well. Then, from now on, you shall invite me along to all social gatherings, kine or kindred, where you will disclose to me the most useful information collected. I will choose what I take back to Devereux and leave the rest to you, thereby allowing you to maintain some of the control you rightfully earned while repairing the damage you inflicted upon my mentor."
"You Ventrue talk too much," Cervantes commented before snapping one of his legs out from under Louisé with celerity. Caught off guard, Louisé wobbled and grasped Cervantes' shoulder to reestablish her balance. Without wasting time, or caring for decency, Cervantes drew on ages of experience and skill to wrap the free leg around Louisé's waste and with one, powerful, snapping motion, flipped their bodies so their places were reversed. Cervantes, arms crossed at the wrist above his head, used his heavier body to pin Louisé down. Cervantes leaned his face down and smirked, lifting a knee to press her chest down. Louisé's hands pressed against one shoulder to give distance between the two of them, and his knee to try and free herself. "Speechless works much better for you. Now, you listen to me. I could scream right now and end you. I could rip these cords, stake you and take full advantage of your limp body."
Louisé shoved up against his knee. Cervantes just pressed more. She growled, "You could, but I'm expected by someone. If I don't come back, they'll know you killed me and then Devereux will have perfect reason to kill you in return. A Prince can't ignore a murder, you know that."
"Aaahhhh, good girl. Now we get to the root of why you were here in the first place. Taking me up on my offer? Please, we both know you don't enjoy my presence enough to place yourself in it willingly. So, someone sent you. From your ramblings and intentions, I gather Gawain is the culprit. His Childe failed, so he sent you in thinking your pretty face would get your farther."
"I am not at liberty to divulge-"
"Shut up, Louisé," Cervantes purred, his toes moving and fluttering in all the wrong places. Louisé squirmed, thankful for the thick fabric of her dress. He continued, "I'm no fool. I doubt Devereux cares enough about you to mourn your passing, but you are certainly correct that it would give him cause to end my life. Since he and Gawain are in alliance, that hideous creature would jump at the opportunity to see my ashes. Yes…you don't show up and he would undoubtedly report to Devereux of your death. Such a hassle you cause." Cervantes moved his foot from side to side, pressing it down. Louisé jerked her body up and he pressed his knee down more. Finally, he said, "How do I know I can trust you?"
"Vampires can never trust one another," Louisé said, voice tight. "What we can trust is our paranoia. You will always be paranoid that I will tell your secret. Every ear I whisper into, you'll be wondering if I'm revealing your great mystery. In turn, I'll constantly be worried about you ending my life. Until this no longer matters, my anxiety will have me looking over my shoulder. This insanity we find ourselves in keeps us accountable to one another. So long as you never receive scathing glares or hands up your skirts, you'll know I never broke our agreement. And as long as you're at peace, I will be confident you aren't plotting my final death."
"What an exciting life we lead, little black bird," Cervantes said before removing his weight from her body. Louisé scrambled into a kneeling position, never breaking gaze with the Toreador. Cervantes tugged on the ropes and sighed, "Oh, very well. For now, I shall agree to the terms of this agreement. I will choose to trust in your paranoia, Louisé but make no mistake, I will make you pay for this egregious intrusion upon my person."
"I have no doubt you will think of something deprave to inflict upon me in the future…Now, what about Gawain's childe?"
"What about him?" Cervantes sneered.
"End his banishment. That's the only reason Gawain is out for your blood."
"Not necessarily. But, fine," Cervantes growled. "First thing this evening, I'll talk to the Prince. Now release me."
Louisé slid from the bed, taking the stake with her. Cautiously, she untied one of Cervantes's wrists. The first thing he did was backhand her across the face, splitting Louisé's lip, She cursed quietly and licked over the cut as she made her way to the door.
"I hope you found these ropes useful, Louisé! You may become acquainted with them soon enough," Cervantes shot at her back.
Louisé, as she had said, didn't doubt whatever Cervantes had in store either involved gratuitous amounts of physical pain or incredible depravity Louisé wouldn't willingly involve herself in. She left the room and walked toward the front door. She passed nervous ghouls, who shot her dirty looks. She wanted to wonder why none of them bothered checking on their mistress, but didn't care since it had provided she and Cervantes undisturbed time to make their incredibly conditional truce.
Gawain's childe returned to Dijon two nights later and his Sire lifted the embargo he had placed on Devereux. Louisé didn't go back to Devereux's house until then, until she was sure there was a buffer between her and his anger. He was gone when she returned home and that suited her just fine. She soaked her aching body in a hot bath and pondered over her first year as a vampire. She had been bitten, beaten, shackled, threatened, armed a war, ended a war, and spoke to a king. She was amazed she'd survived this long. She wasn't naïve enough to believe it got better from here but hopefully, it would become easier to handle.
"How did you do it?" came Gawain's raspy voice out of nowhere.
Louisé screamed and curled her body up to cover herself, "What're you doing in here?! How did you get in?!" her eyes scanned the room, but saw nothing. Obfuscation at its worst!
"I've already seen it all, cunny. No need to cover up now," he chuckled before materializing before her eyes, right at the base of her tub. What a splendid vantage point.
Louisé snarled, "How dare you!"
"Oh, quit your squawking. It wasn't as if I touched you…I just wanted a peek at the wares this merchant has to offer."
"Well the merchant isn't selling," Louisé responded, tightening her arms over her chest. "Now what do you want?"
"How did you get my boy back?" Gawain toyed with the surface of the water, his talons raking slowly back and forth.
"Who said I'm responsible for your childe's return? And if I am, does it really matter how I did it? He's back and all is well in the kingdom," Louisé murmured, eyes darting as a servant rushed in a minute too late. She spotted Gawain, choked a scream. Louisé hissed, "Get out!" And the servant was gone.
"I just find it interesting. If it was you, one wonders how you accomplished the task. Especially since we never discussed the reinstatement of my childe. I asked you dig up something delicious I could use against Cervantes. Did you do that?" Gawain held her gaze, hand gliding back and forth.
"I'm afraid those vaults are too tightly sealed, but I'm working on it," Louisé lied.
"So you can get my boy back but not dig up anything on the one who sent him away? How could you hav-"
"First," Louisé interrupted. That wasn't entirely Ventrue of her, but decorum went out the window when he decided to watch her bathing nude for who knows how long. "I never said I was the one who got your childe back. As you can see, Devereux isn't storming around. His absence tells me the tides have shifted. Perhaps he made a deal with the devil and got your boy back to end the blockade you'd formed."
Gawain narrowed his eyes, not entirely buying into what she was saying. "Perhaps…But when have you known Devereux to do for himself what he can make his protégés do on his behalf?"
"When he no longer trusts them to be competent enough to accomplish the task. What is it people say? If you want something done right, it is better to do it yourself?" Louisé offered with a shrug.
"This changes nothing, my sweet-chested cunny," he purred, sending nausea up Louisé's throat. "I want my dirt."
"The Earth is full of dirt, Sir Gawain," Louisé said, "Grab yourself a handful."
Gawain laughed. He could have done something else, said something else but he laughed. His emaciated chest rattled and his beastly fangs parted so he could laugh. He stood, fingers dripping with water. "Bold, bold, bold. I should come to watch you bathe more often, the conversation becomes so much more inspired, oui?"
"Inspired is not the first word I would choose." Louisé fidgeted. "May I bathe in peace now?"
"Bathe away, I take my leave! Just know, I have no intention of abandoning my desires for Cervantes' destruction. Deliver on our agreement, Louisé, but take your time…I suggest more hot baths to dwell on the best possible manner to approach this task." Gawain grinned and like the gentlemen he was, strode out of the room. He closed the door behind himself, giving Louisé some assurance he wouldn't enter again without her knowing. Louisé began to consider dressing like a nun for all the inappropriate attention she was receiving.
Devereux wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her throat and drag his nails through her skin. He wanted to watch her bleed and beg at the same time. But recent situations confirmed Devereux was rarely getting what he wanted. The return of Gawain's childe gave him mild relief. The task was accomplished much too quickly for Simon to have done anything about it. Coupled with Louisé's mysterious absence, Ramon was left to infer she had a hand in this miraculous reunion. He didn't ask her about it, lest he give her the impression he was proud of her actions. Because he wasn't, not entirely. What she did was convenient, but deliberately disobeying the blood bond to do it negated any pride he might reward her with. But he couldn't entirely punish her either. Such a difficult disciplinary conundrum Devereux found himself facing
In the end, he chose to ignore her. He kept her at several arms length and corresponded through written word or ghoul. Still blood bound to him, it would be agonizing not to at least hear his voice. That was punishment enough. It required no extra work out of Devereux but fulfilled his goal of teaching her a moderate lesson. He chose to quit ignoring her when she delivered profitable pieces of information that succeeded in helping him return to prominent influence within Dijon. Dangerous liaisons, illegal embraces, trade routes, etc…The strings were being retied to his marionettes.
"How industrious you've become, Louisé," he said to break the long silence between them.
He watched her shrug. "Would you have it any other way?"
"Not at all. I'm just curious how you've come to be so successful?" Devereux asked. He slid liquid peace offering in her direction and offered her a seat.
Louisé took the glass but did not drink right away. "Fear inspires many avenues of change. Perhaps the avenue I chose was a constructive one."
"Perhaps it was," Devereux murmured. "It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the amount of time you spend with one, Augustinia Cervantes, would it?"
He watched her run a finger around the rim of her glass. "Yes and no. I figured if she was the honey to the bees, then I needed to find a way to become a bee. Compromise has its advantages," she answered.
"And what did you compromise?"
She looked him in the eyes, her blue gaze narrowing a little. "Does it really matter? You are getting what you want, she seems to be getting what she wants and I get what I need."
"How very adult of you," he chuckled.
"I should like to think so."
"Well, consider this a gift then. Our monthly board meeting is tomorrow. Other than that mandatory activity, have the night to yourself."
"Pardon?" Her look of confusion was…cute. It softened her features back to that of a young girl instead of the stony cadet he'd trained her to be. Devereux made a mental note that he preferred this look on her.
"Do whatever you like. Spend time with that would-be lover of yours, go buy fabric for new dresses, invest in something of your choice…spend the night doing whatever you like without being late for the meeting."
"Thank you…I think. But why?"
"Because I feel gracious at this particular moment in time, because rewarding you will only make you do better, because you are still entirely too boring and need more excitement in your young nights," Devereux answered with a smirk and a shrug. "Take your pick, but take it now; I might feel inclined to repeal the offer later."
Louisé's head lulled from side to side. A stream of blood oozed down the back of her neck, its source hidden beneath the black of her hair. Thunderous pain, red, bright and hot, radiated out from the base of her skull. It jolted her awake. Her eyes fluttered while trying to take in her surroundings. She didn't recognize where she was, the haze in her eyes obscuring most of the peripheral details. It made her nauseated to look too long. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the events that led up to this unfortunate situation.
She woke up, dressed and left the estate to feed. She had the evening to herself, except for a riveting Gerousia gathering around two in the morning: plenty of time to do as she pleased. And what she was pleased to do was daring by her own standards. Secure in Devereux's favor, comfortably paranoid with Cervantes, Louisé decided to be indulgent. It took weeks of slow progress, soft kisses and innocent touching, but she believed herself ready to repay Javier for his great charity. That was to be how she spent her evening, or how she wanted to anyway. Louisé had checked in with Cervantes, informing him of the informality of her evening and how they would both enjoy a night without one another's company. Cervantes seemed as pleased as Louisé for the break.
Following Cervantes, Louisé went to the Jewish banker. Receiving Devereux's indirect permission, Louisé decided to bid on a Bordeaux-based trading company dealing exclusively with New World spices and sugar; two other bidders from Bordeaux wanted it too. Louisé cared nothing for spices. Money was in the sugar produced in mills of the New World. Ironically, the mills' needs for cast iron gears, levers, axels and other mechanical accoutrement made Louisé wealthier as her hold on the metal trade for war was expanded to the industrialization of the Americas. So, she felt entirely comfortable telling the banker to bid double the highest amount offered, then to increase the bid by fifty percent more than what the others bid by if they dared bid above her. Intensely satisfied with her non-combat related plan for financial expansion, she headed for Javier's. Entering his home was the last thing she remembered before her vision exploded with stars and faded to black.
Louisé groaned. Ice cold water splashed her full in the face and startled her awake once more. The room came into clearer focus this time around but there was still a patch of grey fuzz in her right eye. The figure before her lowered the bucket and Louisé glared at her captor. Louisé glared at Javier.
He took a few steps closer to where he bound Louisé to a chair, stopped when she bared her pair of pretty, fledgling fangs. He was glad he had roped her hands behind her; the murderous look in her eyes told him she wanted to claw his face off. He had hated to hit her at the back of the head, but better that than the face he had become accustomed to enjoying. Javier just looked at her for a few minutes. The glow of the fire behind him cast his shadow over her figure, giving her an ominous aura that left him amused, not afraid. He anticipated she would struggled more, but she didn't. That wasn't too surprising given the injury. An injury that wouldn't have happened if she was more surprising.
She had become so predictable. Even her showing up unannounced was predictable. Louisé followed a strict schedule each evening. She arrived in the city, fed, went to social or political engagements, managed her money and came to see him on, what she believed to be, a whim. Nothing about what she did could be called a "whim" unless someone was doing it to her, against her consent. No, Javier had come to understand and appreciate Louisé for the good, little Ventrue that she was. She didn't even know how routine her life was until someone, like him, stepped in to mess it up. Her predictability made her an ideal target.
Louisé had not been his intended victim, however. Catherine had caught his attention soon after he arrived in the city since she physically portrayed the standard Ventrue better than her counterpart: older, plainer, staunch and boring. Catherine, unfortunately, was too attached to her Sire, too distracted by filial love for him for Javier to afix his charms. Louisé was different: no Sire, no binding attachment to blind her from his tactics. A quick story of a socially unacceptable Sire gained his entry into the lowliest circle of her trust, kindred circumstances that made the world they lived in that much harder. His skill with sword and fist provided the perfect avenue for gathering information and gaining more trust. Kissing her, both a personal and professional tactic, unbalanced her from her rigid routine. Accusing her of leading him on guaranteed confusion and guilt; it caused a fight, which led to her rejuvenated return to his home. All the while she chatted. Louisé opened her mouth and in doing so, gave Javier privileged insight to the workings of Ventrue society and the Camarilla kingdom of Dijon. She told him much without realizing she'd said anything at all.
"You're probably wondering what's going on? Why I did this to you?" He broke the silence as he took a step closer.
"No. I'm wondering how to best remove your head from your shoulders. I thought of simply cutting it off but why not gnaw through your neck before I rip your head off with my bare hands?"
Javier chuckled and squatted down to her level, "You forgot you're tied up, querida." He lifted a hand to her cheek as he spoke, fingers brushing hair behind her ear. She turned her head and snapped at his finger, breaking the skin. Blood dotted up. He wiped it off on his pants.
"I won't stay tied up for long," she hissed.
"We'll see. Before that, you will answer some questions for me. You've been very helpful with all your ramblings…it gave me a good outlook on the political temperature around the city."
"My, how good your French has become," she said, voice laced with obvious sarcasm. "I haven't told you anything an idiot with one working eye couldn't see."
Javier grinned. "Oh, I've always been fluent in French. I'm not as young or unlearned as I seem." He clucked his tongue and patted her on the head, avoiding her teeth this time, "You've been careless with your words, Louisé. Since you didn't know I knew your language, you chatted to your hearts content while assuming I didn't understand. You exposed a great deal of your clan through your childish rantings and ravings. And here I was led to believe you Ventrue held your tongues in public." He watched realization wash over her, followed by guilt. Javier's experience with the self-deprecating nature of Ventrue assured him she would never forget this and never let it happen again. If she lived. "Now, I have a few questions I need you to answer."
Louisé sneered at him. The venom in her eyes told Javier this was going to be a fight, which he had anticipated with disturbed relish. She spat at his feet and hissed, "I'm not going to tell you anything!"
He ignored the spit on his boots. This wasn't the first time he had been spat upon, though he considered her above such actions. Apparently he was wrong. "Oh, I think you will. I just hope for your sake, you choose to do so sooner rather than later." Javier grasped the sleeves of her dress and ripped them off, tossing one to the side. When Louisé began raising a shrieking fuss, he stuffed the other sleeve into her mouth. Taking the base of her skirt in his hands, he cleaved the fabric in two up to her hips. The fabric spread like wings to reveal her pale legs. For decency's sake, he left her undergarment intact. It wouldn't be much help anyway. Without saying a word, he turned from her and strode to the fireplace. He grasp the handle of a fire iron he had set in the flames. The pointed head of the iron glowed with hellish shades of red, orange and yellow. The colors of soon-to-be searing pain.
He returned to her and pulled the sleeve from her mouth. Javier watched her eyes take in the iron. He took her face with the hand holding the iron and made her look at him before he spoke, "Here is how this will go: I ask you a question. If you do not answer or if I believe you are lying to me, I will set this iron against your skin. If you don't wish to be burned, I encourage you answer my questions. Do you understand?" When she did not answer, he stuffed the sleeve into her mouth and brushed the tip of the iron over her thigh. Her scream was muffled by expensive fabric. He yanked the sleeve out and asked again, "Do you understand?"
"Yes!" She cried.
"Then let's begin."
Whether it took thirty minutes or three hours, she wasn't sure. Her mind was messy, thoughts uncoordinated from the excruciating pain he inflicted on her body. Louisé's arms and legs were speckled with burns, bite marks: wounds that would take weeks to heal but left an inerasable impression on her memory. Beneath the bodice lay claw marks and other inventive methods of torture. Screaming had ravaged her throat. In the end, Louisé hadn't been strong enough to withhold answers from Javier. The longer he held the iron against the skin, the more her resolve had crumbled. Her Ventrue pride, any pride, laid somewhere amidst the stains of blood and shredded clothing, a torn-apart victim of her own shortcomings.
He had fed her blood to keep her alert, to keep her from frenzying and ruining his hard work. She supposed that was the only reason she was awake now. Respite came when Javier abandoned her when someone else demanded his attention. Taunting her, he rested the fire iron against the back of her chair. Louisé could feel the heat on the back of her neck and rested her chin against her chest to avoid being burned. She heard his heavy footsteps disappear. Her ears could help but pick up the sound of soft conversation. The inflection of tones told her this wasn't a pleasant conversation between friends. Louisé could care less. All she could think of was getting out, surviving.
Her attention became two-fold. She fought hard to concentrate on the conversation rooms away while she struggled to make use of the fire iron. She twisted her hands until her fingers grasped the length of fire iron and began maneuvering it down toward her wrists. The iron wobbled as her hands moved, threatening to fall over and alert her captor. Louisé went painfully slow until she felt the burn against her skin. It wasn't as hot as when Javier first drew it from the fire, but it still hurt. Ignoring the pain, she fought to keep the iron secure while her wrists moved the coarse ropes over the heat and blade. Louisé could smell the charring hemp and feel the fibers loosen their hold on one another. Approaching footsteps made her pause. When they stopped, she continued. The discussion picked back up as the rope gave way. She tore her wrists in opposite directions. Binding hit the floor.
"Hurry up and finish. We will wait at the corner of Rue de Saint Armour and Plaza Saint Michel before we begin the assault," a somewhat familiar voice said. The conversation faded as she focused her attention on more important things.
One hand gripped the tire iron and brought it around to her lap. Then she tore at the ropes around her legs. Those came apart more easily. She spat hemp out of her mouth, kicked her legs free and stood with the fire iron in her hands. Her body wobbled, exhausted. Her ankles hurt from the constraint of the rope. She hobbled to hide just out of view. Louisé heard footsteps move away. She gripped the handle of the iron, waiting for Javier.
He opened the door and walked in, not suspecting anything. Louisé watched him walk further into the room, snap his attention to the empty chair. Javier met her gaze just as she swung the fire iron into the side of his head. Louisé heard bone shatter, smelled the blood pool out of his temple. He stumbled sideways and fell. She hit him over and over. Blood and body bits decorated the floor. With a primal yell, she stabbed him through the center of his chest with the poker and stumbled out of the room so his rigid body didn't see her sob.
She composed herself in cycles. She sobbed horrible, hiccupping noises from the back of Javier's house to the front, where she wiped her eyes and smacked herself into the austere Ventrue she was expected to be. Cloaking herself, she left the house behind and struggled her way down the streets of Dijon until she found someone reasonable to feed on. Only filled with blood could she piece together the important information she needed. Javier was Sabbat. He tortured information out of her regarding the Gerousia. Sabbat did not work alone. Javier was supposed to meet someone near the Plaza Saint Michel. The cathedral bells rang. Half past midnight. If the Sabbat were planning an attack on the Ventrue of Dijon, then she didn't have much time.
Louisé knew where the Plaza was, so she wove her body through the dark alleyways to get there. The stones were cold and slick beneath her bare feet, toes still sensitive from Javier smashing his boot against them. She was fairly sure two or three were broken but couldn't waste time and energy tending to them. Bare feet, broken toes or no, were easier to run with than those stuffed into shoes. And after feeding on another somewhat decent human, that is precisely what Louisé did. She clutched her cloak and ran.
She slowed the closer she came to the plaza around St. Michael's church. Sticking to the shadows, she scanned the area for bodies waiting since she didn't know where Rue Saint Armour was. She picked up the sound of conversation once she was still. Slowly, as quietly as possible, she slid her way along buildings until she was close enough to make out what was being said without being detected. Her body tensed when she heard the speaker; an unearthed sadness swam in her stomach. How was it possible…?
"Where is that idiot Brujah?! Are we to wait until dawn for him?" his voice was frustrated, as it had often been when he spoke to her.
"He's probably enjoying his new bauble a little too much. You should have just made him come with you instead of allowing him to finish the girl off," replied another voice, deeper and older.
"I'll deal with him, myself, later. We can wait no longer. If we don't act now, we will miss our opportunity to take down those Patricians in their own nest," he said again, ending with an exasperated huff. Louisé pressed against the cool of the building, fumbling with the front of her cloak as she tried to recall the last time she had heard that huff. Her ears never let go of his voice as he continued, "You have been given your orders, yes?"
A feminine voice responded, "Yes. I am to carry the information gathered to our first ductus. He will give me the location of the second and I will continue the process until I regroup with you and Signore Mancini."
"Bishop Mancini, neonate!" he snapped. "Make sure you are not seen and be as quick as possible. We do not need them to become aware of our presence. Keep that rosary visible…this tells them you are not some Camarilla simpleton. You have the stake?"
"Yes," the female replied. Louisé tensed. Too many recent experiences with stakes and pain.
"Good. If you run into trouble, use that and the dagger." His voice sounded so cold…so different from the last time she had heard it. Her chest constricted. A gloved hand. Sad eyes. A soft goodbye and never to return. "Remember! Be quick!" And with that, she heard two pairs of footsteps disappear in the opposite direction of where Louisé positioned herself.
She did not move. Her head swam with his voice; her eyes stung from an unwillingness to show weakness in a time of desperation. Louisé did not have time to feel this confused, not when a priceless opportunity had fallen into her lap. Well, perhaps she had stolen it out of the hands of others but it was this, or forever be labeled a blood traitor to her clan for unwillingly abetting in the destruction of an entire pack of Ventrue. Movement caught her attention and she watched a hooded figure emerge from the alleyway and progress across the plaza. Louisé swallowed and pushed away from the wall, stalking after the figure with fatal intent. The Sabbat agent didn't realize someone was following her until she turned onto another street. Louisé rushed the figure as they turned.
The Sabbat growled; the ugly, guttural sound of feral animals. Louisé responded in kind with a more elegant, entirely deadly, hiss as she used her bodyweight to slam the female against the nearest wall. The girl huffed and snarled, reaching back to scratch at Louisé. The unarmed hand was not Louisé's concern; she ignored it and the surface level scrapes it caused. She was more interested in whether or not that poisoned dagger would make an appearance. The Sabbat snapped her head back. It slammed into Louisé's nose. A fire erupted over her face and she released the girl to grab her nose. Blood dribbled out and it stung to the touch. The agent whirled around to smirk at her anticipated first victim; her hand was sliding out the dagger. What she got was the full stare of a Ventrue who had entirely too much to lose and too much anger in her body to feel any fear.
"Stop! Do not move," Louisé ordered. The neonate, as he had called her, stopped mid-movement. Louisé felt her muscles relax as she took a step closer to the snarling, utterly confused, Sabbat beast. The agent opened her mouth to scream, but could not break eye contact with Louisé. "Be silent." The girl's mouth snapped shut so hard her fangs pieced the skin of her bottom lip. Louisé pried the dagger from the girl's hand and tossed it a safe distance away. Her eyes drifted just a bit to make sure she knew where the blade landed. It would be of use later, but not now.
The girl took full advantage of the break in eye contact to pounce on Louisé and slam her into the cobblestone avenue. Her jaws snapped like a wild dog. Louisé managed to get a fistful of the girl's hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck. The beast inside Louisé swelled up at the sight of unprotected, porcelain skin. Louisé shoved up against the girl and her frantic assault on the young Ventrue. Ignoring the scratching at her forearms and chest, Louisé struggled with her assailant. She twisted the hair in her hand and forced the girl to look into her eyes.
"Be still!" she demanded and the girl went limp. Louisé rolled on top of her. "Honestly. Your kind are nothing but uncivilized animals. Now, I believe I need something from you."
"I'm not giving you anything, Camarilla whore!" The agent snarled. Louisé hadn't asked her to be quiet, after all.
"You won't have a choice," Louisé chided. She concentrated hard on doing this right, feeling some of her energy draining into the fog around them. "Tell me where the first ductus is."
The girl gurgled, attempting not to answer the question. Her response was slow, painful, "Rue des Forges, beneath the golden anvil."
"Tell me what you were doing to tell them," Louisé pressed, bringing on a sharp pain she couldn't distinguish was the result of her healing blow to the rear of her skull or the effort demanded for dominating the enemy agent.
Again, the girl's jaw cracked as she tried her hardest to refuse obeying. She actually whimpered before answering, "When the Ventrue would be meeting. Where the Prince is located."
Louisé tightened her grip on the girl, bearing deep into her eyes, "Tell me what they're planning to do."
The girl smirked and said, "Burn them all." Then she started to laugh. Entirely tired of the Sabbat, their torturous hands and snide laughter, Louisé snapped her mouth around the girl's neck and sunk in her teeth. She heard the agent gasp before ripping her throat open. Blood pooled out as Louisé spat the hunk of skin and muscle from her mouth. The Sabbat started flailing but she wasn't finished. She bit down, tore again. The girl went still. Louisé stood.
Louisé had never killed a fellow Kindred. She had never even seen one die, so she was a little horrified by the way the girl's body decayed into ash. But not so horrified that she ignored the bigger picture. She took full advantage of what the girl left behind. After wiping her face clean with her own, she traded cloaks and wrapped the belt around her waist to hold the stake and newly acquired dagger. Remembering his words, Louisé swiped and prominently displayed the rosary around her neck before pulling the hood down. She abandoned the bloody mess of ash for Rue des Forges. As before, Louisé wasted no time with displays of ladylike elegance. She gathered her skirts up and ran.
The man who stood beneath the golden anvil was gruff looking and Louisé hesitated before approaching him. Thousands of worries regarding the success of this plan clouded her mind, threatened to compromise the resolve she had built. The Sabbat ductus noticed Louisé's lingering presence and snarled. Honestly, she thought, don't they know how to make any other sound?
"Took you long enough!" he snapped at her as she moved closer to him. "Well?! When are those blue-blooded Camarilla trash meeting?"
Louisé suppressed the rage in her chest. She had thought hard, in the few minutes run from the murder to here, about what she could say to derail their plan of attack. It was something that had to be insignificant enough not to raise suspicion but still believable. "We were informed a situation has arisen with their Prince. They have postponed the meeting by another hour."
"What?!" He cursed and Louisé shrugged her shoulders. "Then what's the plan? What did Mancini's boy tell you?"
"Gather your men and bring them to the Abbey Saint Benigne at a quarter past three. We will assault them there and wipe them out."
He nodded, apparently invigorated by the idea. Louisé concealed her hate. He spoke once more, "Good! I'll let my men know. Now hurry," and he gave her the next ductus location.
And so she continued, on and on, for four more stops conveniently circling the Abbey Saint Benigne. Once a true abbey, the Ventrue had long ago convinced its religious inhabitants to relocate and instead used the building as the location for their monthly meetings and whatever other informal business gatherings they needed to conduct. During the day, it was tended to by a rotation of Ventrue ghouls who handled the small number of pilgrims that came to view the sarcophagus of the saint. And her mouth had almost compromised it all. The Sabbat had gathered and bred quietly in the shadows of Dijon, waiting for a time when they could wipe out the political strength of the city's Camarilla: The Ventrue. Their plan might have worked, if the bulk of those responsible for leading the attack weren't thick as bricks. None of them questioned her, none of them assumed the words coming out of her mouth weren't anything less than absolutely true. They took what she said, expressed their frustration then gave her the next rendezvous point before stalking off to inform their witless followers. The only snag Louisé seemed to encounter was the final ductus. He had no rendezvous point to give her.
"Why are you still standing here?!" he barked.
"I…Bishop Mancini. I-" she stuttered.
"Can't remember?! It figures. An empty-headed neonate can only remember one thing at a time, apparently," he growled and shoved her in the direction of the abbey. "The bishop is waiting in an alleyway west of the abbey! Now hurry up before he wastes his time!"
Louisé needed no more encouragement to leave the ductus' presence. He smelled foul and spat when he spoke. She just wasn't sure her guise would deceive this so-called bishop. She couldn't be so naïve as to think he wouldn't possibly know the face of his underling but she had no choice but to risk it. She crossed the few streets between her and the abbey. How long ago had the half-past bell rung? She didn't know. It had been sometime right before she encountered the last ductus. Her insides knotted. She didn't have much time before her clansmen began to arrive. Louisé headed for the western side of the abbey, feeling exhaustion creep back into her body. She didn't want to run anymore and she hoped she wouldn't be placed in a situation where she would have to dominate again. Her body had just enough for a moderate scuffle. A set of voices made her pause outside the only alley on this side and cling to the wall; a well-earned break from all the rushing about.
"The neonate is running a little behind schedule," came a raspy voice that made her skin crawl.
"Perhaps she ran into some trouble. We prepared her, however, so I'm sure it is nothing but a few minutes delay," came the voice she had longed to hear since leaving Plaza Saint Michel.
"We cannot afford delays. You said this is where the Ventrue gather each month and this is approximately when they gather. If we delay, we lose," the other, presumably the bishop, scolded.
"I understand, sir. If you want, I can go hunt her down."
"No!" the bishop flared. "You need to go tend to the ducti leading the charge against the Prince of these Camarilla fools. They are waiting near the Rue de Chatillon to the North. Tell them I want him alive, that I may kill him myself. Then return and join us in this triumphant massacre."
"Yes sir," he replied and Louisé could hear his footsteps approaching. She moved further down the street and hid around a corner. As much as she desired to see him, as much as she craved and longed for such an opportunity since…She couldn't afford him seeing her and destroying all her hard work. She didn't need to see him to know he wasn't the same since last they parted. Still, she stole a glance as he emerged from the alleyway. She felt tears sting her eyes. He had changed so much, and yet so little since she saw his face that night. His back turned to her as he progressed up the street.
She was still for some time, then walked down to the alley he had emerged from. A figure paced back and forth across the cobblestones. Louisé had no more time to spare but had equally no idea what to do with this bishop. While she wanted to tell him the same lie his followers had easily accepted, she knew that he would see the flocks of Ventrue entering the abbey and flee to gather his forces. And she would have no means to convince her elders and peers that danger was coming. She squared herself up, pulled down the hood and walked toward the pacing bishop.
"Do you have any idea how late you are?!" he roared.
Louisé flinched and lowered her head to play the role of supplicant. "Forgive me, I met with an unexpected interruption," she murmured softly to both appear humble and muffle the sound of her voice. Within the cloak, her fingers fumbled for the stake.
The bishop drew near. "Your mistakes will cost you dearly neonate! Now tell me if anything has changed." Louisé muttered something, gripped the stake in her hand. She felt the bishop grab her hooded hair and yank her face up. "Look at me when I speak to you, wretch!"
Louisé lifted her face and watched rage color the bishop's face. He knew. He knew she wasn't the person he had been waiting for and he bared his fangs at her. How he knew was not her concern at the moment: his death or, more likely due to her exhaustion and inferior skills, his injury was paramount. Taking the chance, Louisé threw her arm out to pierce the man's chest with the stake. She wasn't afforded such luck. Old, smart and quick, the bishop caught her wrist and squeezed the bones. Louisé cried and dropped the stake. The bishop kicked it away with a grin and yanked Louisé's head back further. She began to fear she was going to meet the same awful fate she inflicted on her Sabbat counterpart earlier.
"Well, well, well…What do we have here?" his voice purred, deadly fangs far from her neck for now. "What are you, girl?" He wasn't even concerned why she was there.
"Ventrue," she answered without a drop of shame.
He laughed, "How appropriate. A Patrician whelp to start the festivities. Brave but stupid, like the rest of your clan. And you shall die, like the rest of your clan."
Louisé watched him lower his mouth and growled. Her other hand grasped the hilt of the dagger and she slashed the man's chest in a desperate move. He shrieked and shoved her away. Louisé saw that she had managed a decent cut and clutched the dagger like it was her salvation. A foul stench rose in the air between them. Whatever his blood was hewn from, it offended her sense of smell. The bishop glared at her and howled. She pushed her heels against the stones and ran for the alley exit, but he was on her quick enough and she felt her side crunch against the street. Broken ribs? More wounds to tally. If she survived this, she would do nothing but soak in hot baths for the next month. If she survived.
Having no desire to be eviscerated, she made the executive decision to throw the dagger away from the both of them. To pay her back, the bishop bit deep into Louisé's shoulder. She screamed as he continued to bite her. She wrestled beneath him to keep him from biting her neck, continuing to scream. The bishop threw her against the wall to silence her. Louisé slumped. He approached, ready to kill and all Louisé could do was crawl backwards from him. Palms slid against grimy stones and gripped the spaces between to help pull her along. She had no fight left in her. As he lunged for her, she squeezed her eyes shut.
A shot rang out. Her face dampened with foul smelling rain and jagged pieces of hail. She opened her eyes. Louisé was splattered with the blood and bone of the bishop. He dropped to one knee and shrieked, one hand covering what used to be his shoulder. Footsteps echoed around them. Louisé remained frozen.
"Get up Louisé," Devereux's voice ordered. Louisé rose. Devereux's eyes never left the bishop. He had his sword out and held it at the man's throat. A Ventrue behind him lowered his gun. Louisé never felt so glad to see Devereux in her life. She limped to his side. Devereux's voice was rough, "Explain yourself."
And explain herself, she did! Eventually… At the end of the alley waited the rest of the Gerousia. Their faces expressed the inanimate intrigue common to most Ventrue: an eyebrow twitch, glazed over stared or quick tweek of cheek muscle as Devereux led the bishop from the shadows. Dirty and fatigued, Louisé silently followed behind her mentor and local governing body to the interior most room of the abbey. Built about St. Benigne's sarcophagus, the rotunda proved an ideal location for their meetings, a perfect place to interrogate their prisoner. Before they gave due attention to the bishop, they listened to Louisé's recounting of her exploits that evening. She fibbed, a little, at the beginning, hardly wanting the Gerousia to know her prattlings had aided this plan. So she lied about Javier. Everything beyond Javier was the absolute truth.
"So, according to you, their amateur soldiers are going to assault this abbey an hour from now based on the belief we will all be here and vulnerable," Devereux summarized, keeping his eyes on the wounded bishop.
Louisé nodded, "If I was successful."
"And what was your hope in doing that?" asked another member. There was no malice in their question, just pure curiosity.
"They cannot be allowed to live, let alone leave the city. I assumed by telling them to come an hour later, we could turn the attack on them…destroy them as a single unit."
Not necessarily the front-line fighters of the Camarilla, her Ventrue superiors looked at her with wary expressions. But Louisé could see the inner workings of their minds turning, weighing the benefits and consequences of such action. They agreed, in their silent consideration, that the Sabbat couldn't be tolerated but there was hesitation in their eyes. Devereux turned away from the bishop, leaving him in the capable hands of his compatriots.
"We will take care of the situation from here. I suggest you return to the estate and tend to your injuries." The gentleness in his tone frightened her. Devereux was many things: charismatic, bold, intelligent. But not gentle. She didn't argue with him, however. She knew she looked like something discarded behind a butcher's shop with her bruises, broken nose and overall disheveled appearance. Louisé hardly appeared the Ventrue she ought to be and since her clan clung to the idea of keeping up appearances, she wasn't even tempted to feel insulted.
Devereux sent for a carriage and someone for her to feed on while they waited. The two of them sat off to one side, in a shadowy alcove, as Dijon's Ventrue filed in for the meeting. Devereux snapped Louisé's nose into proper place and she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out. He left her to feed on the two humans brought to her then escorted her out to the carriage.
"We are indebted to you, Louisé," he said, holding the carriage door open. She just looked at him, feeling nothing in particular about that comment. He continued, "Go home and rest. We will send someone to take care of the Prince and we will see to the devils here." Then he shut her in and the carriage drove off.
But Louisé did not want to go to the estate. Not just yet. She had someone she needed to find. It may have been an impossible wish, but a Ventrue's need for closure was overpowering, especially when that closure was emotional in nature. Louisé poked her head out of the carriage and gave the driver a new directive.
"Get me within one block of Rue de Chatillon!"
She would never remember the way the Sabbat were driven from Dijon, because she had not been present for the massacre at Abbey St. Benigne or the slaughter that spilled from the quiet street of Rue de Chatillon. The bruises would fade, the burns disappear, the bones mend themselves with time. What Louisé would remember a little more than the torture was going to great lengths to save her clan only to turn around and the save the life of their great enemy. What she would never forget was stepping out of the carriage and standing in the fog, feeling the cold beneath her feet and believing it had all been a dream. His voice, his face…all of it had been a trick from some vicious part of her mind, punishment for being so careless and causing so much damage.
Louisé walked away from the carriage, away from Rue de Chatillon. She felt the cold of the stone, the weight from unpredictable circumstances and unbelievable outcomes. She understood that she should have been ash hours ago, or minutes, or however long it had been since this crusade of hers began. It was nothing short of a miracle that she was still standing. A Catholic upbringing told her she should want for no more, be grateful for what had been given and she was. But she did want more. Louisé wanted to see him. She wanted to hear his voice again. Perhaps touch. A cruel twist of fate brought them close…close but not completely together again. So she walked in hopes the fog and chill would steal this wanton desire from her.
Then came cursing. Sharp, angry curses in a northern dialect. It was distant, coming closer, but it was his. And from what she could decipher, he was mad at being looked down upon. This was latent anger; anger carried over from a former life. Louisé stopped walking, pulled the cloak close to keep out the chill. He rounded a corner some ten feet back the way she had come. She turned her body and watched him tramp her way. He came to a stop five feet from her and Louisé could see a different kind of outrage in his eyes.
"Did the bishop send you?!" He was exhausted too, she could tell. He advanced on her. "I told him I would be as quick as possible!"
"The bishop didn't send me," she replied, looking away from him for now. Could she expose herself? After all this…was she brave enough for it?
"Then why are you here? We don't have time to waste standing on street corners!" He shoved past her and continued in the direction of the abbey.
"You can't go there," she said to his back.
He stopped, his fingers alternating curling and relaxing as he tried to manage his frustration. Her cryptic behavior certainly wasn't helping. He turned and walked back to her. He grabbed her upper arm and squeezed. "Don't even think of ordering me around, neonate," he spat. "Who do you think you are?" She kept her head down, adding to his discontent. "Are you listening?" His tone raised as one hand grasped her face, forced it up and the other yanked back the hood. "Look at me wh-" And he stopped.
Louisé looked him full in the face, swallowing the lump that built in her throat. His expression was shock; it was pain, it was disbelief. He released the tight hold he pressed against her jawline. His fingers hovered above her skin. She lifted her hand but only managed to brush the hair from his eyes. Her eyes stung as she touched his face, felt the cold. Louisé felt his jaw trembling; it was trying to form words he couldn't say. "If you go back, you will die Henri, " she told him.
"You're dead. You're not real," his voice was so small. She could hear how his throat tightened. He cupped her face in his hands, brushed a thumb across her cheek. "You are not here," his shock said.
"I am very real," she answered and covered his hands with her own, slid them down to his wrists. She was terrified he would slide away from her like the fog did in the morning. Louisé felt a few of his fingers slides in her hand, push it back. His other hand disappeared behind her and drew her close. And in the shadows, she embraced Henri fils de Dormans in return; she enveloped herself in the smell and feel of him and let their reunion wash away the horrors of the night.
A/N: *fidgets* Oh, I hope that came out alright. Sometimes, I just don't know if the scenes playing in my head translate well to prose. We'll see. I will say I am not at all ashamed of the final scene, or the opening segments. Just some of the meat between has me...concerned? Eh! Review below!