What Makes a Monster

by HeadIntheCloudsForever

Years after Claude Frollo's death, Jehan seeks revenge, & Madellaine Barreau is forced to claim sanctuary inside Notre Dame, where she meets the elusive bell ringer of Notre Dame, Quasimodo, and begins to develop feelings for him. Broken hearts have a way of finding each other when needed most. Loosely based off the Disney films. Darker tone, new characters. Rated T for teens.

38. That Pulling Feeling

Madellaine awoke to the frigid cold of an unfamiliar cloister cell, feeling utterly dazed and confused. How did I get here? After parting with Frederic last night following his rescue of her almost drowning in the River Seine, she felt at peace, a foreign feeling to be associated with the soldier of the cathedral guard. After he'd gone and retrieved Alice, he'd sat by her, holding her hand as each cramp passed through her stomach, whispering soothing remarks to her, hoping they would be enough for her to power through the worst of her pain while her husband recovered. He'd been there for her, something she hadn't expected of him. Everything about Frederic's changed demeanor was so different from the rough environment she was accustomed to. Jehan had never been a warm or caring figure in her life. Shaking away her past, she smiled thinking about Frederic's kindness and modesty whenever he was around her. Surely, he'd find it annoying if she checked up on him yet again. Alice or Jeanne would have done it already, but her desire to talk with the man won over her doubts. Willing herself up from their bed, she dressed in a simple green velvet gown with long, flared tow sleeves and sought out the recovering soldier once more to check on his progress. Padding barefoot through the freezing corridors, she opened Frederic's cloister cell door, only to find him mid-dress. The soldier startled, a gasp escaping him as the petite blonde came into view. Just as quickly as she came in, she squeaked and stumbled out, her face growing flustered. "Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed.

Madellaine was beside herself with embarrassment. She had seen him shirtless twice in the span of two days. What was wrong with her? What her husband would say to this if he ever found out what she had done for him. She could hear a soft chuckle through the door as Frederic opened the door and poked his head through. "Milady," he replied gracefully, a small smile forming on the edge of his lips, "are you all right? I hope I didn't scare you. I didn't know to expect you this morning, my dear."

Madellaine was quite flustered. "I—yes, I am, thank you. I—I was just coming to check in on you to see if you needed any help. I—I'm sorry I walked in on you, I—I didn't mean to," she stammered. She twisted her hands together painfully. "I—I just wanted to say…" Madellaine turned her head away for a moment to compose herself. "Thank you," she said at last, her voice shy. "For the other night. You saved my life. You could have easily let me drown in the River Seine, but you did not. Thank you," she whispered breathlessly, regarding him in a new light that Frederic de Marten wasn't sure how to think.

Frederic stared, looking hopeful. He realized his gaze was lingering, and he turned his head sharply away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

To recover, he laughed. "It's quite all right. You are very kind, Madellaine. I'm able to walk. Not very well, I admit, as well as one can with missing toes, I suppose," he joked, oblivious to Madellaine's growing embarrassment. "It's nothing dire, though. Thank God." Nervous laughter escaped him as the soldier rubbed his neck gingerly, his own features contorting into a brief scowl as Quasi's voice rang out, calling for his wife. Damn, he thought darkly, a storm igniting in his eyes as he was forced to watch the blonde lovingly embrace her husband, who admittedly was looking better. Still pale and a bit peaky, but much better, to Frederic's disdain. Frederic forced a smile onto his face as Madellaine looped her arm around her husband's, falling into step as they walked to the kitchens. She smiled at him in a way that made his heart flutter against its cage, and he knew that in that moment, he loved her.

He felt the piercing stare of Darius burning the back of his skull, and he paled as the young priest approached him, an unusually stern look upon his normally kind face. "Don't think that the eyes of Notre Dame aren't watching you," he growled, his voice low so Madellaine and the bell ringer couldn't hear him. "Control yourself, or you will be dismissed." Frederic felt his blood boil as he watched the priest walk to the kitchens to join them, pausing to say something to Brother Giovanni, who nodded, his eyes fixed on Frederic.

That bastard, he thought darkly. Who the hell do you think you are? I save her life! She owes me! He halted as a startled cry broke him out of his reverie. With each step, his pace quickened, his eyes widened, anticipating the view yet to come, to see Madellaine again. When he reached the kitchens, he halted. The bell ringer and his wife were locked in a gentle embrace, and Frederic felt the familiar flames of jealousy burn in his stomach, igniting a furious wildfire that threatened to scorch anything he encountered. He could only watch in despair as Madellaine wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and pulled him down deeper in her kiss, her husband closing his eyes and getting lost in her succulent kiss, feeling her soft, luscious lips.

How I wish that was me, Frederic wished desperately. He scratched his nails along the wooden pillar as he looked on with seething hatred and jealousy for Notre Dame's bell ringer, his mouth going dry at the sight of the petite blonde before him. She's so beautiful, she deserves better than that red-haired freak of nature. The young woman opened her mouth to speak, and Frederic slowed his breathing to almost a stop, straining to hear what she was saying to her husband.

"…I can't think of a better place to raise our child, love," she was saying, a teasing tone in her light, pleasant voice. "I— I'm flattered that you'd offer to move for all of us, but that won't be necessary, Quasi. I love our tower."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice sounding worried.

She shook her head, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "It's fine, my love. Your tower is our home now. I won't have it any other way," she said, smiling at Quasi in a way that made his heart flutter. "Notre Dame is our home. We're not leaving." The bell ringer opened his mouth to protest, but his wife didn't give him a chance. She pressed her lips against his and kissed him again, her kiss passionate and gentle. Frederic blanched and frowned.

Only he should have the privilege to see her and kiss her in such an intimate way. He fumed as he emerged from the shadows. "Good morning, Madellaine," he said in what he hoped was a cordial tone. He turned to Quasi, whose posture had tensed as he sat up straighter.

Even sitting, the bell ringer towered over Frederic and intimidated the soldier, though he would never admit to anyone. "Quasi," he growled darkly.

"Good morning, Frederic," Quasi spat venomously. Madellaine turned around; gasping at the wicked look Frederic was giving her. The bell ringer turned pale with anger; his eyes narrowed to mere slits. He pulled his wife closer until she rested on his lap. He wrapped both his arms around her, protecting her from Frederic. Frederic swallowed as he sized her up, his eyes caressing over her cleavage. Madellaine caught on quickly and leered at him.

"If you're going to blatantly stare at my breasts, you could at least try better to hide it, Lieutenant," she snarled through clenched teeth, earning a burst of laughter from Alice, who'd silently entered.

"I—I meant no offense," muttered Frederic, embarrassed.

"Frederic, you're bleeding," Madellaine suddenly spoke up, hoping that he would drop the subject. "Let me see it." Frederic looked at Madellaine incredulously until she lightly grabbed his free hand. She gently turned them over in her palm, sending a shiver down the young soldier's spine.

Upon inspection, his fingertips were bloodied from where he'd dragged his nails along the pillar. Sighing in annoyance, he shrugged. "It's nothing," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone. "I can easily—hey, what are you doing?" he protested. Frederic was rendered silent as Madellaine tore a piece of cloth and began to wrap and tie each affected finger.

The act genuinely shocked him and touched him as his eyes grew softer looking into her light gray orbs. "There," Madellaine said at last, sitting back in her chair and ignoring the fuming glare her husband was giving her. "That should do it. Please try to be a little more careful, yes?"

Frederic stammered, tripping over his words. "I—I—it seems I have reached my limit. I must attend to my other duties…Thank you, Madellaine, for your—your help."

Alice snorted, rolling her eyes at the tension in the room. "So you finally put the moves on Madellaine, huh, Frederic?" laughed Alice wickedly, quirking her brow at the young soldier, who paled and recoiled at the comment, noticing the burning look of rage in Quasi's eyes. "I'd watch your back with that one, Quasi," she teased, her eyes glinting mischievously in the light. Turning to Madellaine, she grinned. "I apologize for what young Frederic put you through last night. Sorry about him. He's fooled around with more women than I can count. Not that you have anything to worry about," she grinned, glancing sideways at Quasi, whose face remained impassive as he struggled to control his temper.

"NO!" bellowed Frederic. "You've got it wrong!"

"No, I don't think she does," snapped the bell ringer.

"Prove us wrong," challenged Jeanne, who never once looked up from the porridge she was making. She turned to Frederic and crinkled her nose in disgust. "I see how you look at her," she snarled through clenched teeth. "Don't lie to us!"

"I—I'm not," he protested wildly, his eyes darting around the room as he looked for an escape. "I—I care about her!" he shouted, refusing to meet Madellaine's eyes. Alice and Jeanne shared a look. "I'm being completely honest here," he murmured quietly, his voice going dangerously soft and quiet. "I—I care about Madellaine like she's my own sister." Turning to Madellaine, he flinched at the expression of shock on her face. "It—it's true, milady. You—you look like my older sister, Celeste. I—I can't help that I'm drawn to you."

Alice rolled her eyes. What an idiot. Is he really that stupid? Jeanne was the first to burst out laughing. "Oh, that's a lie if I've ever heard one!" she cackled wickedly. "You know, you might be from another country, Frederic, but here in Paris, brother and sisters sleeping together is highly frowned upon. You'd be wise not to pursue this one," she teased, glancing at Madellaine, whose face was flushed and pink from embarrassment. "It's true, most of us don't tie ourselves in a knot over a good discreet romp in the hay," she smirked. "But…brothers and sisters? Ugh, here in Paris, that's a stain that won't come out, my boy, so you'd do best to find yourself another woman," she snapped harshly. "One not married." Frederic muttered a half-hearted apology and bolted from his chair so fast he overturned the chair. Smirking in satisfaction, Alice righted the chair he'd toppled in his haste to leave. "Sorry about that," Alice apologized, but a wicked gleam was twinkling playfully in her brilliant blue eyes like ice. "I don't know what he was thinking of, I apologize if the boy made you uncomfortable," she teased. "He won't bother you again."

"Not if I can help it," Quasi muttered darkly. "Thank you, Alice, for your help. He's a prick, and I don't know how much longer I can control myself if he doesn't—"

"Language!" chastised Darius sternly, shooting his brother a dark look. "Mind your tongue around me, all of you."

"Sorry," snapped the bell ringer in a tone that suggested he wasn't sorry at all. He turned to Madellaine and his expression softened. "I owe you my life, my love," he said softly.

"You owe me nothing, beloved," she whispered. "Not for an instant. I did what I had to in order to save your life. Our baby needs its father and mother alive and well," she teased. He smiled, tucking a stray wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes and pulled her close for a gentle kiss.

"That was all very romantic and disgustingly touching," snapped Alice from her spot in the corner, a mischievous smirk on her lips and a glint in her kind blue eyes. "Now hurry up and kiss, and get your butt over here, girl. We'll need your help this morning. We need you to run an errand for us, if you are willing. Kiss and get to it! We haven't got all day, you know!" The two burst out laughing and both shot Alice a glare.

Darius rolled his eyes and playfully swatted Alice on the arm, smirking slightly. "Oh, be quiet, Alice," he admonished. Madellaine laughed and turned back to her husband, fighting back the urge to smile, but her eyes were sparkling. She leaned up and kissed his warm lips. His hands were wrapped around her waist and hers locked around his neck, pulling him down slightly.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and gathered some much-needed air. His smirk told him everything and she smiled back, sinking into his hold. "I'll see you tonight," he said, his quiet voice velvety and faint. "Tonight, if you'd like, we can go take a walk. It might do you some good to get out of here for a bit, stretch your legs. Get some fresh air," he suggested, his eyes getting a playful gleam. She knew what he was thinking.

"I'd like that," she whispered, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek before bidding him farewell for the moment. She would see him later tonight. Not a moment too soon. "Don't start," she warned Alice, noticing the wicked grin on Alice and Jeanne's faces. "I wouldn't dream of it," Alice teased, her blue eyes twinkling. "I was merely going to ask if you would be a love and scrub the kitchen floors for us, my dear while we make dinner? Afterwards, Jeanne will accompany you on an errand, if you will have her. After everything you've been through, your husband will have our heads if we let you out alone."

Madellaine smirked and rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"Thank you, child. We're grateful for your assistance." Jeanne raised a finger to her lips and waited for Darius and Quasi to exit the corridor. Once they were alone, she pressed a pouch of coins into Madellaine's palm. "We need you to run this to Valmont's place, if you are willing, child."

She stared, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing. "You want me to go to Val's? Oh, yes, I know it," she croaked, noticing Jeanne's stunned look that she exchanged with her twin sister in a bit of a stupor. "Jehan, he—he sent me there several times on his behalf on many errands. I know him well."

"Oh, good. Then it will be no trouble for you, I'm sure."

She felt her face go ashen as the last remaining color left her cheeks. Madellaine clutched onto the back of a nearby chair for support. "Why do you want me to go there?" she managed.

"We owe the man money for his…services," Alice snorted.

Madellaine collapsed into the chair and buried her face in her hands in embarrassment. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Why?"

"Child, we obviously cannot be the ones to deliver the man what he is owed," Jeanne spoke up. "We need somebody else."

"And you want me to go?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course," retorted Alice airily. "There's no one better."

"But—I—" she started to say, but trailed off, rubbing her temples. If you go, you can see one of the women there to give you something for your headaches, to help you sleep through the night. Do it. You know you need to find a remedy soon. You need to sleep.

"Are you going to do this for us or not?" Jeanne demanded.

"I—yes of course, there's no need even to ask," she replied.

"We'll expect you back before curfew," admonished Alice.

"Child, why don't I go with you?" offered Jeanne. "I don't like the idea of you wandering off by your own. Not after what happened. Plus, I think we all know your husband would have my head if we allowed you to trek to Valmont's place alone."

Madellaine nodded curtly. "I'd welcome the company."

"Besides, I let you go alone and it's my head on the line. And then your husband would still come after you," Jeanne snorted, rolling her eyes at the comment. "He cares for you, child."

"More than you know," added Alice, picking at a loose string on her brown habit. "He was quite a right mess last night. I've never seen him like that. The boy drank all of my merlot in one go!"

"You can get some more, can't you, Alice?" Madellaine snapped irritably.

"Not like that, I can't. He owes me one," she growled darkly. "I'll hold him to it, too. As long as it takes. You must have done quite a number on him last night, child. Good God, what was the fight about? In all the time you two have spent together, I don't think I've ever heard him yell as much as he did last night. What happened?"

"I—I don't want to talk about it," she stammered.

"Why don't we get a move on?" Jeanne suggested, coming to her rescue, sensing her growing discomfort. "We'll go see Valmont before we see Sophia, child. It'll do you good."

"I don't see why I have to keep going to see Sophia, it's only been two months since I found out I was pregnant. It's overkill is what it is," she grumbled darkly. "I don't need this!"

"Your husband loves you very much and is just being cautious. He lost Esmeralda to childbirth. He won't lose you too, that would destroy him."

Madellaine nodded, and Alice left her and Jeanne to it. She stalled as long as she could, and with a heavy sigh, heaved herself to her feet and glanced back behind her at the bell tower steps. She stifled a small smile.

He had apologized, and going forward, everything was going to be okay. She knew it would. He wouldn't let anything happen to her, and she had to start being proactive and minding her own health. She owed him that. Some called it bewitched. Madellaine called it love. For there was emptiness in the freedom of being along and liberty in being caught in that divine spell. And so, when she looks into his eyes and sees the feelings of her heart, she and him became one, and that wasn't magic, then she could not say what was.

Unable to stall any longer, she set out to get what she needed. Madellaine had to do this. For her husband. For their baby. The cold January morning brought with it a damp chill, along with a heavy mist. The trees were veiled in the heaviest of mists; their trunks somber brown with sable cracks that gnarled the bark. As Madellaine's eye traveled to the edge of the woodland and the marketplace, they became silhouettes against a thick blanket of white, as if it was only daylight where she stood, as if she were encircled by twilight. The sky was consumed in numerous shades of gray, white, and black as a looming thunderstorm threatened to descend upon Paris. "God help me," she muttered darkly, drawing up the hood of her green gown to conceal her face. If Valmont discovered she was paying him an involuntary visit, he'd give her hell. Jeanne laughed, not saying much on the walk over to Valmont's.

"I take it you're not fond of Valmont?" she asked, smirking.

"Nope," she answered curtly, not wanting to divulge the details of their history. Madellaine weaved her way through the bustling crowds of the marketplace, careful to keep her head low and her face concealed. If anybody but Alice and Jeanne were to discover where she was going, she'd never be able to hear the end of it. Valmont's place wasn't hard to find. She knew it well. The chateau came into view, rising from between the green rolling hills, the soft gray stone chateau with the slate cone shapes projecting into the sky, its towers and buttresses plunging to the heavens. The white mullioned windows, revealed by the open wooden shutters, were spotless. The honeyed stone of the chateau is smooth and warm to the touch. The straight walls are interrupted at the corners by pronounced circular portions and the grey roof is a series of slopes and cones. Do this. Get in. Get out. Go home.

"Well, well, well," a man's voice spoke up. "This is a pleasant surprise, lovely. I never thought you'd come here again."

Damn it! Not now, not now. Go away, get out of here. "Go away, Jehan," Madellaine snarled through clenched teeth, keeping her voice low enough to not alert Jeanne to her behavior. That was the last thing she wanted. "You're not needed here. Get the hell out of here. Go bother someone else."

"On the contrary, my lovely," Jehan smirked, falling into step as he walked beside her, his black cloak billowing in the winds. "I never pegged you as having much of a backbone. This is rather exciting."

"There's a lot about me you never knew," she snapped.

"So, I'm learning," he teased, falling silent as she entered Valmont's brothel, a place she'd hoped to never set foot in again. God, how she hated it here.

The smells, musty, smelling of sex and sweat and something else sweet, something fragrant. Madellaine pulled her hood tighter around her face, careful to keep her face shrouded in the shadows. She couldn't let anyone know she was here. If anyone she knew recognized her, it was over.

Candles were lit everywhere. The candlelight was an arc of brilliant gold in the blackness, in the dimly lit room of the brothel's first floor. Though it was only flame, Madellaine imagined briefly walking through it as if it were nothing more than an archway to something beautiful. She imagined shrinking down and stepping into the light, golden and warm, yet not hot or burning to the touch. In that moment, she became mesmerized, as still as she would be were she a statue. The air was still and the flames of the candles barely flickered. It was steady and bright enough to relieve the darkness of the room, but not enough to read by. The wicks blackened and the wax slowly turned to liquid, seeping into the windowsills. Despite the darkness, it was beautiful. Peaceful. "May I help you?" a woman's voice spoke up, startling Madellaine and making her jump. She hadn't been expecting it.

"Yes," Jehan sneered, placing a confident hand on her shoulder, smirking at her nonplussed expression underneath her hood. He knew the Amelie could not see it, but he could.

"Uh, y—yes," she stammered, coughing once to clear her throat. "I—I'm looking for Valmont, is he in today?"

She nodded. "He is, but I believe he's busy at the moment."

"I need to speak with him. It's urgent. I have something of his and was tasked to deliver it to him and only him. Please."

The madam that ran the brothel in Valmont's absence was an unpleasant woman. She was not overly old, but her body had aged passed her years so much so that she wore the wizened features of an old crone. The occasional strand of her once golden hair could still be seen though the lifeless grey mane that limply framed her aging face. The woman was tired. Many peaks and trenches wrinkled her forehead, caused by years of consistent scowling, which unflatteringly crowned eyes that permanently, harbored a disdainful glare, shadowing their beautifully unique shade of blue. Her entire face seemed drained of any signs of joy and amusement, instead her frumpy cheeks told a tale of regular displeasure.

"He won't appreciate the…interruption," the madam replied coldly, suppressing a snort. "Would you care to wait?"

"No, I don't," Madellaine snapped, turning away in disgust so the elderly woman wouldn't see the rage in her face. "I need to speak to him now."

Jeanne offered her two cents. "It's a matter of some urgency."

"Hmm, I suppose he'll make an exception," she muttered.

"Will you point in the right direction to his quarters?" she asked, feeling her hands ball into fists and she ground her teeth in frustration, hating her situation and wishing she were home with Quasi, where she belonged, in their tower, with Laverne and Victor and Hugo. Not here. Not Valmont's.

But no, she owed Alice and Jeanne this one favor. So she had to do this.

The woman squinted, narrowing her eyes as she tried to peer underneath Madellaine's hood, to make out the details of her face. "Do I know you?" she asked suspiciously, raising a thick eyebrow. "You seem awfully familiar, child. I can't quite place where I know you from. Were you one of our girls once?"

"No, no, no," she replied hastily. "I—I've never been here, I'm afraid."

"Hmm, it's a shame you're not looking for work. You'd be very popular with the men around these parts," snickered Florika suggestively, reaching up a hand to tilt Madellaine's chin to the side and give her figure an appreciative once-over.

Oh God…Don't let her recognize me. Please, God. Help me.

Jehan sensed what she was thinking and laughed. "Oh, my lovely, God won't help you with this. You're on your own."

"Shut the hell up," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Excuse me?" asked the madam, glaring at her angrily.

"My apologies, milady," apologized Madellaine, feeling her face flush in embarrassment. "I meant no offense."

"Valmont's quarters are up the stairs, third door to the left." She snorted and turned away, grateful to be leaving the company of the mysterious woman. She was quite a beauty. A strange one, but a beauty, nonetheless.

Madellaine muttered darkly to herself under her breath as she ascended the stairwell, cursing herself. How she longed to be anywhere else but here.

Someplace with her husband. The bell ringer's wife felt her face drain of color, as the shouts coming from Valmont's quarters grew louder as she approached. Oh, God help me. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. Shit.

Jehan's wicked laughter filled her eardrums. She turned and glowered at him. She knew by the look in his brown eyes that he was enjoying watching her squirm a little too much. How she hated him. Even though he was a part of her now, she hoped he choked. She'd be too glad to do it herself. Madellaine paused, a muscle in her jaw twitching. Steeling herself for the unpleasant task before her, she didn't bother knocking, cringing as the screams of the woman penetrated the air. Taking a deep breath, she balled her hand into a fist and pounded on Valmont's door. "Valmont? It's Madellaine, from the Frollo estate, and Jeanne from Notre Dame, we're here on official business, Valmont. I know you're in there, I can hear you! Open this door! Right now, or I swear on my life—" As she kicked open the door to Valmont's quarters, the musky, sweet odors of sex and sweat lingered in the air and filled her nostrils. It was overwhelming and slightly sickening. She'd hoped to never set foot in the brothel again.

"Goddamn it, Florika, I told you not to bother me when I'm in here! How many fucking times do I have to tell you?" he bellowed, Valmont's voice a deep baritone. He wrenched himself off the prostitute beneath him and quickly reached for his linen pants and a loose gray cotton shirt, pulling them on quickly before turning to face Madellaine. His furious expression faltered and turned to confusion. "You're not Florika," he said, quirking his brow.

"No, I'm not," she growled, knowing the damage was done. Madellaine lowered her hood and glared at Valmont. Her lips twitched in a rather reluctant smile. "Hey, Val," she sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Sorry to barge in on you like that."

Valmont's expression softened as his lips curved into a soft smile, his anger evaporating to be replaced with surprise. Valmont was a dark Adonis. Dark eyes that made most women weak at the knees. He possessed the heart of a lion and the soul of a warrior. He was a fair few inches taller than Madellaine and towered over her. Valmont was slim and muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. His face was strong and defined, his cheekbones chiseled to perfection, his features molded from granite. Although good-looking, his personality was abrasive. "Well, well. This certainly is a surprise. I'd never thought I'd see the day when Jehan would send you here himself, my pet. You were practically his prize. Sweet thing, lovely angel of fire," he announced happily. "Welcome, my sweet Madellaine, and here I thought you'd given up on me. I knew you'd come around, lovely. What a surprise! What brings you to my humble abode today? Did Jehan send you again? What does he need this time? Wine? More women? I can get him anything."

"Piss off, will you Valmont?" she snarled. "I'm only here on an errand on behalf of Sister Alice of Notre Dame, so don't start with that! I will never work for you or become one of your whores! And besides, Jehan is dead," she hissed, ignoring the look of shock on Valmont's face. "He died two months ago; I'm surprised you didn't hear this?"

"You haven't changed an ounce," he snapped, teasing her.

Jeanne had sauntered over to a door that led into one of the other rooms. She suppressed a snort as the shouts from behind the door grew louder. "Valmont, you ass," she teased. "What have you got them doing now?" she asked. "May I take a look?" she asked innocently, carefully creaking open the door and poking her head inside. "Jesus," she muttered darkly.

"Since when did you ever ask for my permission?" Valmont asked, quirking his brow at her and grinning. "Help yourself."

Jeanne's eyes widened as she opened the door wider behind her. "Hold on a second," she said, her tone shocked and she held up a hand. "Is she—is she taking it up the ass? She is! Holy—Valmont, what do you have these girls doing to these men?" she asked, stupefied. "I've been around for quite a while and even I've never—"

"My girls are trained in all aspects and manners of pleasure."

"Yes, but Valli, boy, there's a difference between having your wick dipped and completely losing your damn mind, that's—"

"What can I do for you?" he snorted, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Would you care for some?"

"No thank you," she responded coldly, subconsciously laying a protective hand over her flat abdomen. "I can't."

Valmont's gaze drifted and settled on her abdomen.

"I take it by your refusal that means what I think it does?"

"It does," she admitted, collapsing into a nearby chair. She was growing tired suddenly. She could use a minute to herself just to calm down her temper.

"My congratulations. You will be a wonderful mother."

"That's none of your business, Val," she snapped irritably, reaching up a hand to rub her temples. "Just tell me if you have the goods Alice and Jeanne ordered through you. I didn't come all this way for nothing." Jeanne noticed her discomfort and took the seat next to her. She was getting a headache.

"Right. New items from Germany arriving by way of ship. All but one of the items, a Roman sword of the finest steel."

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at Valmont. Thanks to years around Jehan, she could smell a bluff a mile away. "Don't tick me off, Valmont. You know better than that," she snarled, one hand hovering near her knife hilt, her fingers twitching and ready to draw it if she needed to. "Don't do it."

Valmont sighed and grinned. "Well, quite frankly, I do have the item in question that you are inquiring after, it's just that a different customer is saying that they need it immediately. I'm sure you can see my dilemma here. However, Alice and Jeanne are good customers, so I wouldn't mind handing it over to you despite the inconvenience. But I'd like a better deal for me and my establishment, or a discount on your services," he added, glancing at Jeanne for her reaction, whose face remained impassive.

"Don't you start that, Val," snapped Madellaine. "Do the smart thing and play this one by the book. That way, everyone will be happy." Her fingers were twitching as her hand hovered near her sheath. She didn't want to draw, but she would if she must. Madellaine grinned, feeling the beginnings of an evil smile. "After all," she responded smoothly, her voice a purr. "You wouldn't want to be counting all those coins with your feet now, would you? Try seeing how well you count with your hands cut off," she growled darkly, not sure where her anger was coming from. It was unlike her to get this irritable. Jehan had changed her.

Valmont snorted over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

"Good God, what did Jehan do to you all those years ago? You've changed, my dear. You're different. I wouldn't make idle threats if I were you, Madellaine. If you absolutely insist, then why don't you bring along your dear husband, Notre Dame's own demonic monster from hell? I'm sure he'd be delighted to see this is where the sisters send you on an errand," he joked.

Her eyes blazing, she bolted from her chair and overturned the chair, drawing her knife and pressed the tip of the blade into the insufferable throat. She felt the prod of a steel blade against the side of her own throat.

Glancing sideways out of her peripherals, she could see that Valmont's whore had found a knife and had pressed it up against hers. Great. Just great. If my husband could see me now, he'd be livid. This is what I've had to become in order to protect our baby. "Apologize. Don' talk about my husband that way," she whisper-hissed through gritted teeth. "NOW!"

"That's all I have to say," Valmont responded calmly.

"You and I aren't through here!" Madellaine shouted. She was surprised at herself. Her years with Jehan hadn't been for naught, after all. She hoped she wouldn't have to fight, but she would if it came to that. By God, she would fight to her last tear if it meant she could ensure her family lived a good life.

"Nothing before, nothing after," he said coldly.

"Step off, Gemma," said Madellaine quietly, closing her eyes and wishing with all her might this would just end, feeling the blade of the other woman's knife pressed thickly into the column of her throat, threatening to pierce her skin. "This isn't your concern; it does not deal with you or your people."

Gemma scowled. "Let's see how much you talk with your tongue cut out!"

"Ladies," snapped Valmont, annoyed. "Let it go. Now."

Letting out a sigh of frustration, both women sheathed their knives begrudgingly. Madellaine collapsed into a chair.

"Gemma," Valmont barked. "Get our guest some tea."

"But, Val, she's a—" she protested.

"NOW!" he roared, bringing his fist down on the table.

"Fine, fine. Have some tea," Gemma muttered hatefully, pouring her a steaming cup of herbal tea. "It'll calm your nerves," she said. "It'll do you good. Bitch," she spat irate. Resentfully, Madellaine glowered at Gemma as she raised her cup and took a sip. She was pleasantly surprised at the warmth that traveled from her throat to the pit of her stomach.

"There's nothing nicer than a good cup of tea," said Valmont proudly, crossing his legs and smiling at Madellaine.

"It takes an organization with dedication and history to deliver such flavor without fail. That's true for any organization such as yours, even if their products differ. Ami I right in saying that?" Madellaine asked calmly.

"I don't quite see it. What exactly are you getting at, Madellaine? What is your point? Are you trying to imply that it's also true for illegal swords and wines? I'm afraid we won't have much of a negotiation if you get too hasty," he teased.

"I'm talking about the gypsies," Madellaine revealed. "That's what I'm getting at, Valmont," she smirked, quirking her brow at his smug expression. "Did you know that gypsies from outside countries are being smuggled into Paris outside the agreed upon routes. Did you know that, Valmont? Clopin and his court have made every effort to find the source. They've looked everywhere they can think of, and still, the culprit hasn't been found. And they won't find it. Do you know why they won't find it? It's because there's a blind spot. Somewhere Clopin shouldn't have to look. For instance, those who can freely cross borders under the auspices of this brothel of yours, or the men who come here and don't even know they're being used as mules," she laughed bitterly. "It strikes me that these people are being overlooked," she said casually, setting her tea cup down and picking at her nails, glancing up at Valmont's face, whose face remained impassive, although Madellaine could tell he was fighting back the urge to smile.

No one—except for her—dared to test him like this.

"Woman, you can't make statements based on pure conjecture," Valmont retorted. "You're making it sound as though the smuggled items are coming in and out of my place, after all."

Madellaine dipped her head in acknowledgment, a soft half-smile forming on her lips. "It's just a thought," she said.

"Also," she said, weaving her knuckles in between her fingers. "You and I could talk about your wine shipments. The number of bottles coming and going, they don't seem to add up, if you get my meaning. It's easy to figure out with a little research. It was dangerously easy to see, actually. Oh, and one last thing," she added, standing up to leave and brushing her skirts, one hand hovering on the doorknob. "Alice and Jeanne are on friendly terms with Clopin, but I wouldn't necessarily say Notre Dame herself works with the man. The…arrangement those two have with you and this place is strictly between you and them, but I would absolutely hate to think what would become of you were Clopin to find out about the alternate routes you've been sneaking the smuggled items in through the catacombs," she grinned, satisfied at the shocked expression on Valmont's face. It was all too fitting. "You're infringing on his territory, Valmont. It's a dangerous game you're playing."

"I see your point," Valmont said, resting his hand in his palm. "If you improve your timing a bit, you'll really take shape. Gemma, she's a bit rough, but she passes. Add the swords to the list. My dear," he called out to Madellaine, "Alice and Jeanne have a good eye. I can't imagine where they found you, after all those years in Jehan's servitude. Come visit me again, anytime soon, my pet. You're always welcome here. Oh, and feel free to stop by and visit our apothecary. I can tell by the bags under your eyes you've not been sleeping. We can help you there. You don't pay here, either, I won't hear of it."

Madellaine stared. She nodded. "Thank you, Valmont." Disgusted and eager to leave, she tossed the pouch containing the coins on Valmont's bed. She avoided the piercing gaze of the naked whore sprawled out across his bed, her body gleaming and shining with sweat in the dimly lit room, the only light provided came from the candles. "Alice also told me to tell you they received the shipment of wine you ordered for this place," she hissed, glancing around his quarters and hating every second of her predicament. "The sisters were able to get you fifteen hundred bottles through Clopin's network. You'll find the shipment waiting for you down at the harbor. Here," she growled, handing him the receipt. "I'll be taking my leave of this place. Come one, Jeanne, let's get the hell out of here right now before I slit my fucking wrists from insanity. I can't stand it here; I need to go home right now. Let's go."

"That's more like it," he grinned. As he scanned the piece of parchment, a look of incredulity overcame his face. "What?" he cried in disbelief. "Tax sure has gone up on these. How's a man supposed to make a living? Shit. Ah, well. Desperate times."

Madellaine snorted. "If I'm lucky, I won't be seeing you, Valmont. And don't forget about the money!" she called out as she retreated, rolling her eyes. "I'll be coming back if you forget!" How she couldn't wait to get the hell out of here. She didn't belong here. Madellaine belonged at Notre Dame.

Madellaine briefly stopped by the apothecary's quarters. The apothecary on site was a young woman close to Madellaine's age, if not a little older. She was tall, with light brown skin and dark hair that was piled atop her head in an intricate braided bun. "Valmont sent you, did he?" she asked, a kind smile on her lips.

Madellaine nodded. "Yes, he did. I—I haven't been sleeping."

The woman's eyes lit up and her expression brightened.

"Use this," she explained, pulling a vial of an herb mixture from one of her stores. She uncorked it and briefly wafted it under Madellaine's nose. Madellaine recoiled and pinched her nose.

"That smells disgusting!" she exclaimed. "Ugh, what is that?"

The apothecary laughed at the young woman's disgusted expression. "It does, but it works. Mix it with your tea and you'll fall right to sleep. And no, it won't harm the baby. It's infused with lemon balm and chamomile. Also, here," she urged quietly, turning away for a moment and she held out her hand with a sprig of St. John's Wort. "Put that under your pillow at night."

"What—?" Madellaine was stunned. Then it hit her. "JEANNE!"

"Oh, you can't expect us to keep that a secret, can you?" Jeanne protested, her green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Not for long."

"Oh, for the love of God. You know what, never mind, I'll deal with you later," she snapped. Turning her attention back to the apothecary, she forced what she hoped was a convincing smile and gratefully clasped her hand over the woman's. "Thank you for everything. Truly. I hope what you are offering helps me."

"It will," she replied, nodding her head. "If you will please excuse us. The hour grows late, and we must be getting back."

Madellaine and Jeanne left the apothecary's quarters and made to leave, but a flash of yellow hair caught Madellaine's eye. Sitting by himself at a table in the corner was a small boy, no older than eight. Jeanne drew in a sharp breath and held it. "Oh, God," muttered Jeanne darkly. "Not here."

"Is that…?" Madellaine whispered into Jeanne's ear. "Is it?"

"It is," Jeanne confirmed darkly, nodding her head.

Oh no, she thought to herself, glancing wildly around.

Zephyr was sitting alone, looking morose and confused.

"Wait here," Madellaine ordered thickly, anger laced in her voice. She put her hood up to conceal her facial features once more and approached the young boy. No older than eight years old, a place like this was no place for a boy. How dare Phoebus bring him here? And damn you to Hell, Valmont, for allowing children in. "Zephyr," she whispered. "Zeph, is that you?"

The boy looked up, startled. He craned his head forward trying to peer underneath her hood. "Oh, Maddie, it's you!" he exclaimed, sounding relieved. "What are you doing here?" he asked quizzically.

"I should be asking you that," she retorted, kneeling to look him square in the eyes. "What are you doing here? Where's your father? Is he here? Did he bring you here with him?"

He nodded. "He told me to wait until he was done. He said he had to go talk with one of the women and I wasn't to disturb him."

I'll bet he did, she thought darkly and repressed the urge to shout and rage at Valmont and at Phoebus. Both had crossed a line. This was no place for a child. God, she thought and looked around. I must get you out of here now. I'll take you back. "How would you like to get out of here?" she asked, smiling and hoping her smile was genuine enough to reach her eyes.

Zephyr nodded. "I'd like that. It stinks in here."

Jeanne laughed from the corner and Madellaine rolled her eyes.

"Come on, we'll bring you back to Notre Dame. Your father can come and get you there; he knows where to find you. You can come up to visit Quasi, you haven't been by to see him in about two weeks. I'm sure he'd love to visit; he says you still have to help him finish painting his latest piece: the baker."

The boy's face brightened, and he gave off an eager nod.

She exchanged a private look with Jeanne that told Madellaine the sister understood. Jeanne turned and barked orders to Florika. "Tell the captain of the cathedral guard he can come pick up his son at Notre Dame when he's finished with his whore," Jeanne said.

Florika nodded grimly and dismissed them with a wave of her hand, glad to see the back of them when the three of them departed.

"Next time you or Alice gets the bright idea to send me on one of your damn errands, Jeanne, please don't ask me to do it," she begged. "I can't keep doing this for you two. Don't ask me again."

Jeanne nodded. "Of course, child. Valmont is a special case. But I daresay you handled yourself quite nicely, if I may be so bold."

Madellaine, no longer feeling the need to conceal her features now that they were out of the brothel, lowered the hood of her dress and breathed in the fresh air of the morning sky.

"Madellaine!" a man's voice called out, startling her.

She repressed the urge to scream. Frederic. Damn it.

"Frederic," she retorted, hoping her voice sounded kind.

"May I escort you home?" he asked courteously, grinning.

"Do I have a choice? What are you doing out here, anyways?" she asked, dumbfounded, quirking a brow Frederic de Marten's way, glancing around them for any other signs of trouble. "Shouldn't you be back at the cathedral? You've abandoned your post. What's Phoebus going to say about this?"

Frederic flushed and looked embarrassed. "Actually, Captain Phoebus asked me to look after you personally. He cares about your safety, Madellaine," he offered, hoping to ease the tension.

Madellaine let out a tiny snort through her nose. "Is it me he cares about, or not getting his ass kicked again by my husband, I wonder?" she asked, mostly to herself. Her quip caused Frederic to burst out laughing, and she couldn't help but laugh a little in return. His smile was charming.

Despite her initial misgivings, Frederic had proved to be a kind man once she'd gotten to know him better. They had gotten off to the wrong start, but she liked the man well enough.

Frederic laid a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright, milady? I apologize if I startled you. I meant no harm by it. May I escort you back to the cathedral? This fog is growing worse by the minute, I shouldn't have you out here in this weather like this, will you come back with me? I can protect you."

She nodded. "Of course. Jeanne, it's all right!" she called back.

Soon, Jeanne came into her sight, Zephyr in her arms. "You can put me down now, Jeanne," the boy teased. The nun laughed and obliged. Madellaine stifled a smile as he ran to Madellaine and hugged her legs in a vice grip.

"Frederic," Jeanne spoke up cordially.

"Jeanne," he replied politely, a joking tone in his voice.

"Zeph," Madellaine said suddenly, turning to the boy, who had held onto her hand in a tight vice grip and didn't seem to want to let go. "I want to ask you something, if I may. Can I?" she asked.

"Yes?" he asked, fear laced in his voice. "Am I in trouble?"

Madellaine's face fell slightly. "Oh no, sweetheart, no, no, you're not in trouble, Zephyr. Of course not. Your father had no right to bring you there. He never should have left you alone, and believe me, I'll be having a few choice words with him when he comes to get you. This isn't right."

He nodded, not speaking. The boy gazed out into the fog in awe.

"Does your father—does he bring you there often?"

Zephyr nodded, his face turning red with shame. "Yes."

Madellaine felt the familiar surge of hot anger begin to well deep within the pit of her stomach. Control yourself, she reminded herself.

"That stops right now," she said firmly. "He won't be taking you there anymore, Zeph, you understand? He and I are going to talk."

The boy nodded and smiled up at Madellaine, his grip on her hand tightening and he gave it a small squeeze. She couldn't help but return the child's smile. Frederic had ventured ahead and vanished into the fog to scout the perimeter ahead, ensure it was safe for the four of them. Their peace was short-lived as they returned to Notre Dame.

At last, Notre Dame came into their view. Home wasn't far now. On the eastern end of Ile de la Cite, the great cathedral had been built on the ruins of two previous churches, the churches themselves predated by a Gall-Roman temple once dedicated to Jupiter. Towers and buttresses plunged to the heavens, never-ending. The air filled with the chiming and tolling of the bells. So many sounds all Quasi's precious bells made, she thought lovingly as she stared up at the place that she called home. Even after over three months of living here, she still could not quite wrap her mind around the magnificence and gentle grace that was Notre Dame. Statues were carved into eaves of the stone walls and the giant Rose Window flashed iridescent colors in the sunlight, causing them to shine across the cobblestones beneath her feet.

The fog still hadn't dissipated and brought with it a damp chill. All too easy for someone to sneak up on us, and— Before she could finish this thought, shouting commanded her attention forward. "Madellaine? Come along!" called out Jeanne's voice from up ahead.

The young woman tore her gaze from the beauty of the church and back towards the nun. She smiled at Madellaine and gestured for her to follow. "What do you think we should tell Phoebus when he—oh, my God!" A startled cry of pain rent the air, rendering the young woman speechless. A man was raging and screaming at someone. A man's piercing screams filled the air, horrible and grating. Unbeknownst to her, Captain Phoebus of the cathedral guard had followed Madellaine and Zephyr and Jeanne out of the brothel not long after they'd left, demanding Florika to tell him where his son was, and he had stumbled across this man, his features shrouded in the fog, making it difficult for the captain to discern who his assailant was. The knife met Phoebus's flesh, soft and yet hard at the same time, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the knife rotated deep enough to make the attacker's victim scream, the sound of Phoebus's muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. His cry was a brilliant sound to his assailant, guttural chokes mixed with an agonized roar. His attacker smirked and pulled the blade out of his now deathly white victim as the color drained from his face, giving the captain of the cathedral guard a pallid look like a corpse. Phoebus sank to his knees on the front steps of Notre Dame, groaning and holding his side, convulsing and trembling like a rabid animal and thick red blood flowing freely from the gaping hole in his side. His attacker turned away as his shouts became quieter, the sweet tang of blood tingling in his nostrils.

Madellaine shivered as the captain let out another piercing scream. "Oh no," she muttered darkly, stepping in front of Zephyr and holding out her arm in front of the child. "Jeanne, stay here with him, please. I need to find out what's going on, who that is right now."

"NO!" Jeanne retorted angrily. "You're pregnant, I should be the one to go, not you! Your husband will kill me if anything happens—"

"I will be fine," she said calmly, hardening her voice and unsheathing her knife from its sheath. "Do as I say and stay put."

But Madellaine didn't get a chance to take her first step forward.

"Her! She did this, she brought ruin upon Paris when she married that—that freak! Witch! She should be burned at the stake!" shouted a man's voice.

"I don't—what, hey, stop that!" Madellaine shouted, as a pair of rough hands seized her waist, and she felt the tip of something sharp poke the skin of the column of her throat. "Oh," she whispered, cursing herself for allowing herself to be caught in such a predicament. She couldn't see her attacker.

Madellaine felt the knife before she saw it. As best as she could, given the fog, she looked into the eyes of the wielder, a man she did not recognize. The attacker's eyes were filled with such a bitterness and hate, and the only thing that showed any resemblance to the kind soul this man might once have been was the shell the bitter soul now inhabited, and his dead, lifeless eyes. Whoever he had been once before, he was now gone, and she, trapped.

"Frederic," she called out, a low whimper escaping her as the blade's tip was pressed in tighter, hard enough to enforce the man's intended message. "I could use a little help here?" she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. Before Madellaine could react, this nameless assailant lunged forward and took hold of her arm. She cried out in pain as the man roughly tore her away from Jeanne, raising the dagger to her collarbone in the process. The cold steel of the blade was enough to send her into a wild panic, but all she managed was a small mew of fear. Where's my husband when I need him? Almost as if on cue, his towering, hulking shadow engulfed her in darkness.

"Quasi," she whispered, feeling utterly relieved. "Thank God," she wept.

The vagabond, one of Clopin's people, if she had to guess, sneered at the sight of Notre Dame's bell ringer, not caring how the man's temper flared.

A burning rage hit Quasi so hard he didn't have time to properly sort through his emotions. One minute he'd been sitting on the front steps, waiting for his wife and Jeanne to return, feeling nothing but trepidation at the two women being allowed out on their own, the next, his wife's tiny form was pulled violently away from him, a knife pressed firmly to her pale neck. "Let her go!" It escaped him as a low growl, his chest vibrating from the sound. Still keeping an eye on the old gypsy, Quasi slowly shifted his attention to Madellaine. What he found there broke his heart several times over. As he looked upon her face, he was met with nothing but terror, fear, and paleness.

He glowered darkly at Madellaine's captor, his brown eyes darkening to black, and the gypsy man visibly flinched underneath Quasi's dark gaze and for an instance, faltered in his decision. Then, composing himself, only pressed the blade harder against the young blonde's neck. This time, the weapon cut slightly into the pale flesh and a bead of crimson welled from the wound. A small, almost silent cry of pain escaped the small blonde; her face crumpling and twisting in pain and a lone tear slid down her cheek.

That did it. It was enough. That one tear, that one small cry of pain was just enough cause for Quasi to act. This man was harming his wife. Hurting her. One of few people in his small, lonely world who did not fear what he was, did not think him a monster, and did not look upon him with contempt or scorn.

He would protect her, just as she had protected him. "Back away from the girl if you know what's good for you," another voice, a different man's voice shouted, it sounded like Frederic's voice, distorted through all the shouting. Madellaine couldn't tell which voice belonged to whom. She squinted through the fog, trying to make out what was happening, but the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard was unmistakable.

A new fear threatened to overtake her. Something within her husband had changed, and it was not a change that she liked in him at all. His eyes had shifted, darkened to an almost black, soulless color, as though he had been possessed by some…some demonic force, with a rage she had never seen before in her gentle husband, not even when he was annoyed or angry. No, this was something else entirely. His gentle demeanor had vanished, his timidity was now non-existent. He was…angry. In all the time she had known him, Madellaine had only seen him angry twice. Once with Jehan, and again when they'd had their fight earlier on surrounding her health and their baby.

But not this. The growl he had released from his chest sent a shiver of fear down her spine. Somewhere deep within her, she knew her husband would never hurt her, but seeing him like this…it was frightening. "Don't do this…" She was afraid he would lose himself. He didn't hear her. The gypsy didn't even have time to move before his large, powerful hand latched itself around the wrist holding to Madellaine's pale column. "You will not touch her!" he barked sharply. "Get out of here!" He tightened his grip ever so slightly that the blade fell from the man's hand and clattered against the cobblestone street beneath his black boots. Still holding the man's wrist in one hand, Quasi brought up the other to the front of the man's shirt and lifted him slightly off the ground. "You…"

"Please!" The Romani begged; the light brown of his eyes panicked. "Put me down! I—I didn't hurt her! I swear! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he shouted.

A small hand suddenly touched his left shoulder, and a brief flicker of gold glinting in the light told him without looking the hand belonged to his wife. He could tell it by her wedding band. Her hand gently applied enough pressure to coax him to look at her. He turned his head, and Madellaine gazed up at him, her pale gray eyes silently pleading with him to stop this. Her hand was clutched firmly against the small stream of crimson that steadily dripped down her collarbone. Just seeing the blood seeping from the wound was enough for him to want to crush the man's throat beneath his hand. "Quasi…don't…this isn't you." Her voice was small, quiet.

The old gypsy man made to scamper away, but Frederic seeing him by the scruff of his shirt, unsheathing his sword, any semblance of warmth, gone. "You. You're coming with me. Follow me, gypsy," Frederic murmured lowly, growling through clenched teeth, dragging the man off ahead by the scruff of the man's shirt collar, disappearing into the fog until they vanished.

"NO, NO, DON'T—WAIT, STOP!" the first man's voice shouted.

Madellaine cringed as the sound of metal ran through flesh and a horrible squelching sound reached her eardrums. The man's screams rang in the air for what felt like several minutes before he at last fell silent. In that moment, she knew whoever the man was, was dead. "Hello?" she called out timidly, not sure if she wanted to know who was there. She hoped whoever it was happened to be on their side. Madellaine didn't know what to do otherwise.

"Madellaine?" a voice called out, shocked. "Are you all right? Both of you?"

She stared, unwilling to believe it, still caught in a vice grip as her husband wrapped his strong hands around her waist, unwilling to let her go. "Frederic? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," he replied softly, his looming shadow coming into focus. At last, he stepped into her view. He was wiping his sword clean of the man's blood. The blade had been stained crimson. Droplets of the man's blood, thick in its garish red, spilled onto the cobblestone streets of the marketplace. Madellaine swallowed hard and fought back the bile that was forming in her throat. "I—I apologize for what happened. I had no choice."

"You—you killed him," she managed weakly, at last, her face paling.

"He didn't give me a choice," Frederic responded, looking pained and panicked. "He had a weapon on him, he was going to come after you! He—he stabbed Phoebus!" he exclaimed desperately, and it was only then that she became cognizant of the barely conscious captain on the ground. "Help me with him, he's hurt badly! He needs medical attention immediately, or I don't know if he'll make it through the night. Will you help me with him? Please!"

"Jesus!" Jeanne muttered darkly, covering Zephyr's eyes.

"Zephyr, don't look, you don't need to see this," ordered Madellaine, although she was barely fighting back her own tears. "Jeanne, take Zephyr to Alice and keep him in the kitchens and make sure that he stays there, please."

"What about Phoebus?" she asked, her eyes brimming with fear.

She paused, thinking for a minute. He won't like it, but I've no choice. "Take him to the north bell tower. I can care for him up in our loft."

Jeanne nodded, and with surprising strength draped Phoebus's arm around her shoulder and supported him as they walked. Madellaine let out a sigh and turned back towards her husband, who was feeling the panic well within him. Quasi felt something warm press up against his left hand, and at first, he dared not look. He didn't want to see the disgust and fear in those gray eyes of hers. He couldn't bear it. He did not deserve her in his life anymore. He had no right to her, not after what he had almost done for her. What he had come so very close to doing, he would not have been able to take it back.

"Quasi?" she whispered, reaching up a hand to caress his cheek. "Look at me," she pleaded. He couldn't look at her. He just couldn't. Not now. "Please," she begged, trying again. Don't look, his voice advised. You don't deserve this celestial-like angel as your wife, you monster. Murderer.

"I—I can't," he croaked hoarsely, turning away sharply from her.

"Oh, love, no, don't do this!" He felt her thin arms come around his middle, felt her tiny frame press against his thick green tunic. He felt her hands rub warmth into his back, feeling her soft, short locks of her hair tickle his chin as she buried her head deep into his left shoulder. Unaware of what he was doing, Quasi buried his face in her hair, letting the scent of pears and honeysuckle wash over him and comfort him. "It's all right," she soothed. "You're safe. I'm safe. Our baby is safe, as are Phoebus and Zephyr."

He nodded wordlessly, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on his wife and made to head inside up towards the north tower loft. Before she did, the glint of a silver dagger caught in the light, shining even in this mist. "Wait a minute," she breathed, carefully picking up the hilt with careful fingers, studying the engraving on the weapon. "I know this. This belongs to him. Oh, no," she whispered, realizing it had completely slipped her mind to tell him.

Madellaine winced as she heard the raging shouts of her husband and Jeanne's angry tone fills her eardrums as she climbed the bell tower steps.

Her husband was standing near the foot of the stairs, looking angered and hurt. "Why is he here?" he demanded, looking pained. "Get him the hell out of our tower, Jeanne. You know Captain Phoebus isn't allowed up here!"

Madellaine stepped in between Jeanne and Quasi before his temper rose to dangerous levels. "He's been hurt, Quasi, and he needs to recover. Please help me," she pleaded desperately. "If you don't do this for me, then do it for Zephyr. A boy shouldn't have to grow up without his father. Please, Quasimodo, help us. We can't let him die. We can't let Zeph go without a father. Please. I'm begging you. Let me care for him up here. Please, Quasi."

His shoulders squared in defeat as he looked into his wife's eyes. The desperation and pain in her eyes were too much for him to bear. "Fine," he growled darkly. "This way," he muttered, turning away sharply and with a wave of his arm allowed Jeanne to take him to their bedroom. "Not on our bed," he snapped, his voice seething with hatred. "He can sleep on these," Quasi snarled, tossing a pile of blankets on the floor.

Jeanne rolled her eyes and laid them out, gently laying the semi-conscious captain on a thick wool blanket. He groaned but didn't wake. The nun's face paled as she assessed the damage of the captain's stab wound. "Jesus," she muttered darkly. "Help me." Madellaine didn't waste a minute. She helped Jeanne rip open the man's tunic, ignoring the flustered glare her husband was giving. "Oh, no," she moaned, feeling sick at the sight of all the blood.

The blood from Phoebus's wound on his side didn't gush in a constant flow, but in time with the constant beating of his heart. At first, it came thick and strong, in its scarlet redness, flowing through his fingers as they weakly clasped the ripped flesh. He barely felt the blood moving over his hands, the thick fluid no warmer or cooler than his own skin, which had taken on the pallor of a corpse as he slowly lost his coloring. After a few minutes, the blood flow ceased almost to a stop, but his pulses were slower, weaker.

"Hand me that," Jeanne growled as she ripped a section of one of the blankets with her teeth. She bound it tightly around his ribcage in order to stop the bleeding. "No, not the bandages yet! The wine, girl, are you deaf?"

"Don't talk to my wife like that!" Quasi shouted, but he retrieved the wineskin and ignored Phoebus's cries of pain as Jeanne poured the alcohol over his wound site, sterilizing any infection that might be forming. He craned his neck slightly forward to see. "Jesus, Jeanne, what happened out there?"

"Later," whispered Madellaine, reaching out and laying a gentle, reassuring hand on her husband's shoulder. He reached up and held her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I promise I'll explain later."

He nodded, his face drawn and angered, slightly flushed.

Jeanne mended his wound as best as he could, binding his side tightly as well as his shoulder. "He can't move around too much," she ordered, glaring at the bell ringer. "I think it best if he stays here with you both until he fully recuperates. At some point, he'll need stitches, but I think you can handle that, dear," she said, turning to Madellaine, who nodded silently, although she was looking peaky.

"WHAT?" bellowed Quasi, unable to believe it. "Please tell me you're not serious, Jeanne. He's not staying here!"

"Yes, he is," Madellaine replied firmly, nodding in agreement. "I promise, Sister, we'll look after him. We won't let him move around too much. You have our word. Zephyr can visit as often as he likes."

Fuming, the bell ringer finally gave his consent, grumbling darkly to himself, pacing the tower loft in agitation until the low sounds of groaning startled them both. He was waking up. Quasi strode over to where the captain lay, slightly stirring. He knelt on the floor next to the captain and drew back his hand and slapped his injured shoulder. The sound was loud and echoed.

When Phoebus didn't stir, he did it again. His wife winced at the harshness of the sound as her husband's hand contacted the captain's shoulder. There's no love lost between these two, she thought. Groaning, the captain of the cathedral guard stirred. He opened his eyes blearily and focused his vision a few feet in front of him. Where am I? Phoebus wondered, wincing as he sat up on his knees, dazed and confused. His gaze landed on Notre Dame's bell ringer and he jerked away in fright, recoiling. "How did I get here?"

"My wife," snarled Quasi, his handsome face contorted into a scowl. "It's her you should thank. Without her, you'd be dead. And good riddance."

Madellaine glared at him as she couldn't help but notice the slight note of satisfaction in her husband's voice at that remark. Don't start, she warned him, their eyes locking and having a conversation of their own. Please. Not now, my love. You can argue later, but right now, we need to help him. Do it for Zephyr. Madellaine reached out a trembling hand and brushed back a lock of his golden blond hair out of his eyes. "Do you remember anything of what happened? Did you see who stabbed you? Please, Phoebus, if you know anything, tell me. I can tell Darius to put the word out, we can have a warrant out for whoever did this to you."

She glanced around wildly as she looked for the wineskin.

Madellaine reached for it and uncorked it with her teeth.

"Great!" Phoebus laughed weakly, his attempt at a joke. "I could use a drink," he managed, throwing a sheepish grin at Madellaine.

"It's a burgundy," she said, smirking slightly. "But it's not for drinking, I'm afraid," she apologized, ignoring the shouts as she poured the wine over Phoebus's stab wound. "I need to disinfect it."

Madellaine paid Phoebus's protests and grating screams no mind as she set to work disinfecting his wound, applying fresh bandages.

It was a relief when the tides of his pain washed over him, sending him into unconsciousness once again, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept in an uneasy sleep. For now, he was fine.

"I'm sorry, Quasi," she apologized, sighing as she collapsed into his lap, where he sat in the chair by their bed. "I know I should have asked you first, but this was the safest place I could think to bring him. I—I know you two don't have the best history, but I couldn't just let Phoebus die on the steps."

"It's fine, my love," he said suddenly, his brown eyes coming up to meet hers. "You're an incredibly selfless person, Lena, to help him the way you have. And for Frederic, too," he admitted darkly. "Even though the shit doesn't deserve your help or kindness. But you look to see the best in people, in everyone, even when they can't see it in themselves," he managed, looking pained and he looked away. He turned back, finally seeing the wound on her neck. His dark eyes flashed angrily again, and his temper swelled to the surface. "Wait right here," he commanded. She knew better than to argue.

"Madellaine, I…" He trailed off and looked over the curtain of his bedroom and out to his carving table. He turned around fully so he was facing her, grabbing a fresh rag, snatching the cloth from her hand with more force than he would have perhaps liked, but she could tell he was in a state. He gazed down at her wrist in his palm as if it were the most interesting and beautiful thing in the world, even running his thumb over a scar just above her first knuckle. "Are you…all right?" he asked timidly, still not quite looking at her, his gaze fixated on his left hand, intense and fiery, as if he were far away, thinking about something else more important. "That man, he could have killed you, Lena!" he said. So that was the root of the issue. He was worried about her. Madellaine sighed softly; reaching up her uninjured hand tucked a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. She wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about what had transpired this evening, and in truth, she wasn't.

"I'm fine," she answered curtly, hoping he would just drop the subject already.

"Madellaine, please." Now he was begging her, and she could never resist him when he did. Never. Her hold on his shoulders loosened, and then fell away entirely. No longer could she hold back the tears, her body trembled as a result, but still she did not raise her head. Suddenly, the back of his hand was underneath her chin and gradually pushing it upwards until her face was level with his. She closed her eyes immediately, shutting him out. She heard him sigh softly before he spoke to her again. "Open your eyes," he commanded quietly. He sounded tired, as if he really didn't want to press her, and yet, felt it imperative that he do so. "Look at me, Lena. Please."

"I…" Madellaine tried to make her voice level, but it came out all wrong anyway. "I can't!" The last word left her as a sob. "I—I should leave you alone."

"No," he answered firmly, almost angrily. He paused for a moment, then asked timidly, "Do you…you trust me?" he asked her, his voice soft.

That did it. She opened her eyes and stared at him incredulously, as if she could not believe her love had just asked her such a question. Did she trust him? What a question! She was his wife. Of course! There was no one else in all of Paris that she trusted more than him. She knew he would never lead her astray, never doubt her, never leave her, and would never, ever force her to do something she was not willing or comfortable doing. She trusted him. "With my life," she choked out, still trying to stem the tears that were falling down her cheeks. She flinched and stiffened as she realized what she'd said.

He offered her a soft smile. "Now," he began, resuming his seat in front of her. "Let me see it."

Madellaine grimaced as he laid out all his supplies and poured a little of the wine into the bowl. She was not going to enjoy this one bit.

"Can't we just leave it as is?" she begged.

Quasi shot her a withering look. "No, we can't," he snapped. "Let me see it."

Sensing there was no winning this particular fight, she

Even after knowing him for all these months, Quasi still managed to surprise the young woman with numerous facts about himself that she never could have guessed. She knew he loved reading. She did too. Their favorite story to read together was Tristan and Iseult, or one of the more colorful Bible stories. But she didn't know that he had learned medicine from the caretakers in the church or that he could for that matter. Still, for a day like today, his medical skills were much appreciated. Even if the wine stung like hell. As he gently cleaned the cut, Madellaine could tell by the strained look on his handsome face that he was battling something internally.

Something that was making it very hard for him to keep calm. She knew that look on his face… "What's wrong?" she asked softly, not sure if it was an answer he wanted to give, but still, she asked.

He sighed, put down the bloody rag and began bandaging her wound. He was trying not to think about it, trying to keep his hands busy and his mind clear, of this, Madellaine was certain. It was a moment or two before he spoke. "I…" he paused, as if unsure of whether he should continue. "I never felt so…angry before. Not since Jehan, at least. So…enraged, it's not like me!" It didn't take Madellaine long to understand what he was talking about.

"Quasi, you were scared. When people are scared, they react in ways that under normal circumstances they wouldn't. You did not hurt him, and in the end, that is all that matters."

"But I could have," he argued, his tone turning dark. "I could have easily killed him if I wanted to. And I did. I wanted to. If you hadn't stopped me—"

She shook her head in disagreement. "That's where you're wrong. I don't think you could have, even if you were in that kind of a rage, Quasi." Madellaine reached out and pressed a hand to his heart. "You would have stopped even if I hadn't been there. I know you would have. Trust me."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head and tying off the ends of the bandage. "How do you know I wouldn't?"

Madellaine smiled at him. "I know the kind of person you truly are, and you would not have killed him because your heart would not have allowed you," she reassured softly.

He opened his mouth in protest but something far off in the distance stopped him. She wasn't fooled. Madellaine knew he was referring to himself.

Madellaine pressed her lips to his forehead for a gentle kiss. "Whatever feud the two of you have, it's your battle. Don't ask me to get in the middle of it, I can respect that you two don't like each other, but I wasn't just going to let him die. What would happen to Zephyr without a father? I don't think I could live with myself if he were homeless with no family and we did nothing to help him." She bit her lip and fell silent, collapsing back into his lap.

Quasi's head turned sharply as he regarded his wife. "What do you think would happen to Zephyr? I'm not that heartless, my love. What do you think I'd do, just let him starve on the streets?" he asked incredulously. "Absolutely not. We'd take him in if it came to that. I think Phoebus is going to be okay, so I don't think it'll come to that, but if—if we had to, we'd take him in and raise him well." Notre Dame's bell ringer let out a tired, exasperated sigh.

Madellaine lowered her head and pressed her lips against his and kissed him deeply, losing herself in his succulent kiss. When she broke apart, they took shallow, deep breaths and looked at each other. "I know we'd do the right thing for Zephyr. Phoebus is going to be okay," she said softly, glancing over at the captain as he slept. Madellaine hesitated, biting her lip. "I…"

Her husband noticed her furrowed expression and frowned. "What's wrong, darling?" he asked, clutching her hand tightly in his own. "Tell me."

"I—I think it's Frederic," she whispered, hating herself for what she was about to confess, but she could not quell the feeling deep within the pit of her stomach that something was not quite right with Captain Phoebus's lieutenant.

Quasi's eyes darkened, almost black in color as he grew upset. "What's he done now?" he demanded, stifling the growl that threatened to emerge from the back of his throat. He held her steady by her shoulders, looking her over for any signs of injuries. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching. His gaze drifted down towards her stomach. "How's our baby?"

She waved away his concerns with a brush of her hand. "Our baby is just fine, Quasi, but it's Frederic I'm concerned for. I couldn't see who stabbed Phoebus, but Frederic was the only other man with us at the time and…"

Madellaine reached behind her and picked up the bloodied dagger she'd found, discarded in an unceremonious pile at Captain Phoebus's feet.

"I found this," she whispered, her voice choked and hoarse. She watched as a myriad of emotions flickered across her husband's face, from fury to confusion to heartbreak. "I think it might belong to Frederic. I recognize it."

"Sir! Is—is everything all right up here?" a man's called out. Madellaine suppressed a tiny groan as she felt Quasi's body stiffen and become tense. He gently picked her up off his lap and stood up to his full height, towering at well over six feet as Frederic de Marten dared to enter their tower.

"What the hell are you doing up here, Frederic?" Quasi growled through gritted teeth. "Follow me," he growled, not waiting to ask for his wife's permission before pulling her rather roughly to her feet, dragging her over to a closet. "Stay here," he commanded. "If Frederic is the one who stabbed Phoebus, I won't have you or our child in danger. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"What, no—you can't leave me here!" she screamed, but it was no use.

Her husband locked the door behind her, leaving her alone in darkness.

"GODDAMN YOU!" she bellowed, pounding on the door, but he'd already left. "LET ME OUT!" Her demands were met with silence as she heard the heavy pounding of his slightly lumbering footsteps as he walked.

Just a moment ago, Madellaine felt as if a cold, icy hand had somehow wrapped its stiff, dead fingers around her heart, crushing it with such strength that she nearly cried out in pain. Quasi. She didn't know how she knew, but she just…did. She considered it an intuition of being the man's wife. There was something dark and foreboding hanging about him and her worry and concern for both him and now Frederic if he couldn't control himself escalated to a new level. No longer concerned about how cramped her legs had become or the fact that her chest burned with such an intensity that it felt as if it was being stabbed by hot, white knives, she forced herself to find a way out. But she didn't possess the key, Quasi always kept it on his person now.

"No, no, no, damn it! Not now!" She cursed under her breath, panicking, twisting the un-moving knob feverishly and with intense desperation. Her mind reeled. She needed to get through the door and out onto that balcony. Frederic, however much of an ass the man might be, his life was in danger. She could not stay trapped in here. Not now!

With a harsh cry of anger and fear, the young blonde threw the entire weight of her right shoulder into the dark aged wood of the door. It did not so much as creak. It was a pointless effort to cave the door in, for it would only open towards her, not away. Frederic's life was in great danger and she was cut off from aiding the soldier who'd saved her life, and her husband was about to do something foolish she knew he would regret for the rest of his life if she couldn't get to Quasi just in time.

Madellaine balled one of her small hands into a fist and slammed it hard into the door that had become her bane. Searing pain immediately shot up her arm and she knew at once that had been a mistake. A foolish and highly unnecessary thing. Clutching her now dislocated wrist to her chest, Madellaine gritted her teeth against the pain that threatened to escape her lips. Fortunately, she had struck out her right rather than her left. She could still use her father's knife she wore in her sheath around her waist, though it would prove a challenge because she needed to use both hands to do this.

"You can do this," she encouraged, taking a deep breath and biting her tongue as she clenched her eyes shut and popped her wrist back into place.

She shoved her knuckles into her mouth to prevent her scream, but it was useless. She let it slip anyway, tears cascading down her cheeks at what she had just been forced to do. Using her uninjured hand, she jammed the tip of her father's knife into the lock, shimmying it until it came loose. "Yes!" she whispered triumphantly. Without so much as a pause, Madellaine stepped away from the now exposed lock and unsheathed her father's dagger that rested against her left hip. "I'm coming, Quasi," she whispered to the air around her, hoping that maybe her voice could somehow reach him. "Just…don't do anything, and hang on, love."

Wasting no time, Madellaine yanked her dagger out of the now twisted metal mechanisms, sheathed the blade back into her belt, and roughly pulled the door open with her uninjured hand. Not missing a beat, the young woman bolted out of the closet and out into the open the air. Her mind was only focused on one thing: saving Frederic from certain death and her husband from committing such an atrocious act he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Suddenly, Madellaine skidded to a halt before the bridge. She thought she heard…yes, there it was. "Damn."

"I thought I told you never to bother my wife again!" Her husband's voice roared, feeling his anger resurface as the young solider dared to enter his tower unannounced and without permission. But where was it coming from? It sounded like it was far off, and yet, as if it was ahead of her, somehow.

Madellaine hurried out onto the balcony tower and immediately breathed an audible sigh of relief at seeing both men. Her smile quickly faltered, however, as her attention was pulled back to Quasi, however, when he stepped even closer and pulled back the dagger to strike the man, he held in a vice grip in his arms. Her heart stopped, and raw panic swept over her like a dark shadow. "NO!" she screamed, but her plea fell on deaf ears. Oh, God.

"Oh no," she whispered, panicked. Her husband had lifted Frederic up by his arm and was dangling him precariously over the balcony's edge. "Damn, not now," she moaned, not wanting any more bloodshed. "Quasi, stop this!" she pleaded, but her cries fell on deaf ears. "Don't do this," she whispered, closing her eyes. Laverne, where are you? Get over here right now or I don't know if I'll be enough to stop him! We both know what he's capable of!

"I—I swear, I just came up to check on the captain!" shouted Frederic, his voice laced with panic. He let out a startled shout as Quasi let him drop slightly, catching him at the last second. "That's all I was doing, I—I promise. Madellaine, tell him!" Frederic pleaded.

Quasi cursed himself for his own blindness. Why had he not seen the truth? All his wife's conversations about how she thought Frederic could change, and he knew now that was unfortunately not the case. Perhaps the answer lied within himself. It was because he did not wish to see the truth about Frederic. He chose to ignore Alice and Jeanne's warnings about the boy, their reliable insight. And Madellaine, his wife. In the past, she had always spoken the truth to him. She had never once lied to him. She had done so many things to keep him safe and happy. She would never accuse Frederic of such atrocious behavior unless it was the truth. The proof was now in his own hand.

Frederic de Marten had, just now it seemed, tried to end Phoebus's life. Quasi did not know who he was angrier with: Frederic or himself. Quasi leaned in so his face was only inches from his. "Don't you talk to her!" he snarled angrily. "You don't speak to her, you don't look at her, and you don't touch her. She's my wife, Frederic. Leave her the hell alone, or I promise you, if you don't, it'll be the last thing you ever do before I end your wretched, miserable life."

The young lieutenant physically recoiled from the bell ringer's fierce gaze and biting tones. Surprisingly, Quasi felt a twinge of satisfaction that he was causing Frederic such uncertainty and fear after the torment he'd put Madellaine and now Phoebus through. He deserved someone treating him in the same manner. Still breathing heavily and quite unevenly, he raised his free hand and backhanded the young soldier so hard that his neck practically whiplashed with the force of it. "This world is full of dark, cruel people like you," he growled. "The world is well rid of you…"

Frederic's face blanched at the threat. "I swear to God, I—"

"SWEAR TO ME!" the bell ringer roared, losing his patience. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a familiar voice cried out his name. However, his thoughts and emotions warred violently within him and his mind became so clouded that he could not discern who exactly it was that the voice belonged.

His anger towards Frederic escalated to an entirely new level and all he could think of was he had almost lost his wife thanks to this soldier.

Her throat had almost been slit, and Frederic had stood by, and would have let it happen had Quasi not intervened when he did. The voice that spoke of reason and sense had all but faded from the recesses of his mind, leaving him with only his rage, loss, and pain. Thus, he raised the blade of Frederic's dagger, fully prepared to plunge it into the man's guts, as he did to Phoebus.

Something solid collided hard against his chest. Small arms wrapped themselves around his middle tightly, and something wet began to soak the front of his green tunic. And a voice. A voice calling his name. No. Begging. This voice, so frantic and frightened, was pleading with him.

"Don't do this! No, no, no, put it down! Please, please, put it down!" Through the fog of blind rage, he recognized the owner of the voice. His wife. Somehow, she'd gotten out of the closet. Her eyes were like the clouds before a storm and they shone with barely contained laughter on a good day. Her pale skin was flawless, her smile beautiful. Despite all of his wife's features, it was her smile, however, that captured his attention the most and for one reason or another, made him almost breathless every time. "Frederic is not worth this! Put down the knife right now!" she pleaded.

"Put him down, Quasimodo!" snarled Laverne, letting out a guttural roar from the back of her throat as she leapt up onto the railing with ease, ignoring the stunned soldier's expression as his eyes grew wide and round with shock at seeing a live gargoyle speak in front of him. "Listen to your wife, boy!"

Shooting his guardian a venomous look, Quasi reluctantly obliged, throwing him to the balcony floor, sending him sprawling, but not before backhanding him so hard that the crack of his jaw told both that he had broken in. Immediately, by whatever spell he had been placed under, the woman's image that was his heart shattered. Quasi was then thrust back into the dark reality of the real world and the frantic, pleading voice broke through the thick fog that shrouded his mind. "Please, Quasimodo! Don't do this!"

Her voice had become a whispered plea, as if all energy and hope left. Dazed and not fully coherent, the young bell ringer glanced downward, for that was where his wife's voice had originated from. There, with her arms wrapped around him in a vice-like hold, her face buried deep within the folds of his tunic, was the shaking, battered form of Madellaine Renee Barreau. She was sobbing. "Put it down, Quasi. I won't let you destroy yourself anymore," she whispered. Her words were so low, so quiet, that he almost did not catch them. "I promised you on our wedding night, that I'd beside you."

Gently, as if handling the most precious of china, Quasi lifted the hand wound tightly in her blonde locks and let it drift comfortingly through them in the effort to ease her trembling form. "Love?" How cracked and unsure his voice sounded. It trembled and wavered and he seemed almost unable to convince himself that his wife was real. He spoke as if he had never laid eyes upon her before. No, that was not quite right. More that he was shocked to find her in such a state, clinging to him as if he would disappear before her very eyes. Yet, at the mere waver of his soft tones, the small blonde quickly drew back her head and gazed up at him with such wonderment and elation, that he felt the feeble muscle that was his heart within his chest quiver a little.

Be it in awe or guilt, he knew not, nor did he care. "Quasi?" Her soft voice was hoarse, it cracked upon his name, and disbelief sounded within her tone, yet ever so slowly, a smile crossed across her beautiful face, and her eyes brightened with a light he had never seen, even after months of knowing her.

Stray tears flowed freely from her gray orbs and for several moments that felt like days to him, the world stood still as he met her gaze. In those moments, something passed between the married couple. What it was he did not know or understand. Only that…only that she had, yet again, saved him.

Madellaine had saved him from the darkness of his own heart. He had been about to commit something terrible, this much he knew. Yet, Lena…she had stopped him. Somehow, yet again, even in his most dangerous state of mind while his heart was filled with the most terrible, fiercest anger that put all his past episodes to shame, his wife had stopped him from doing the thing. From what, he could not remember. What had he almost done? Something black and green moved off towards his right, a movement so quick he barely had time to register what it was. Something silver flashed in the light of the fog that raged in the sky above, and in a split moment, Quasi realized what that silver was. Frederic's dagger. Then he remembered. The pain of almost losing his wife and baby to a gypsy man who was touched in the head, and now this.

The rage he still felt at Frederic de Marten for almost allowing his wife to be killed, standing by and doing nothing, resurfaced. A rage like none of the others he had ever felt before. To his horror, Quasi realized he had welcomed it. He had embraced this feeling and wanted it to stay. He needed it in times like this. He would do what he must in order to protect his wife.

He had taken up the fallen weapon in his hand and very nearly tried to…

The stream of now renewed forgotten memories halted with the outlined form of Lieutenant Frederic de Marten rose from his place on the floor, lunged forward, and snatched the dagger in his hand. Instinctively, and perhaps with more force than he meant to, he shoved Madellaine behind him, keeping one arm outstretched and took a few steps, forcing her back.

"Stay behind me," he ordered, not bothering to turn around to look at her.

Frederic shot Madellaine a withering look, steely green eyes flashed in rage and when he spoke, his tone held nothing but contempt and disgust. "I see it now," he rasped, his clawed hand, which still clutched the dagger, was beginning to shake uncontrollably. His lip curled into a snarl as his gaze fell upon Madellaine and he spat. "It was not you who spelled her into doing this all along. It was the other way around."

Quasi felt his prior fear return as the soldier's face contorted in rage and vile disgust as he gauged the young woman who sat helpless on the balcony floor behind the pair of men. Nevertheless, despite his apprehension and terror, he knew he could not allow Frederic de Marten to advance any further.

If he did so, Madellaine's life would be in utter peril, as would their baby's. She needed him more at this moment than she ever had before. He would not let de Marten hurt her. Not on his life, as useless and monstrous as it was. He visibly winced as he watched Fredric's lips curl into a cruel jeer. Whether it was due to his rage or something else entirely, Quasi did not know. "What the hell is that thing?" muttered Frederic under his breath, scrambling backwards as he staggered to his feet, dazed, as he stared at the three gargoyle companions, Hugo and Victor, had encircled Quasi and Madellaine in a protective circle, leaving Laverne to be the one to deal with the solder. Laverne bared her canines and advanced on the solider, who wasted no time in retreating down the south bell tower steps, his face pale.

Satisfied, Laverne turned back to her son and his wife, who had enveloped Madellaine in a protective hug, shielding her from Frederic. "Are you both all right?" she asked, a harsh bark to her normally kind voice. "Did he hurt either one of you? I came when I heard the commotion," she replied.

The bell ringer waved away her concerns with a brush of his hand, absentmindedly reaching down to scratch at her ear affectionately. "We're fine, Laverne," he sighed wearily. "Thank you."

"I should go check on him," Madellaine muttered suddenly, much to the outrage of her husband as he opened his mouth to protest. "Please, love. I'll be fine," she promised, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek and turning on her heel, the skirts of her dress billowing in the wind behind her as she fled down the steps after Frederic. "I can take care of myself!" she called out, smiling to herself. "Don't worry about me, I'll be back in a moment!"

Quasi hesitated, wanting to follow her, but someone needed to stay here and keep an eye on Phoebus in case he woke.

Turning to Laverne, he shot her a desperate look. "Follow her."

The great stone cat nodded, not saying a word. She didn't need to. "I will," she promised. "I know you trust Madellaine with all your heart, but—"

"It's him I don't trust," he spat bitterly. "Not for an instant."

"Something's not right with that man," Laverne growled, leaping up with ease onto a rafter beam and slinking into the shadows where she belonged. "I've felt it for quite some time. Something dark is festering in that boy's heart. I don't know what it is, but I'll look after her, Quasi. I'll come to you if I hear or see anything unusual. You have my word. Have I ever let you down?"

"Never," he said, shaking his head vehemently. "Look after her." He sighed as Laverne slinked back into the shadows to follow his wife and the soldier. "God help you both," he snapped irritably. "You both need it." A startled shout brought him out of his dark musings. Glowering, he wandered back inside his tower to their bedroom. Phoebus had stirred, his face drawn and ashen. Groaning, the captain was struggling to stand up. "Do you really think you should be standing up?" he snapped harshly, feeling the beginnings of his temper being to surface again. "You've just been stabbed, Phoebus."

Phoebus shot him a dark look. "I—I'm not just going to sit around and wait for him to come back! I'm not going to let some knife," here he spat the word as if it were poison in his mouth, "Get in my way. Whoever stabbed me, he was—he was after Madellaine," he protested weakly, wincing as he held his injured side.

Quasi stared. "Who?" he said, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. "What did you see? Did you see who stabbed you?"

It was a long moment before he spoke again. "No," he said at last, turning away sharply, and his jaw tensing. "I—I didn't. Damn fog obstructed my view."

"You shouldn't blame yourself," Quasi spoke up quietly.

Phoebus stared out at the balcony, leaning over the railing. "I don't hate you, you know," he said at last, turning to the bell ringer, who stared at him, at a loss for words. "Despite what you may think. And despite everything," he smirked, glancing down at his leg. "Over the years, I'd hoped to consider you a friend one day. I hope we can move past Esmeralda, my friend. Almost nine years is long enough."

Quasi had trouble meeting the captain's piercing gaze. When he finally found his voice again, it was shaking. "I—I don't hate you, either," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I thought I did, but…now that I have Madellaine in my life, I—I know what it is to love, and I understand what you went through with Esmeralda now. The guilt over the things I've done in my life, to you, is ice in my guts. It could be a hundred degrees out, and I'd still be frozen on the inside. I can't melt it on my own; I can't shift it at all. I've never put much faith in God, but these days, I need Him to bring his warmth, to show me I can be better, that I can still serve Him and our people. I wanted to be perfect, so much, and I know I never will be, and it kills me that I won't. It's hard for me to move past my mistakes. But still, I own them, hold them as my own, and accept that God, whether he exists or not, still loves me regardless, or at least, I hope He does, monster though I am. I only hope that by the time I'm done atoning for my past transgressions, I can feel like I've earned it. I—I'd consider you a friend, if you can find it in your heart to ever forgive me, captain," he muttered, averting the captain's gaze and looking at anything but Phoebus. Phoebus remained mute, at a loss. He could only nod.

The captain leaned against the railing, wincing at the pain in his side. His face was pale and peaky, and the circles under his eyes were pronounced, but he was alive. "What's it like being a father to Zephyr?" Quasi asked after a long silence, painfully wringing his hands together in twisting knots. His face was tense, and he avoided Phoebus's piercing hazel gaze. "I—I've always wondered," he admitted. "I'm…afraid," he confessed sheepishly. "I don't want to become like my father, but I don't know that I can help it."

Phoebus sighed, resting his chin in his hand. "It's difficult, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Parenting is the one job you never quit. Each day is a new chance to get things right, to sow seeds of love and confidence in my child. I help him find what he loves, what his talents are going to lead him to be. And then, I know that one day, I'll have to let him go. I'll have to let him know that our home is still his home should he ever need it, and that I am his father always, I will always be with him, though my body will grow old. He is my son, and my love for him is eternal and unbreakable."

The sound of a child's laughter filling their tower caused the two men to turn, startled at the outburst. To Phoebus's annoyance, Clopin ascended the bell tower steps, Zephyr in tow riding on the Romani's shoulders, relishing as the king told him a fanciful tale of his court. "Eight years ago, an evil fiend by the name of Claude Frollo set about to destroy all the gypsies in Paris," Clopin was saying in low, animated tones to Zephyr, who was staring at his father, enraptured by the story he was telling. Clopin, in a moment of anguish, looked to the endless sky of night as the memories of those dark times filtered through his mind. "It was a time of great peril and famish for my people, and for all the citizens of this great city, for he was determined to burn it to the ground just to find…"

"Your mother," Phoebus and Quasi said at the same time. They both rolled their eyes and groaned. "You're telling that story again?" the bell ringer protested. "Clopin, learn some new stories, for Christ's sake. Joseph's flight into Egypt, Saint Aphrodisius, anything but my father and Esmeralda, please. For all our sakes."

Clopin shot the bell ringer a dark look. "Quasi," he muttered gravely, his good mood ready to plummet into a sea of melancholy the second Zephyr jumped off of his back and ran into his father's arms, who winced at the pain in his ribs as he gingerly picked him up. Zephyr launched into his version of the famous tale, which consisted of pirates and monsters and other such fanciful touches that only a child's imagination could muster.

Phoebus smirked. "Sorry, Clopin, it looks like my son is trying to put you out of a job," he teased, ruffling his son's hair, which was blond and thick like his own. His mood instantly returned to normal as he laid eyes on Quasi, his gaze briefly lingering over the man's scar and his flame of red hair as he greeted his friend. "Quasi," he muttered cordially, reaching out his hand to shake it. "It's been too long since I've visited. I hope I am not interrupting."

The bell ringer shook his head, lost in his own musings. He crossed his arms and leaned against the balcony railing, watching for any signs of Frederic or Madellaine. "No," he answered simply. He turned back to Clopin, a small grin on his face as he listened to Zephyr's tirade as the story grew in length and colorful exaggeration. "But next time, tell the boy a different story, Clopin. He's heard the same one repeatedly. We all have," he growled darkly, his eyes darkening. "What of the vagabond that attacked my wife?"

Clopin turned his gaze to the sky, struggling to see through the mists of Paris as the fog rolled in. He let out a weary sigh. "Dead. The de Marten boy killed him, but he wasn't one of mine, Quasi, so don't pin this mess on me. And as for me not having any new stories, I have a feeling there will be new stories to tell Zephyr and the other children in my encampment soon enough," he muttered. And in that moment, Clopin had no idea just how right he was. His slender fingers pressed into the skin of his forearms, nails biting in the layer of fine dust, drawing beads of blood. His whole body shook, bones rattling in the constant fear of the future that loomed before him. Heart pounding so hard against his rib cage as his pulse pressed outward, jerking the veins within.

What loomed before him he feared, and what was trailed behind made him sad, and in no way could he stay rooted in the present when the time would just push ahead. No, the way to the future always had to be forward. I know I'm anxious when I feel the wind more keenly in my eyes; it's that tearless stage when the eyes take on a sheen of water and a tension builds behind them. I need to shake it off. Now isn't the time or place for tears. Today is a day for gallows humor and false confidence. There it goes again, my inner dialogue, but it's not my friend. It whispers to me, "Everything has gone wrong, it's terrible, no way back, disaster, and ruin..." The world seems closer to my eyes and the air becomes soupier, harder to breathe. A glossy sheen coats my eyes that wasn't there before and my thoughts scatter like there's a storm in my head, too many thoughts to make any sense. All the while the only thing that comes through is "You're failing, it's over, give up, run away..."