Patience sat on the rickety bed in her rented room, knees tucked against her chest and one arm wrapped around them. She nodded as the older woman on the other end of her cellphone droned on about how she needed to be careful, and keep her wits about her.
"I know, Agatha, don't worry." Patience said reassuringly.
"How can I not worry? You're like a child to me, if that hooligan tries anything funny you'll be in a bad way!" The eccentric professor chided into the phone. "And besides that, this Jean-Luc character sounds like an absolute cad!" Patience smiled and rolled her eyes.
"I can handle myself, Aggie. I'm the one who got us out of that mess in Cairo, remember?" There was a stubborn pause and then Agatha sighed.
"You had better not get yourself killed, I simply can't imagine having to make that phone call to your inept, oxygen waste of a mother." Agatha sounded stern and flustered, but Patience knew she was only genuinely concerned.
"I'm too stubborn to die, you've said so yourself a thousand times, besides the point I got some information about him from the bartender."
"The most reliable of sources, I'm sure." Agatha groaned.
"Well she was trying to get in my pants, so I'll bet my sweet ass that the information is good." Patience heard a snort on the other end of the line and knew that the humor had softened Agatha's mood a bit.
"Alright, let's hear it." The professor still sounded utterly strung out with worry, but she sounded less cross.
"Apperently he is an eccentric, he owns half a town and an ancient church that he sells tours of. I've seen the website, he's had amazing restorative work done and has a priest who keeps the history of the place and gives mass three times a week. He's an extreme sportsman, likes fast cars and loose women." Patience paused to chuckle "Apparently I'm not particularly his type. He must actually be interested in the history and just want to help." She brushed her hair behind her left ear and stood up, crossing her room and grabbing the little pink card off of her nightstand. "Think I should call the bartender?" Patience asked in amusement. ~Camille~ flashed at her in little pink foil letters.
"Never fuck where you drink." Agatha answered immediately. "That can get ugly. What is the name of the town? I'd like to do my own research."
"La Fleur de Bois." Patience waited to hear keys tapping or some crude comment from her former professor, but there was only a moment of silence.
"You mean to tell me Jean-Luc De Bois has offered to help you?" There was more than a comfortable amount of disbelief in her voice.
"Yeah?" Patience waited a long moment for a response. "Aggie?"
"Let him help you." Agatha answered firmly.
"What? That is an awfully sudden change of tune. A moment ago you were calling him a cad." Patience put her hand on her hip and examined her messy desk as she spoke.
"You don't understand!" Agatha urged. "He is an enormous patron of historical excavations and research, if you get him to patronize you, you won't have to worry your pretty little head about getting grants ever again!" Agatha's smooth voice was tight with excitement. She sounded as though her star pupil had struck the lottery. Patience sat down on the bed and rubbed her brow.
"You mean I just so happened to bump into a walking piggybank that only pays out for historical research?" She didn't even want to get her hopes up. She had been having shit luck for months. Ever since she had landed in this damn country things had been going wrong, or not going at all.
"Bet your sweet ass on that, sweet heart." Agatha whistled. "Are you sure you aren't his type? A little leg wouldn't hurt your odds."
"Christ, Aggie." Patience laughed. "I've gotta go, I have an early morning." The woman on the other end hummed and gave a sigh.
"Alright, well have fun enchanting your piggy bank." Agatha gave a smooch into the phone and Patience responded in kind before hanging up.
"Well, shit." Patience said as she looked at her floor. Things might be looking up after all.
Agatha's POV
Agatha clicked her phone shut and looked across the table at the handsome young frenchman before her. They sat in the corner of her immense study, illuminated by the lonely light of a single tiffany lamp.
"I've practically handed her to you." She snapped. "Don't you dare fuck this up, do you understand me?" The lithe, blonde woman glared daggers and the frenchman would not meet her eyes. He instead stared shamefully at the spine of a particularly broad book of runes.
"If I do this, you'll let me die? You'll let me be with my sweet Delphine?" Jean-Luc looked up and barely met her eyes, but she could see the anguish there, in his soul. It had been four hundred years since she had cursed him. Four hundred years since he had committed an unspeakable crime, worth centuries of torment.
"Yes. I will let you die." Agatha spat. "But I cannot vouch for what will be done with you after that. The afterlife is not nearly as merciful as I." She watched him flinch, like a schoolboy after a firm slap to the face. "You should have never crossed me." Agatha folded her hands in her lap. She was a force to be reckoned with, and her fury was palpable.
"How do you know she is the right one?" Jean-Luc whispered. Agatha scoffed and pinched her brow in anger.
"I have groomed this girl since she was a child!" Agatha said coldly. "And on top of that she has more guts than you ever did." Agatha moved her hands and looked at the man. "Don't fail me Gaston, or you'll never get to die. A girl for the task only comes round once in many centuries. This is your last chance."
Jean-Luc swallowed. His ears had not heard his Christian name in centuries, and it burned him. He was not that man anymore.
"I will not fail you."
At the Castle.
The dower procession followed the casket as it was born across the castle grounds to the cemetery. Five butlers and Lumier carried their burden with grace, and held it aloft for all to see, and to mourn. Their meager cemetery had grown from a small patch of headstones, to a maze of some two hundred graves. The Beast, stalking silently at the rear of the procession saw each stone as an open wound. He had failed them. He had been the sole cause for every grave. Lumier and the butlers came to the stone altar that had been placed before the open grave with care. Gently, they placed the wooden box atop it, and the butlers stepped aside to join the rest of the procession. Lumier bowed his head in silence for a time, standing next to the casket with one hand resting on the lid. Mrs. Pots sobbed into her son's shoulder, and the boy struggled to comfort her while he held the precious roses for the casket. Every one of the gardeners had spent all morning selecting the finest blooms with care. The Beast observed as if detached from the scene. His dead eyes watched as Lumier lifted the lid of the casket and stepped aside. Cogsworth lay within, dressed in his finest clothes and pale as freshly fallen snow. One wrinkled hand clutched his precious pocket watch and the other held a wooden cross above his heart. His face was utterly peaceful. At the sight of him Mrs. Pots released a pitiful wail and sobs erupted throughout the group of mourners. They had found him at the castle gates. They all knew not to go through the gates, that death would greet them should they try. Cogsworth had taken his own life the only way any of them could, and it had shocked them all. Lumier folded his hands before him and looked at his fellows. Chip calmed , squeezing her and drying her tears with his handkerchief. Lumier cleared his throat, and all looked to him, with pained faces, for words of comfort.
"Cogsworth, was as a father to us all… He was wise, loyal and dedicated." Lumier paused and took a moment to swallow the lump in his throat. He had never given a eulogy before. Cogsworth had always borne that burden. "For centuries he was our support, and council, reminding us all to keep faith, and to hold out for the day we would be free." Lumier looked to his Master. The Beast would not meet his eyes. "His departure comes as a shock to us all… But friends we must not lose faith." The many eyes looked to Lumier now for their comfort. In them Lumier could see his own anguish reflected and he struggled quietly for the words that would soothe them. With Cogsworth gone, the responsibility of leading the household fell heavily on Lumier's shoulders. "Cogsworth was an aging man when the curse was placed upon us. He had reached the end of his years and yet, for six hundred more he denied himself peace so that he may nurture us, and soothe our souls." Lumier looked into the faces of each of his fellows, silently urging them to hear him, and to truly accept his words. "Cogsworth was forever hounded by the hands of time, stuck in the aching twilight years, forever bearing a smile and ignoring his own pains in order to guide us through ours." Lumier paused to choose his next words carefully. "To lose faith now, after he sacrificed so much for us, would be the utmost betrayal to his memory." The words came down like a hammer to a nail. "To ignore his teachings, once he finally felt we were ready to go on without him, once he allowed himself to take the peace he was owed six hundred years before, would be to turn our backs on his sacrifice… We are as birds, thrust from the nest, frightened and unsure, but we must find our own way now... We must honor his memory as it deserves to be honored." The air was thick with sorrow, but Lumier could see the silent agreement on the faces before him. He had said what needed to be said, as Cogsworth would have wanted. There need be no rambling speech for such a man. Cogsworth was a believer in the power of words, and had, in life, made a point not to waste them. Lumier nodded to Chip and the boy came forward, bearing the roses. Lumier took a single bloom, and laid it gently inside the casket. "Goodbye old friend. It was a pleasure to have served with you." Once Lumier stepped aside the procession came forward, each taking a rose in their turn and saying a final word for their dearly departed head of household.
The Beast watched, still as an ugly statue. He could feel nothing. Within him, his demons were silent, leaving him to rot in his own torment. The Master watched as a cluster of petals were caught in the breeze and drifted gently to fall at his feet. He stared at them, as red as blood drops, and utterly fragile. A long, sorrowful howl rose out of his throat,and as if permitted by his show of emotion, every servant began to weep.
Patience lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't quite remember when she had woken, or how long she had been staring into the darkness, but there was a deep sadness settled in her chest. It had been a long time since she had felt the heavy press of sorrow against her ribs, and what was worse, was that she couldn't reason with it. A lead had fallen into her lap in the form of a rich, handsome stranger, and yet the thought brought her no solace. With a groan she sat up and ran a hand through her hair. A flashing light on her nightstand caught her attention and she grabbed her light blinked many times before she built up the nerve to open her phone. At this hour it could only be one person, and she didn't want to give her sorrow anything to grab onto. Reluctantly she flipped her phone open and frowned at the screen as the unnatural, blue light jabbed at her eyes.
One new message. She sighed and quickly pressed the little green button.
Bradley
Baby, I know it's late. Please call.
Patience scoffed and clicked her phone shut. Nope. She wouldn't be going down that rabbit hole. Despite her crushing depression, she wasn't nearly drunk enough to make that mistake. Bradley's handsome smiling face flashed in her mind and she cursed. It had been months and she could still remember the exact shade of his eyes. The sorrow in her chest turned into a gripping ache that squeezed her heart and made it hard to breathe. The whole reason she had taken this assignment, when Agatha recommended her for it, was to get away and to forget his stupid, cheating face. Now that she had what seemed to be a solid lead it was as if her mind had decided it was time to dredge up the scum. Patience pressed her fingers to her temples and sighed. Everyone had tried to warn her about him. Everyone had been able to see exactly what kind of guy he was and yet she had just skipped along after him like a stupid school girl, thinking how lucky she must be to have such a handsome man pay any attention to her. She'd given that scum four years of her life and he hadn't deserved two moments of it. Jean-Luc looked a lot like him. Same eyes, same build, same cocky grin, same damn mistake all over again. Patience kicked her legs off the side of the bed and stood up. The cold wooden floor numbed her feet as she stumbled to her work desk and pulled on the chain to the ancient little lamp. The soft glow filled the room and she squinted at the pile of papers there. She had to find something to distract herself, but she'd seen it all before. Every squigle, every scribbled note was too familiar. Papers crinkled plaintively as she shuffled through them, trying to find something for her mind to chew on, but there was nothing. With a growl she tossed the papers down. God she wanted to get drunk. A few good shots of whiskey would wipe her mind clean of the pain that was festering there, but she couldn't risk being unfit for the trip tomorrow. Her eyes caught sight of the little pink card that had fluttered to the floor while she rummaged through papers. It taunted her, offering such a lovely distraction, one from which she could not receive a hangover. Slowly she bent down and retrieved the card.
It was a fun game to play in her head, but she would never call, not on a night like this, she couldn't possibly risk it. Any other night she would call up the flirty, little bartender and give her a dalliance to remember, but her desire to find the chapel was too strong. Slowly she set the card back on her desk and plopped onto her bed in defeat. She was going to have to deal with this like an adult, even if only for one night. She nibbled on her thumb and gazed absently as she remembered everything. All the lies, the pain, the betrayal. She'd been broken the day she caught Bradley cheating and she had never actually put the pieces back together. She'd just run away, and had been flying by the seat of her pants ever since. Any time she slowed down, the pain and the sorrow would creep back in. Tomorrow would fix that, she had to believe it. If she found the chapel everything would be better. She would have something to submerge herself in. One hand ran through her mass of auburn curls and she sighed. When had her passion become an obsession? Ever since she was little she had been enchanted by ancient things and the stories they could tell her. Agatha had taught her how to read buildings, and items and bones, and how to hear the faintest whispers of the past. Whenever she touched an artifact it was like magic. She would get a powerful rush and suddenly she would see the story in her head, clear as day...When had her search for stories become so utterly desperate? With a heavy sigh Patience laid back in her bed and stared at her ceiling. She hadn't felt this bitter in months. It was almost like the sorrow didn't really belong to her, but it was there all the same.