They left the room where the vampires' nest had been, and stood just outside the ruined walls of the château.
The morning light was now in full blaze. Mademoiselle Enjolras, standing wreathed in its topaz fire, her expression exhausted but exalted, looked everything a Slayer should be: transcendent and implacable and blindingly pure.
Combeferre could not help feeling awestruck for a moment, but he pushed it aside. He had duties to perform. The first was seeing to the mental state of Mlle Enjolras. "Mademoiselle," he began, "you have suffered tremendously of late. You have my deepest sympathies for what the vampires did to your family."
Mlle Enjolras looked at him. "What exactly are vampires?"
"A vampire is the dead body of a human being," Combeferre said, "devoid of a soul. The human's soul is departed like any dead person's, but the body lives on, possessed by a bloodthirsty demon."
"How are they created?"
Combeferre's upbringing had placed enough emphasis on propriety that he felt uneasy discussing blood and carnage with a young lady—even if that young lady was a vampire slayer whom he had just witnessed engaging in some carnage herself. Stifling his discomfort, he said, "A vampire turns a human into a vampire by biting him, drinking his blood until nearly the point of death, and then forcing the human to drink the vampire's blood in the last seconds before the human's death. The new vampire will then rise from the human's grave, in the human's body, but the human's soul will be gone—the demon will have taken its place."
Mlle Enjolras's lip curled with disgust, but she said nothing.
"Before we leave this place," Combeferre said, after a moment, "we will need to discuss many practical matters. If you wish to...to think, or to pray, or to collect yourself in quiet, before wrestling with the demands of the world, and the demands of your powers...well, this would be a good time and place for it. I suggest you stay here as long as you wish. I will leave you alone, if you like, or...if you would like company, if you would like to talk about your family, or..."
Combeferre paused, feeling very clumsy, especially when confronted with the girl's continuing silence. This sort of thing was not his forte at all. But he soldiered on. "Anything at all. Either way, I will wait for you, either here or," he gestured vaguely, "a little further off, to give you some peace and quiet."
Mlle Enjolras said, very quietly, "There is no need for you to go away, Monsieur, but I would like to stay here for some time. I find myself in need of silence."
"Of course," said Combeferre.
Mlle Enjolras sat down on a crumbled bit of wall and looked out to the risen sun. Combeferre seated himself a short distance away from her, close enough to be called if she wanted anything, but far enough to give her space for her own thoughts.
They remained silent, looking off into the sunlit houses and farms in the distance. Combeferre did not notice the time pass. He felt suspended, tranquil, not waiting for anything, not expecting anything, simply being, drenched in the light.
When Mlle Enjolras stirred, nearly two hours had passed, but Combeferre only knew it because his watch told him so. She came over to stand in front of him, looking very solemn and very composed. He could not tell from her face whether or not she had wept during their long soundless interval. "I believe I am ready to discuss those practical matters you referred to, Monsieur Combeferre."
"The first question is to decide your living arrangements," Combeferre said. "Is there any family you would like to stay with?"
Mlle Enjolras narrowed her eyes at him, frowning. "Even if there were, would that be possible? Surely, if I am to continue with this sacred duty you spoke of so eloquently, for the aid and salvation of all humanity, I cannot live with family. They would create difficulties for the fulfillment of my role. Surely I must live apart."
"That would be the most convenient path in many ways, Mademoiselle. But if you wish to live with your surviving relatives and fulfill your role as the Slayer at the same time, we will find a way to accomplish that. I can speak to your family, explain things to them, help them understand, if you wish."
"My parents both have surviving cousins," Mlle Enjolras said, "but I will not live with them." She sounded very definite about that.
"Very well," Combeferre said. "Were you at school somewhere? A convent, perhaps?"
"I was, but I am finished there now."
"So you were simply living in Aiguilhe?"
"We were in mostly in Marseille," Mlle Enjolras said, "but came back to the family home in Aiguilhe from time to time." She shrugged. "I have nowhere to call home anymore, Monsieur, if I ever did. I left Aiguilhe with no fixed plan of where I would go after pursuing the creatures who butchered my family and neighbors. Where I would live seemed unimportant, and not very pressing, a question for a later day."
That "if I ever did" had a sad significance, but now was not the correct moment to probe further into it.
"Well," Combeferre said, smiling slightly, "that later day has come. Since you do not wish to live with your family, you have two choices. Well, three, I suppose. But two if you want to pursue the vocation of a vampire slayer with a Watcher who has studied the occult as your guide."
He paused to think for a moment. Explaining his precise relationship to the French Watchers was going to be tricky. "I will be frank with you, Mademoiselle. I have some training as a Watcher—that is, a guide to the Slayer—but I do not follow the rules of the traditional French Watchers, who are also looking for you. Their plans for you are very different from mine, and they do not know that I am here."
Mlle Enjolras's face was carefully blank as she asked, "What are their plans for me?"
Combeferre had thought long and hard about how he would explain this, and had not arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. On the one hand, he did not wish to bias her unduly. The path she took should be her own choice, based on her ideals, not his. On the other hand, he wished to be honest about the flaws of the traditional French Watchers, as he saw them.
"They place great emphasis on authority," Combeferre finally said. "They believe the Slayer is the...subordinate," he continued, substituting "subordinate" for "tool," which is what he had been about to say, "of the Watchers, that she is under their...paternal guidance, that in all matters they owe her...instruction and protection," Combeferre really felt he was acting as the lawyer for the defense of the French Watchers by crediting them with a genuine desire to protect the Slayer, "and she owes them obedience." Well, that was nothing more nor less than accurate, at least. "They also believe that the Slayer's role is to protect a divinely ordained social order, an order that some traditional Watchers believe includes the divine right of kings. Her battle against vampires and other creatures of evil is fought to preserve this order, and must be conducted with its blessing."
Mlle Enjolras's lips tightened, but she only said, "And what would your plan for me be?"
This, Combeferre could speak of without guarding his tongue. He was permitted to be his own partisan, surely, even if fairness forbade him from doing a rhetorical hatchet-job on his philosophical opponents. "I believe that a Watcher should be a Slayer's ally, not her seigneur; that she owes him no obedience, but should avail herself of any knowledge or counsel he has; that he owes her protection in the way a teacher protects a student, but should not under any circumstances 'protect' her from her own reasoned judgment. I believe the Slayer's role is to protect human beings, rather than the authority of church or state, or the social order imposed by such institutions."
"Like anyone, I would rather have a friend than a master," said Mlle Enjolras. "If you are being truthful about your intentions, I would certainly rather have you than the traditional Watchers. But you mentioned a third choice, Monsieur."
"Well, yes," Combeferre said, "the third choice is deciding that you want nothing to do with either myself or the traditional Watchers. You might slay vampires on your own, without my assistance or any other Watcher's. Or you might decide that you don't want to fulfill the Slayer's role at all. But if you choose to go off on your own, whether you slay vampires or not, you should know that the traditional Watchers will make every effort to force you into their service should they ever find you. So your best course would be to remain hidden."
"It seems to me that, if I chose you as my Watcher, we would still have to remain hidden," Mlle Enjolras said, her mouth twisting into a faint smile.
"Yes," said Combeferre. "The French Watchers would not approve of my methods. If they found you with me, they would insist upon taking you away and making one of their own your Watcher."
"So you are...how shall I put this...a rogue?"
"An unflattering word to use, but yes."
Mlle Enjolras turned away from him to look into the distance. The silence made Combeferre tense, but he willed himself not to interrupt it.
Finally, Mlle Enjolras faced Combeferre and made a decisive gesture with her hand. "I would have you as my Watcher, Monsieur, as I said earlier. You helped me, and I believe you are telling the truth now."
Combeferre smiled. "I am very happy to hear you say that, Mademoiselle, very happy indeed."
"Where would we go, then? To slay vampires, and protect humanity?" Mlle Enjolras sounded very much in earnest about this new calling of hers. Combeferre could not help smiling again.
"To Paris," he said, "if you have no objection. That is where I live—I am a medical student there."
"I have no objection to going to Paris," Mlle Enjolras said. She added, with a trace of curiosity, "I have never been there. But I do have one condition."
"And what is that, Mademoiselle?"
"We must stop in Mouret-sur-Loire on the way," she said. "I overheard the vampires I just…killed…"
"Slew, Mademoiselle, not killed," Combeferre said gently. "Killing is for humans, or for beasts of nature. You should keep those concepts separate in your mind."
"And does a vampire slayer never kill humans?"
"Any human, including a vampire slayer, may have to kill other humans in dire circumstances. But the Slayer's particular mission is to kill vampires and other soulless creatures—not humans. Now, tell me: why must we stop in Mouret-sur-Loire?"
"There are vampires there," Mlle Enjolras said. "And from what I heard, the vampires in that town are not simply a pack of wolves passing through. Somehow, they are in charge. They have the authorities on their side."
This did not surprise Combeferre. "Vampires often suborn the authorities," he said. "In some cases, they are the authorities."
Mlle Enjolras looked at him in frank astonishment. Combeferre smiled bitterly. "Yes, Mademoiselle. Usually a new vampire will stay on the fringes of human society. Vampires are usually inconspicuous and nomadic, picking off their prey and then moving on. But if a new vampire was someone of high social position as a human, someone with power…well, why would they stay on the fringes? They would have no desire to give up their lofty status to live like vagabonds. No, they can easily adapt to human society, pretending they are still human. They would need to avoid direct sunlight, of course, but that is manageable."
"Don't they need to drink blood to survive? The creatures I just killed—slew—I overheard them saying they would wither without blood."
"Yes, and an aristocrat or a haut-bourgeois can easily get the blood of some unfortunate wretch—some forgotten gamin in the cities, or some poor peasant in the country, or a convict, perhaps-without notice or comment."
Mlle Enjolras's nostrils flared, and her hands clenched into fists.
"That was one of my major disagreements with the traditional Watchers," Combeferre said. "They believed that, in those cases, it was sometimes better to…maintain the social order, rather than disrupt it by slaying the vampires in authority."
"Any social order that relies on drinking innocent blood must be disrupted." Mlle Enjolras looked at Combeferre defiantly, as if expecting him to scold her, though he could not think why—he had just told her he shared that view. When he said nothing, she went on, "So we must stop at Mouret-sur-Loire."
"Very well," Combeferre said. He felt himself grinning broadly, and feared he looked rather foolish, but he could not help it. It was an unexpected blessing, that the Slayer would already share his most basic sentiments so strongly and so decidedly. "But now, we still have more practical matters to discuss."
He hesitated. What he was about to say next would inevitably create some awkwardness. "Please forgive me, but the situation we are in...it requires casting some formalities to the side. I will have to make some suggestions that do not fall within the bounds of propriety."
Mlle Enjolras raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
"But I swear to you," Combeferre continued, "upon my honor, that I will take no liberties of any kind with you. And if you do not like any suggestion I make, for whatever reason, you must tell me, and we will abandon it immediately."
Mlle Enjolras nodded. "I believe you are trustworthy," she said very gravely.
Combeferre felt his face grow hot; he felt sure he was turning an unflattering shade of red. Something about Mlle Enjolras's seriousness made her belief in him supremely touching. It made Combeferre all the more determined to be worthy of such faith.
"Do you wish to remain disguised as a man?" Combeferre asked. "Or would you prefer to live openly as a woman?"
"I would have more freedom to fulfill my duties as a vampire slayer if I pretended to be a man," said Mlle Enjolras, after several moments' silent consideration. "I will continue to do so."
And there was that look of challenge on her face again, as if she expected a lecture or some other chastisement. It was a slightly pugilistic look, which faded into a sort of puzzled satisfaction when Combeferre simply said, "Very well. But…"
"But?"
"It may be difficult for you to claim any property and money your family may have left you, if you disguise yourself as a man," Combeferre said. "You said your parents had surviving cousins. If they currently believe that you were slaughtered at Aiguilhe, then one of those cousins is likely the heir to your family's property. To reclaim it, you would have to declare yourself among the living, under your true identity. I suppose if you had a brother close to your age, you could pretend to be him, but you'd have to avoid meeting anyone who could recognize you, and…"
"I have no brother," Mlle Enjolras said, "and everyone does think I was killed at Aiguilhe. My body was not found, of course, but neither were the bodies of many of the dead. The vampires ripped many to shreds, carried some parts of their corpses with them, and burned many as well."
She turned away from Combeferre, looking out at the horizon. "I am only seventeen, still in my minority." Only three years younger than Combeferre, then. He suddenly felt keenly aware of his own lack of experience, and the pitfalls it would bring—but what was the alternative? He would not turn her over to some ultraroyalist graybeard Watcher who would try to make her his pawn. This girl was not meant to be anyone's pawn. Nobody was.
"If I were discovered alive, I would be under the guardianship of my father's cousin." Mlle Enjolras's tone made it absolutely clear that she did not like this prospect. "So I don't intend to claim my family property. Let my father's cousins take it. I can live off the silver and jewelry I took from my home in that bag over there," she pointed at a large sack against the château's wall, "though I will need to be frugal."
"Yes," Combeferre said. "We will both need to be frugal—I only have my allowance from my family—which brings me to a more delicate point."
This was very, very, very awkward to say. Combeferre was not much given to expletives, but he found himself thinking all kinds of profanities at the moment.
He told himself not to be a coward, and plowed on. "Lodgings while traveling, and in Paris, will obviously cost money. If you are to be disguised as a man, it may be simpler to share accommodations, as improper as that might be, as that would negate many practical difficulties, but only if you are not distressed by this..." There, he had managed to get the words out, though his cheeks were burning. "I must repeat, Mademoiselle, that I will take no liberties with your honor if you choose this alternative."
She was blushing and looking elsewhere, and could he blame her? But the subject had to be raised, and could not be deferred. At some point they would have to leave these ruins and, if they left together, they would need a plan of how and where they would travel.
"Never mind," Combeferre said, though he was truly concerned about funds. If he asked for more money from home, there was just a chance Uncle Henri might get wind of it. Combeferre was under no suspicion from the French Watchers at the moment, and he wanted very much to keep it that way. He could not become reckless through complacency. But—Mlle Enjolras's honor and dignity came first. "I will never force you into a situation painful to your sensibilities."
Mlle Enjolras simply stared off into the distance. Combeferre took a moment to marvel at the strangeness of their situation. "We needn't decide this right away," he said, "we've only just met, and you've had so many shocks. To discuss such sensitive matters immediately after..."
Her grim bark of laughter cut him off abruptly. "Monsieur, I saw my family and neighbors torn to pieces. I still see their mangled corpses every time I close my eyes. I have donned men's clothes and killed the creatures responsible for these outrages, creatures I didn't even know existed before. Everything I've ever known has been washed away in a torrent of blood. I feel as though...as though I have traversed a revolutionary apocalypse of some sort." She set her jaw, looking very pale.
Revolutionary apocalypse. It was an unusual turn of phrase, especially for a sheltered girl of seventeen. Combeferre thought it accurate, though. Everything that was once rooted and seemingly eternal was now overthrown-overthrown in death and agony, yes, but even so there was the potential of creating something better than what would have been. What sort of woman would Mlle Enjolras have made, if she had not been called as a Slayer? If she had been forced into the ordinary life of a bourgeoise? And what sort of a Slayer would she be now?
"The impropriety of our conversation is nothing in comparison to everything else," Mlle Enjolras continued. "And it's best if we settle these matters quickly." Her fists clenched and unclenched; she shifted from foot to foot, looking desperate to act in some way. "Sharing lodgings is the most prudent course of action, and so we should do that."
"Very well, then," Combeferre said, feeling a new respect for the girl's unflinching willingness to grapple with harsh realities. "So you are set on remaining disguised as a man, leaving your family money unclaimed, and allowing your remaining relations to think you dead?"
"Yes," Mlle Enjolras said, flinging her head back. Her hair fanned out behind her. And that was another issue.
"Did you try to cut your hair?" Combeferre asked, suddenly, drawing the subject from the grand to the trivial.
Mlle Enjolras flushed, reaching behind her to remove the ribbon tying her hair back. She pulled the strands round in front of her. Her locks were shorter than most women's hair, but longer than was fashionable for men. The ends were jagged, uneven. She'd obviously cut her hair herself, probably without the aid of a mirror. "Yes. Not well, as you can see. I should probably fix it, though I don't really know how."
Going to a barber might raise questions. Maybe Combeferre could concoct a story for the barber about how his silly younger brother had tried to grow out his hair as a prank, but it would be better for Combeferre to simply cut the hair himself. What was another awkward moment, in a day that had already proved to be chock-full of them? And it wasn't even noon yet.
"If you will allow me?" Combeferre asked, hesitantly. When Mlle Enjolras nodded, he reached into his bag for a pair of scissors.
She turned around, shaking her hair out. Combeferre's fingers threaded gently through the silky mane, straightening it out, before he cut in as close to a straight line as he could manage, so that the hair below her neck fell away to deck the ground below them with thick shining curls. When Combeferre was done, she looked like a boy, albeit an oddly ethereal one.
"And now, Mademoiselle," said Combeferre, "if you are ready, let us be off to Mouret-sur-Loire."