A/N: Thank you so much for everyone who continues to read, comment, and like/follow the story! Sorry for the delay - I started my student teaching internship and I've spent the past few weeks mostly in survival mode. Now that I've settled in a bit, I'll hopefully be able to update a little more frequently.

Six

Diversions

Sundown found Athos strapping on the last of his gear, prepared for another night of patrolling the palace. A week and a half had passed since one of Queen Anne's servants had been found viciously murdered in the hallway, and while there had been no further deaths, there was a palpable air of tension and fear hanging over the Louvre. And so, every night since then, he had ridden to the palace with Porthos and Aramis, patrolled all over, searched for any sign of whatever monster had torn the girl, Caroline Joubert, to pieces.

He couldn't help but feel uneasy as he strapped his belt around his waist. Whatever it was he kept feeling at the palace, that thing he had encountered the first night there, it was still there. It hadn't come to him since that first patrol, but he could feel it in the palace. Remembered the cold chill down his back as it had whispered his name to him – Olivier, Olivier. With a muttered curse, he grabbed his hat and all but yanked it onto his head, throwing open the door and striding towards the yard. He hadn't made it any more than a half-dozen steps when someone hurried up next to him.

"Athos!"

"D'Artagnan, shouldn't you be in bed?"

The boy had recovered well enough from his injuries; his right wrist was still healing, but the scratches had closed up with no infection and he had been spending more and more time out of the tiny bed he occupied in the infirmary. Seeing as Athos's room was well across the courtyard from the infirmary, however, he was surprised to see the Gascon boy around.

"I came to find you," he said. "How does anyone around here tell who lives where? I can't tell the bloody rooms apart…"

"Trade secret." Athos stopped, furrowing his brow. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Aramis sent me to find you," d'Artagnan answered. "Treville wants to see you. Now."

Now never meant anything good, not in Treville's world. And so, Athos hustled across the yard and up the stairs to Treville's quarters, nearly running headlong into Aramis as he did. Heavy footsteps on the steps behind him meant that Porthos was coming, too. Aramis was in the middle of drawing his gloves on, and his customary array of belts and baldrics was missing – he must have been summoned in the middle of getting geared up for their nightly patrol at the palace.

"What do you think it is?" Athos asked, not wasting time with pleasantries.

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "What do I think it is? Or what am I afraid that it is?"

"Another dead servant, y'think?" Porthos asked, taking the steps between himself and his companions two at a time.

"Why else would Treville insist on seeing us now, when we're about to go to the palace to patrol?" Athos asked, leading the way to the captain's office. He rapped on the door, receiving a gruff invitation to enter from the other side.

The captain was sitting at his desk, looking over a missive whose wax seal looked like it had just barely had time to dry before it had been broken. He looked up as the three men entered, hats all held respectively in front of them instead of worn on their heads.

"Captain," Athos greeted, ever the spokesperson for the group.

"Good, you got my message." He sighed, putting the letter down. "You're not going to the palace tonight."

"What do you mean, we're not going to the palace tonight?" Aramis asked, frowning.

"The King an' Queen are expecting us there for patrol," Porthos added.

"I know." Treville shook his head. "I just got word in from Cardinal Richelieu. He says that one of the groundskeepers reported seeing a large animal of some kind run off the grounds just before sunset this evening. Thinks it might be whatever killed the girl at the palace. He wants me to send his three best Huntsmen, and, well…that'd be the three of you."

"Not that we're not flattered by the description," Athos remarked, "but who's going to be patrolling the palace if we're chasing down some werewolf?"

"I will," Treville answered. "Along with a regiment of Huntsmen. The Cardinal is blessing the palace tonight – he thinks that he can get rid of whatever foul creature is holding up there by going through and blessing the place. I will be accompanying him, as well as a handful of other Huntsmen."

He gives Athos a look – it's so quick that the others don't see it, but Athos nods, once, a quiet gesture. While he knows that Treville knows they are the best hunters in the garrison and that they'd be the most obvious choices to protect the Cardinal, as well as Their Majesties, this strange and sudden mission was something of a Godsend, however small of one it was. It, at least, would keep Athos from being found out by two of the three most important people in Paris – and two of the most important people in his life.

Porthos opens his mouth to argue, but Athos cuts him off. "Very well. Where was the beast headed?"

"The groundskeeper said towards the Porte Saint-Antoine," Treville answered. "It's probably out of the city by now."

"I'm sure we'll be able to track it," Aramis said. "After all, as you said, we are the best."

"Then see to it that you find the beast," Treville said with a firm nod. "Dismissed."

They all nodded, leaving the captain's office and heading back down to the courtyard. Porthos and Athos, already geared up and ready to set out, went to fetch the horses while Aramis finished putting on all his belts and baldrics. As they were tacking up, Porthos shot Athos a crooked grin.

"Well, I know trash duty isn't your favorite," he said with a chuckle – trash duty was the affectionate term for making runs to dispose of one or two creatures, and was usually Treville's way of disciplining a Huntsman who had done something wrong. "But it does beat followin' that windbag Richelieu around all night, don't it?"

Athos smirked a little. Oh, if only Porthos knew the whole truth of it.

"Yes, Porthos. I supposed it does."

The thurible swung back and forth slowly, filling the immediate area with the heady smell of incense. It was heavy, and the Latin tome that Richelieu held in his other hand was hardly any lighter; fortunately, he knew the Masses by heart, so the heavy book was only open for the sake of looks, and he didn't have to strain to read it by the flickering torch light.

It was a rather regal procession for one taking place so late in the evening. Richelieu, resplendent in his red robes, ornamental cross – a gift from the Pope himself – hanging around his neck, glittering in the light from the torches, led the procession. Louis and Anne, both dressed in their finest Easter Mass attire, followed behind; Anne would, methodically, take the cross around her neck and press it to her lips, silently mouthing along with the Cardinal's rites. The king's most trusted advisors followed, walking two abreast, and finally, Captain Treville and a guard of three Huntsmen brought up the rear, hats to their chests and each with a hand on the guard of their swords. Richelieu had been pleased to note that, as had been demanded and carefully planned for, Athos was not among the guard.

She would be pleased.

They turned down another corridor, this one a little disused, judging by the cobwebs hanging around. Richelieu continued his rite, his voice echoing through the empty corridor, eyes scanning the darkness ahead of him. While there was nothing visible to be seen, he could feel it…their party was not alone in the hallway.

There! Tucked into an alcove up ahead, he caught it – a flash of a crimson gown, quickly retreating out of the light cast by the approaching torch-bearers. As they passed the niche in the wall, he glanced into it out of the corner of his eye, seeing nothing but a pair of luminous green eyes staring at him. They disappeared quickly, before the rest of the party could see, but the look in those eyes stuck with him, sending a cold chill through him under his robes.

That was the look that said they needed to talk.

It was well past two in the morning by the time that the king and queen had finally pardoned Richelieu for the night and retired to their quarters. He hurried down the hall, back into the empty wing that he had led the procession through earlier. The heady smell of incense still hung in the air as he hurried through the halls, footsteps echoing on the stone floors. The chill down his spine, the prickling of the hair on the back of his neck standing up, told him that she was still there and waiting for him.

He hurried around the corner, heading for the alcove in which she had been earlier. To his surprise, she was standing in the corridor, staring out one of the tall arch windows at the moonlit gardens. The moonlight washed out her skin even more, making her look ethereal, turning her crimson dress almost the color of spilled blood.

"Cardinal," she greeted coldly, glancing at him as though he bored her. A sneer crossed her face at the sight of the cross at his neck. "Please, keep your distance."

"I was planning on it." Richelieu glowered at her. She turned to face him.

"Is there a problem, Cardinal?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same question, Milady." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Was there a reason for the look you gave me earlier?"

"As I recall, you seemed to be in a hurry for me to enact your grand plans, Cardinal." She gave a small, annoyed sigh. "And now, I find you performing some song-and-dance to…what end?"

"The King insisted that I cleanse the palace," Richelieu said. "And, as I recall, you've not completed the task."

"I've gotten the attention of Their Majesties, haven't I?"

"By slaughtering a palace servant?" Richelieu shook his head. "Gotten their attention, yes. Made any progress in our plans? No."

"Our plans? Or your plans?"

"You know what I think the problem is?" Richelieu asked, ignoring the question. "I believe you're…distracted."

"Distracted? Hardly, Cardinal. There's nothing to distract me." Her face remained impassive, even a bit disgusted, but there was a flash of something in her eyes – something that Richelieu latched onto immediately.

"Tell me, are all vampires this terrible at lying, or are you exceptional in that respect, Milady?"

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, eyes hard as she glared at him. "I am not distracted, Cardinal."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, trying not to smirk. "Then the presence of the Huntsman Athos would not have bothered you here. And yet, as I recall, you were quite adamant that he should not be present tonight. Wasn't that why I was supposed to send that missive to Captain Treville?"

The look on her face told him that he had hit the nail of the issue right on the head. He closed the distance between the two of them, comforted by the large cross around his neck, by the way she recoiled from it, lips curling into a snarl and giving a soft hiss. He took her by her shoulders, leaning in close.

"If this keeps up, we're both going to find ourselves with our heads on the chopping blocks," he hissed. "And yours will go on the block before mine. You need to get rid of this distraction of yours, this…Athos. Whatever history you have with him, keep it where it belongs: In the past. Because you work for me now."

"I work for you?" She jerked out of the Cardinal's hold. "We work for each other, Cardinal."

"Get rid of your distractions," Richelieu snarled. "I gave you a job. I want it done."

She cut him a cold glare, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her hair. "Oh, trust me…I'll get it done."

She swept past him, checking him in the shoulder quite hard as she passed. Once she was gone, Richelieu allowed himself to relax, making sure she was far away that she couldn't hear his heart pounding. There had been something in her eyes…something that had said that, had he not been wearing that cross, he would have been a very, very dead man.

The garrison was surprisingly quiet, given the time – it was the witching hour, Milady had expected to see far more hunters around. The more she considered it, however, the more it made sense that there were so few Huntsmen about – they were out, patrolling the city, on assignments, the things hunters did.

He wasn't here. She couldn't feel him there, couldn't smell him. Even after five years, she would have known him, known his presence.

There was, however, another familiar face. The Gascon boy she had remembered seeing in the tavern well over a week ago, the one she'd left for the werewolf she'd smelled in the alley. He was seated at a table, picking at a bowl of stew; the bandages wrapped around his one wrist, as well as the way he sat, favoring one side over the other, suggested he was still recovering from his injured, but…he didn't smell of werewolf. He had survived the attack without being bitten. She couldn't help but smirk a bit. He had the Devil's luck, that much, she had to admit.

I suppose he could help me out…

"Excuse me?" she ventured, coming up behind him, her hood up, making sure to keep her face in the shadows. "Could you direct me to Captain Treville?"

"Oh…he's, uh, he's not in right now," the boy – d'Artagnan, she recalled him calling himself – said, jumping slightly at her sudden appearance, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Oh. Do you know when he'll be returning?"

"He should be back before dawn…"

She offered him the barest hint of a smile, watching the blush on his face deepen from pink to crimson. "Well, I suppose I shall have to come back. Thank you…"

He nodded and turned away – and she knew that was her cue to dart away as quick as she could. She hurried, darting under the staircase and out of sight just as soon as d'Artagnan turned around, the look on his face somewhere between confusion and recognition.

"Don't I - ?" He looked around, frowning. She pressed a hand to her mouth to smother a giggle as he searched the yard for a moment to try to determine where she'd gone, before he sighed, shook his head, and turned back to his bowl.

She knew taking the stairs was out – he would see her – so she disappeared towards the back of the garrison, finding the opposite end of the suspended balcony. She leapt, grabbing the balcony and pulling herself over it with fluid grace, striding down the balcony, passing doors until she stopped at what she could only guess was Captain Treville's door. The door wasn't locked, and she slipped in easily.

"The Cardinal wants you out of the way," Milady murmured to herself, crossing the room, towards the trunk standing under Treville's window, the smell of blood getting stronger every step. She couldn't help the grin that spread over her face. She hadn't come to the garrison with a solid plan, but now…everything was falling together nicely.

The trunk was locked…but that was no problem. She placed a hand around the ornate locking mechanism on the trunk, digging her nails in, hearing the wood creak and splinter under her grip. It only took a sharp pull and a split-second, then, the lock was securely in her hand and there was a gaping hole in the front of the trunk. She threw the metal aside, opening the trunk, taking in the sight of bottles packed in tight, full of dark-red liquid. She picked one up, turning it over in her hands with a grin, before she pitched it to the floor. It broke with a satisfying crash, its contents oozing out and filling the room with the salty smell of it.

"But why get my hands dirty when I can just watch you destroy yourself?"

It was nearly dawn when Athos, Porthos, and Aramis rode up to the gates of the garrison, the latter two weary and ready for bed, the former keeping a nervous eye on the horizon. As they passed through the gates, Aramis yawned, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Well," he said, disappointed, "that was a waste."

"Tell me 'bout it," Porthos agreed, reining in his horse in the middle of the yard as the stable hand hurried forward. "Ride all the way out to the bleeding borders for a pack of wild dogs pickin' at a sheep carcass. Not what I took this job to do."

"We didn't ride all the way out to the borders," Athos remarked crisply, dismounting his steed. Roger snorted, nudging his nose against Athos's shoulder before allowing the stable boy to take his reins.

"You get what I mean," Porthos said. "Ride all that way for a bunch of wild dogs. Groundskeeper blind or something?"

"Now, Porthos, don't be rude," Aramis said with a barely-contained smile. "He might just be stupid."

"Or drunk," his companion added with a rumble of laughter.

"At any rate," Athos said, catching the attention of his comrades, "I'll report in to Captain Treville. Let him know it was a false alarm."

Aramis glanced at him, brow furrowing, studying his face long enough that it made Athos glare at him.

"What?"

"You don't think it was a false alarm, do you?"

Truth to tell, Athos didn't think it was a false alarm. He had been thinking all night, on the ride out after this supposed beast the palace groundskeeper saw, while poking around looking for this 'vicious man-eating werewolf', and all on the ride back, that it all seemed…off. That on the night the Cardinal has insisted on going to the palace himself with a thurible packed full of incense and a copy of the Latin Bible, dressed in his most ornamental robes and claiming that he'd be blessing the palace – or, as he claimed, using the power of God to rid the palace of its menace – that the werewolf they suspected had killed the girl at the palace, Caroline, would pop up. Take the three most prominent of the King's Huntsmen out of the city until damn near dawn.

It all seemed a little suspicious.

But to accuse the Cardinal of such would only invite scorn from the Cardinal and the possibility of the King's wrath.

Besides, Athos had no solid evidence. Just a gnawing feeling in his gut.

"It was probably just a mistake," he said with a shrug. "I'll go report to Treville."

He crossed the yard, ascending the stairs to Treville's office. Distantly, he heard Aramis murmur to Porthos.

"I don't think he thinks this was just a mistake."

"Good," Porthos replied quietly, as Athos reached the top of the staircase. "That makes two of us."

Athos couldn't help but smirk at the statement, striding down the walkway and stopping at Treville's door, giving a sharp knock. He could smell something, sharp and tangy and awfully familiar, enough to make his mouth water.

It can't be…can it..?

Treville opened the door only enough to peer out, his expression grave. "The werewolf?"

He shook his head. "A pack of wild dogs. A mistake."

"You don't think so."

"Is it really that obvious?" With the door open wider, Athos could smell it now, and there was no mistaking what it was. He clenched his hands at his sides, swallowing hard at the sudden tightness in his throat, mouth filling with saliva at the smell. "Captain…are you…are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Treville answered. "You…you might want to step inside, Athos."

He opened the door just wide enough for the Huntsman to slip inside. He did, pushing the door closed behind him, turning…and then he froze, hardly able to believe what he was seeing.

The two trunks that had been placed under the windows in the captain's chambers had been overturned, their contents – bottles – strewn and broken across the floor. Most of the bottles had been full, and now, the liquid inside of them was soaking into the floorboards, thick and crimson, the smell enough to make Athos's head spin in delight, even as his heart dropped in horror. He staggered forward a few feet, dropping to his knees and picking up a half-shattered bottle, watching in some strange mixture of horror and fascination as the liquid inside of it dribbled out. He touched his fingers to it, put his shaking hand to his lips, letting the taste of it, copper and salt, wash over his tongue.

"Oh…"

"I'm sorry, Athos," Treville apologized grimly.

"Is..?"

He nodded. "Every bottle. There's little I can do to save it, I'm afraid."

There was so much of it on the floor; he could have lowered his head and lapped at it like a dog at a stream. For a moment, the idea passed through his mind, and just as soon as it came, it was gone, leaving him feeling sick with shame. Was he really so controlled by his thirst that he'd resort to licking blood off the floor like an animal? He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Who did it?"

"I don't know." Treville dropped something heavy in front of him. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was the lock to one of the trunks. It had been ripped from the face of the trunk; Athos picked it up, turning it over in his hands, heart sinking. "But whoever did it, they weren't human."

"And they knew just what they were looking for," Athos remarked. "And what they were doing."

Things were starting to make sense now. Treville had been at the palace that evening, leading a regiment of lesser-trained Huntsmen in guarding the King and Queen while Richelieu conducted his song and dance of blessing the palace. And he had been out with Porthos and Aramis, chasing down some werewolf that probably never existed in the first place. That would have given whoever had destroyed the stash enough time to make it to Treville's unguarded office, break into the trunks, and destroy the bottled blood.

Destroying the blood was a calculated move. Without regular access to Treville's stores, he would either have to scrounge for himself or starve it out. Scrounging for himself was just a bad idea, he'd learned the hard way. Starving it out? He'd have about a week, tops, before things started getting bad.

And once they got bad, well…he knew they would get very bad, very quick.

Whoever had done this, they had known what they were doing.

It wasn't random. The assignment they'd gone to deal with wasn't real – it was a cleverly-planned deception to get them away from the garrison for a while. To make sure Athos was gone.

It was personal.

Athos sighed, staring down at the lock in his hand. Treville came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll try to replenish the stock as quickly as I can."

"Thank you, Captain."

"But in the meantime, you can't go without. You know that."

"I know."

"You know that, if it comes down to it – "

"No." The offer had been a standing one ever since Treville had found him out four years ago, but it was an offer he absolutely refused to take. "I can't."

Treville let go of his shoulder, looking down at him gravely. "You have to do something."

"I know." He stood, handing the busted lock back to Treville. "Do you want me to help you clean?"

"It's fine, I've got it," Treville insisted, shaking his head. "Just…go and get some rest."

He nodded, heading for the door to the office, knowing he could get back to his room before the sun really came up. Just as his hand closed over the doorknob, however, Treville spoke.

"Athos?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Yes Captain?"

"Be careful."

Be careful. There was a lot that could be meant by those two words – and right now, he was willing to be that Treville wasn't just talking about being on the lookout from some crazed, probably inhuman man bent on destroying him in one way or another. Athos sighed, a tiny, rueful smile pulling at his lips.

"When am I not, sir?"