Chapter Seven - History

 

The streets teemed with wolves. Their snarls and growls filled the night with a warning of bloodshed, and the scent of beasts was sharp and wild in the air. The stone walls of a castle-like building guarded our backs. We couldn’t be surrounded, but we couldn’t run either.

One wolf, though maybe not as big as the others, was clearly the leader. It was a tawny, reddish color with a dark tail that made the tail look bobbed, and the others flanked it protectively.

Tawny stared into my eyes and neither of us blinked. It was a test of dominance, and to blink was to die.

 

I gasped awake with heart-pounding disorientation. No wolves. Not the streets. Not my room. Finally, the hand stroking my hair brought me back to full consciousness. Archer. And a vision.

I turned my face up to his. “Wolves?”

“Apparently.”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and sat up. Then immediately dove back under the duvet and snuggled into the warm spot my sleeping body had made next to Archer. “Cold.”

Archer chuckled and held me close. Even his scent was warm and faintly spiced with cinnamon or cardamom. We rarely slept next to each other because I worked during daylight hours, so it was a luxury to wake up in his arms.

“Have you had that vision before?”

Archer shook his head. “It’s new.”

“Actually, it looked old. The streets were cobbled. And the thing behind us, the castle? That thing had turrets.”

He smiled grimly. “A lot of turrets are still standing now, but I agree, it didn’t feel modern.”

I closed my eyes. “Crap. I’m not ready to start Clocking again. The trip back to get Ringo was fine because I kind of know the Victorian rules. And Victorians believe in bathing.” I grimaced and Archer laughed, a deep rumble in his chest. “And don’t even get me started on street-dumping chamber pots. Seriously? Why even bother. Just dangle your business out the window and let fly. It’s the same thing.”

Archer’s rumble had become full-blown laughter, and it was doing a good job of erasing the bad taste residue from the wolf vision.

I sat up again, pulling the duvet with me to wrap around my shoulders. Archer’s bare chest was uncovered, and I automatically reached my hand out to trace the line of a scar. He had slept in pajama bottoms, and I had to swallow a giggle at the idea of a Vampire in pajamas.

Archer grabbed my hand – the one that was absently tracing his scar – and brought it to his lips to kiss. Something in his eyes told me not to let my fingers go walking on his bare chest, so I dragged my gaze away and focused on the portrait of the Immortals that hung on the far wall.

“You ever notice how Miss Simpson looks a little like Aislin’s grandmother?”

A person could get whiplash from my subject changes.

Archer followed my gaze. “Technically, she’s descended from Fate, right? It’s not so strange that they might have similar features.”

But now that I’d thought it I couldn’t let it go, and I got up to shiver my way across the room to the painting. “Her nose is the same, and the shape of her eyes. Even her lips are the same color. I bet if we could find a picture of Miss Simpson from when she was young, she’d look just like Aislin in this portrait.”

“Have you ever asked Doran about this painting? He’s the artist, right?”

I made a face somewhere between a scowl and a sour lemon. “Like I ever have a chance to ask him anything.” I grabbed Archer’s big cashmere sweater and pulled the t-shirt from underneath it. Then I tossed him the t-shirt. “Here, you don’t get cold.” He shot me a look of mock outrage and I raised an eyebrow. “It’s your fault anyway. You created a monster when you gave me my first cashmere sweater. Suck it up.”

He smirked. “You just said ‘suck’ to a Vampire.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t too smart, was it? Especially since I’m stealing this sweater, too.”

He tried to grab me as I passed by, but I dodged out of the way with a shriek. A second later I was in his arms being tickled when the door to the keep slammed open. Mr. Shaw stood there in full scary mode. We sprang apart.

“I heard a scream.”

“You heard a shriek. There’s a difference.” Mr. Shaw didn’t scare me, even when he was seconds away from shifting into a Bear. I planted my fists on my hips and glared at him because he did startle me with the door. Then I smiled.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue, though.”

“You’re welcome.” His tone was gruff, and he still wore a scowl, but he wasn’t mad.

I slipped on my boots and pulled Archer’s sweater over my head. Archer growled at me playfully and I shot him a grin. “See you guys in the library.”

Mr. Shaw grumbled. “We’ll be a few minutes. I need to talk Devereux into parting with a bit more of his blood.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “What have you found?” Mr. Shaw had been experimenting with the kind of blood mixtures we thought Bishop Wilder had been seeking when Archer first met him, back when Jack the Ripper was hunting down part-Clocker girls for him. We wondered if it would give us a clue as to why he’d been doing it, and that information might help us stop him. Archer had donated his own Vampire blood, which was like a major biohazard for any Immortal Descendant to handle, and Mr. Shaw was mixing it with his Shifter blood and any other Descendant blood he could get. I’d given to the cause, and I thought the Arman twins had, too. My mom had even volunteered, but she went so pale at the sight of the needle that Mr. Shaw refused to do it.

“I’m getting some fascinating results, but they’re unpredictable, so I need to run some more tests. Connor’s been helping me in the lab at school, and I have to say, my nephew might just be a better scientist than I am.

I snorted. “Don’t tell him that.”

Mr. Shaw cracked a smile. “I can’t decide if he’s brilliantly confident, or just a know-it-all pain-in-the-arse.”

I laughed as I swept out of the room. “Both.”

I took off at a run once I was out of sight. I didn’t usually free-run through Elian Manor because Millicent would have kittens if she caught me sliding down bannisters and vaulting the servants’ stairs. But today I didn’t really care if Millicent yelled. I had wolves to think about – much more terrifying than she could ever be.

I grabbed a peach from the sideboard on my way through the dining room. It looked like dinner had already happened, and I was very happy to have missed the formal dress requirement of an evening meal at Elian Manor.

Charlie and Ringo were in the library with my mom when I got there. Ringo had on a white dress shirt, open at the collar, and dark slacks. I knew the wardrobes had male clothes too, because it’s where I’d found the Victorian menswear I’d worn to go get Ringo. But I hadn’t expected Ringo to look so handsome all dressed up. I’d seen him in homespun, and in jeans and a t-shirt, but somehow the dress shirt made him look older than sixteen.

“Wow, you guys must have been at dinner. You look great.”

“Miss Sanda brought me this. I was afraid it was too short, but she said it worked with my colorin’.” Charlie held out the sides of a light blue, fifties-style dress with a fitted bodice and a circle skirt.

“It’s perfect. You were born in the wrong century. You should always wear clothes from the 1950s. In fact, get Sanda to show you where that closet is, and maybe that should be your bedroom.”

Charlie shot a quick glance at my mom and then smiled shyly. I looked at my mother, who was searching the computer in the corner. “Mom, who would have been here in the fifties?”

“Millicent.”

“Oh, right. Never mind.”

Charlie looked up. “Actually, she complimented me on it. ‘Er ladyship said the style suited me.”

Well, that was unexpected. Ringo was up on the ladder, poking through the top shelf books. He was trying to keep a solemn expression, but I could see his eyes gleaming.

“What’d you guys do today?” I asked him.

Ringo re-shelved the book he was holding and descended the ladder. “Mr. Shaw and I dismantled the Monger’s bolt ‘ole. T’weren’t nothing to identify ‘im in there.”

“What’d you do with his stuff?”

“Jeeves stashed it. The bedroll looked right useful, and ‘e said ‘e’d loan it to me if … ye know.” Ringo’s voice trailed off and my mom looked up.

“If you go camping, or if you go back?”

He looked a little sheepish. I guess my mom inspired that, because I’d never seen Ringo look anything other than completely confident. “Back, I guess.”

“Ringo, you heard the conversation Millicent and I had over dinner. You and Charlie both are welcome here. You are my daughter’s friends. You’ve helped her survive unimaginable things several times, and I know she looks at you, Ringo, like a brother. Aside from the fact that I genuinely like you and feel I will learn to like Charlie very much, I am forever in your debt. This house is far bigger than our small family will ever need, and it deserves to be filled with people we love. So, please, find bedrooms in the house you like and make them your own for as long as you want to be here.”

I wasn’t surprised at my mom’s speech, or her generosity, but her words made me tear up and I was so proud to be her kid. I went to her and put my arms around her shoulders. “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered. She kissed me on the cheek.

“Mrs. Elian, ye’ve done us both a great ‘onor with yer generousness, and we’d very ‘appily accept yer ‘ospitality for a time. I’ll need to make my own way, so it won’t be for long. But ye and Saira feel like family to us. Family we ‘aven’t ever ‘ad, and we are lucky to know ye.”

“Good. I’m sick of worrying about you both.” I said it in a scolding tone, but couldn’t keep a straight face to save my life. And in a very grown up manner, Ringo made a face at me, so I burst out laughing. I think if Charlie had been a modern teenager, she would have rolled her eyes at the pair of us.

“Archer and Mr. Shaw are on their way here, and he’s probably already told Mr. Shaw this, so I’ll tell you guys. Archer had a vision right before we woke up. Of us, in an old city somewhere, surrounded by wolves.”

“Sorry, did ye say wolves in a city?” Ringo asked skeptically.

“I know, right? Doesn’t make sense. Except the building we were next to was huge, with turrets like a castle, and the streets were cobblestone.”

My mom started typing something into the computer. “What are you searching?”

“Wolves. 1429.”

“Really, why that year?”

“Doran said it was a simple, one-ring jump to find Wilder. Maybe your wolves are related.”

Charlie was listening to our conversation with bigger and bigger eyes. “There were wolves in Paris.”

Ringo and I stared at her. “What?” I tried not to sound incredulous. I really did.

“She’s right.” My mom was staring at the computer screen. “The wolves of Paris is historical fact. In 1429, after a long, hard winter, the walls around Paris had fallen into disrepair, and the wolves started coming in to hunt people. There were packs of them, and they seemed to be led by one alpha, one the Parisians called Courtaud, or “Bobtail.” It was reddish in color and led the packs to kill nearly forty people.”

“I saw Courtaud, and it was definitely the alpha. It tried to stare down Archer.”

Mr. Shaw and Archer had just entered the library together.

“Wolves don’t stare down humans.” Mr. Shaw’s voice sliced through the shock in the room.

“This one did,” Archer verified. He came to stand near me, and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. It felt good there. Solid. Like he always had my back.

“How did ye know about the wolves of Paris, Char?” Ringo’s voice was quiet and I could see why. Charlie’s eyes were still saucers on her face. Maybe it was the time jump, or the company she was suddenly keeping – we definitely weren’t for the faint-hearted.

“My ma. Our bedtime stories were filled with tales of Others. The wolves were one of those tales.” I knew every pair of eyes in the room was locked on Charlie, and yet her chin went higher and her back straighter with every word. Like she was daring us to tell her she was wrong.

My mom whispered from the corner. “Wilder?”

“Ye mean the one who turned ‘is lordship and kept ye prisoner?” Mom nodded, but Charlie shook her head. “The Other in the wolf tale took children. ‘Undreds of ‘em. ‘E was caught, tried, and ‘ung for ‘is crimes. My ma called ‘im Bluebeard, on account of a tale someone ‘ad written about ‘im.”

Mom’s fingers clattered on the computer keyboard, and a moment later she read from the screen. “The story of Bluebeard is thought to have been based on the medieval French aristocrat Baron Gilles de Rais, who was tried and convicted of the murder of children. He is believed to have killed between seventy and two hundred children over a period of fourteen years, beginning in 1429.” She stared and color drained from her face. “De Rais was thought to have ties to the Bishops of Sens, and at one point may have even stayed at their Paris residence as a guest of an interim bishop from England. There is speculation that some of the young victims of the wolves of Paris were actually victims of Gilles de Rais.”

“An interim bishop from England? Are you kidding?” My heart began to race.

“We don’t know it’s Wilder.”

“Right. And he doesn’t have a habit of hanging out with murderous ogres either.” The good news just kept piling on.

“’The Baron de Rais wasn’t an ogre, far as my ma knew. They’re short and squat and can’t do nothing to ‘ide the ugliness. ‘E was just Other.”

All eyes were on Charlie again, and I burst out laughing. It was a defense mechanism against the horror of maybe finding Wilder, but I didn’t care. “Ogres actually exist? No way!”

I could tell her expression was warring between indignation and humor. Humor won, and the corners of her mouth turned up in one of those really pretty smiles she usually saved for Ringo.

“So, based on the clues dropped by Doran, the vision Archer has had of wolves, and the mention of an English bishop, it seems Wilder may be hiding in Paris in 1429.” Trust Mr. Shaw to bring us back to the business at hand.

“1429 was a whole year long, and Paris is a big city. When in 1429, and where in Paris are two very big questions on a long list of big questions that we don’t know the answers to.” Funny, for a second there, I actually sounded rational and careful. As if leaping head-first into bad plans wasn’t my specialty.

Ringo suddenly hopped down off the ladder, searched the upper shelves for a few heartbeats, then slid the ladder to another spot in the room and climbed it to pull a book down. It was big and looked old. “Remember this book, Saira?”

I looked at the cover. Townhouse Architecture of England and France. “Should I?”

He grinned with perfect Ringo cheekiness. “I’m impressed yer library ‘ere ‘as it. Ye yelled at me fer minnin’ one like it at King’s College the time we found Archer there.”

I did remember that book. Ringo told me then he needed to know his way around those houses if he was going to steal from them.

“Well, that was my first book, see? And I learned it by heart after ye both taught me to read.” He flipped through pages of the book he’d set on the table in front of him, then found what he was looking for. “When ye said turrets and Paris, I could picture it exactly.”

He stepped back from the page, and Archer moved closer to look. “The Hôtel de Sens, in the Marais district of Paris. It was the primary residence of the Archbishops of Sens in Paris during the 1400s.”

“The Paris residence of the Bishops of Sens. Where de Rais and the English Bishop stayed.” My eyes were glued to the pages in front of me.

The drawing that stared back at me was a sepia colored pen and ink, and showed a horse-drawn carriage out front. Which made sense considering Ringo had first seen this book in 1888.

I looked up at Archer. “This is it. The castle from your vision.”

Archer was by my side, and then looked up from the drawing to meet my eyes.

“Can you use this?”

“This drawing is detailed enough; I could probably get us just across the street, if I take out the horse, carriage, and people.”

Mr. Shaw stared at me. “How are you going to make sure it’s 1429?”

My expression was grim, and I knew Archer had already come to the same conclusion because his was, too. “I’ll picture the wolves.”