Pyromancist Page 10

  She studied him, allowing her gaze to caress him. He didn’t remember her, didn’t recall the kiss they had shared in the cemetery of the standing stones. He had been drunk, but a small part of her had ... what? Hoped it would have touched him as much as it had touched her?

  His head turned sideways, and then back. He grumbled. His voice was a deep vibration that came from his chest. Clelia longed for her hands to be free, so that she could thread her fingers through his hair, place her palm on his cheek, pull him into her arms, soothe him in his restless sleep. His moaning became louder, his voice more pained. Clelia watched, wide-eyed, wanting to go to him and to call out his name, to pull him from the despair she saw in his features. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t watch him suffer, even if she knew he needed his sleep.

  “Josselin,” she said softly.

  His eyes flung open. For a second, she cringed back, as she thought he was going to leap from the chair. She saw his muscles tense in preparation for the action, but then recognition set in and his body visibly relaxed.

  He stared at her. “What is it Clelia? Do you need something?” When she didn’t speak, he leaned forward. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

  “You were dreaming,” she said.

  He rubbed his temples. “Yes.” He sighed. “So I was.”

  “It was a bad dream.”

  He looked at her with sad eyes and then nodded slowly. “Yes, it was a very bad dream. Sorry I woke you.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. Is it always the same?”

  “The dream?”

  She nodded.

  He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I haven’t had it for a very long time, not since ... I’m back.”

  “I’m sorry about your family, Josselin,” she said softly.

  His eyes widened fleetingly. “Of course you know. I thought you were too young. How could they tell you something so brutal, so evil, at your tender age? That story would have been enough to haunt your sleep with nightmares.”

  “Josselin, why did you bring me here if the memories are so painful? Why did you come back to this house?”

  For a minute, his expression froze in shock, and then he swore. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew where you were? I would have never left you here had I known you realized where you were. You must have been scared out of your mind.”

  He got up so quickly that she jumped. His weight dented the mattress as he sat down next to her, his hand going to her cheek.

  “Why didn’t you say something, Clelia? I wouldn’t have left you alone if I had realized that you knew you knew were in a spook house.”

  “You have to let it go. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Not my fault? What did they tell you? Did you ever hear the truth? The whole truth? Because if you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “Please, Josselin, don’t punish yourself. You were just a boy.”

  “You don’t know anything, Clelia, or you wouldn’t judge me so lightly. But I don’t blame you for your sweet ignorance. I envy your innocence.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she said. It was born from a deep need to reach out to the man next to her, to heal what needed salvation.

  He shook his head. “I’ll massage your arms and then you have to try to sleep.”

  “You should have known better than to bring me here. You did this. You brought me here, and now you owe me the truth. You owe me that much, Josselin. Tell me what has been haunting me since you left me to the mercy of your ghosts, tied to your nightmares in a room that was yours in body, but empty of your soul.”

  She had taken a stronger approach with him and she knew it was a gamble. She risked waking his wrath instead of opening his soul to the wounds of the past, wounds that could only heal by exposing the puss that made it fester. She held her breath for his anger. He could easily lash out at her for sticking her finger into the open cut of the past and twisting it around, stirring up buried images that could now only escape through his dreams. Instead of attacking her with action or voice, his eyes grew sad, and regretful.

  “You felt them? My ghosts?”

  “It was terrifying, Josselin.”

  “I would never have exposed you, had I known. I swear.”

  “Did it happen here, in your room?”

  He got up. “You haven’t eaten all day. I’ll make you something more appetizing than a sandwich. I got fish at the market. Do you like sushi?”

  “I won’t eat. Not until you tell me.”

  He frowned. “Why are you doing this?”

  He removed the handcuffs and lowered her arms. She flinched as his fingers stroked over her muscles, applying firm pressure.

  “I wouldn’t have handcuffed you if it wasn’t necessary,” he said.

  He continued to massage her upper and lower arms while neither of them said anything. Clelia looked away so that he wouldn’t see the reaction his hands had on her. His touch was warm, and she felt it heating other places it wasn’t touching. He sat very close to her. She could hear him breathe, and smell the clean scent of his skin, mixed with something spicy and exotic. Slightly flushed at her body’s easy surrender where Josselin was concerned, she kept her eyes trained on the floor.

  He let go of her arms. “You need to move around to stimulate your blood circulation or your body will become stiff. Come.” He got to his feet.

  “Where are we going?” she said warily.

  He sighed. “Clelia, I told you I won’t hurt you. Stop looking at me like that. We’re just going down to the kitchen.”

  He offered her his hand and a smile, and not knowing what to make of the gesture, she accepted hesitantly. Moving into the dark corridor, Clelia couldn’t help but lean closer to him. When she recalled the horrors that had passed in the house, she shuddered, her heart squeezing painfully when she thought of what Josselin had gone through.

  He immediately flipped on a light switch and rubbed his thumb over her wrist reassuringly, moving quicker down the stairs and through an entrance hall into another dark passage that led to a kitchen. The room was large; the walls tiled all the way to the ceiling with olive-green ceramics. The floor tiles were larger and a darker shade of green. A big fireplace dominated one wall. Above it hung copper pots and pans. Instead of doors, the cupboards had yellow and green curtains hiding their contents. Delicate china was displayed in a buffet that stood next to the window. Everything was old and the stove even more outdated than the one in Erwan’s cottage, but it looked clean.

  Something bothered Clelia. Standing in the middle of the room, glancing around at the spotless walls and scrubbed floors, she said, “If you didn’t plan on coming back to this house, why did you have it cleaned?”

  Josselin opened the fridge and started removing items, which he left on the kitchen counter. “I’m selling it.”

  “Oh.” So he wasn’t bringing Maya here to fight his ghosts and to build a new home. It also meant that he might not be staying, that he’d be heading back to New York as soon as this was all over.

  “If you want, you can give me a hand, or you can sit here.” He pulled out a chair by the wooden table.

  Clelia sat down. She watched him flattening a fillet of fish with the blunt side of a knife.

  “When are you leaving?” she said.

  “When this is over.”

  “When will it be over?”

  “When I’ve done my job.”

  “And then you’ll let me go?”

  Josselin stopped. He looked up, straight into her eyes. “No.”

  A vice tightened around her throat. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “I want to talk about it now,” she said, starting to feel just a little bit hysterical. “You can’t keep me against my will.”

  He ignored her, placing pieces of fish on a plate.

  Clelia got to her feet. She looked around the kitchen, searching for windows or doors. Everything that could open was barred. A sudden sense of claustro
phobia engulfed her. It felt as if the room was closing in on her. Aware of Josselin staring at her, she ran to the backdoor and tried the knob. It was locked. She ran to a window and pulled frantically at the latch, shaking the glass in the frame. It didn’t budge. Becoming more hysterical by the second, she ran from window to window, repeating the useless procedure, banging her fists on the glass, knowing it was pointless. Even if she broke the glass, the shutters on the outside were barred. She turned around the room in three-hundred-and-sixty degrees of panic.

  Josselin stood very still, regarding her with a strange expression of pity on his face. For some reason that sorrowful look infuriated her, as all of this was his fault. Hyperventilating now, her eyes fell on the hallway. She glanced at Josselin and saw that he had already anticipated her move by following the direction of her eyes, but she didn’t care. She was desperate. She sprinted for the corridor, putting real effort into it, even if she knew Josselin was closer to the exit. With one step sideways, he effectively cut her off.

  Clelia stopped and retreated until she felt the kitchen counter at her back. The wooden board was on it, and the knife Josselin had used to carve the fish. Her hands searched behind her until she felt the shaft. Josselin watched her quietly, his arms crossed. She brought the knife forward and directed the sharp point at him. Her hand shook so badly she couldn’t keep her aim straight.

  “Let me go,” she said, warm tears flowing over her cheeks.

  “Or else?” Josselin said softly, the compassion still there in his eyes.

  She took a step toward him, holding the knife in front of her. “I’ll use this if I must.”

  “Then use it, Clelia. Do what you have to do.”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t even look scared, damn him.

  “Step aside!” She moved forward some more.

  Josselin tilted his head, exposing his neck. “You want to go straight for the vein,” he said. “If you only injure me, I’ll bleed a bit, but it won’t prevent me from handcuffing you again.”

  She shook so violently now that she could hardly stand on her feet. “Don’t make me do this.”

  “Come on, little witch. I won’t resist. Cut me.”

  Clelia moved until she was only an inch away from him. She wanted nothing more than her freedom, but she couldn’t even lift the knife to press the point to his skin. She was too weak. She was pathetic. She could never harm him, no matter what.

  Admitting defeat, she dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor, the noise a hollow sound in the kitchen. Her shoulders stooped, and then she started crying like she had never cried before. Josselin moved toward her, but she backed away. He would be angry. Now he would make her pay. She ran around the table, back to the other side of the room, pushing her cheek and stomach against the locked backdoor, clawing with her nails into the wood, desperately wanting out, even if she knew it was useless.

  His body pressed against her from behind, his chest against her back. Josselin cupped his hands over hers above her head while wild sobs tore through her.

  “Shhh, little witch,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that.”

  “I want to go home,” she said through the sobs that shook her.

  He brushed his cheek over hers, a day-old stubble grating her skin. “You can’t go home, Clelia.”

  The verbal admission took her last strength. She sagged as her knees buckled, but he already had his hands on her hips, holding her up with his grip and his body.

  “I cannot let you go home, Clelia,” he said softly. “It’s not safe.”

  They stood like that for a while, his body keeping her up against the door, until the worst of her hysterics abated. Weak from her emotional outburst, she leaned back against him. Josselin placed one arm under her knees and the other around her back, picking her up and carrying her to the kitchen table. Instead of lowering her into the chair, he sat down and pulled her into his lap. When he cradled her head against his chest, she fought him, but only meekly.

  He cupped her head and kept her close. Clelia could hear his heart beat. It was a strong and erratic rhythm, but strangely calming.

  “Shhh, witch.” He kept her like that for another moment before he took her chin and tilted her head to look at her. “You’re having a delayed reaction to the shock. Take a deep breath.”

  She tried, but her breath only spluttered.

  “Come on, Cle, breathe in and out.” His hand stroked over her hair. “The tranquilizer works on your nervous system. It affects not only your body, but also your mind. This afternoon when you woke up, you were placid and lethargic, but now that the drug has worked itself out of your system and your mind is more acute again, you’re having a delayed reaction to the last few hours’ events. It’s normal to have a breakdown.”

  He spoke to her softly, patiently, as if to a child, and for some reason his tenderness only angered her more.

  “You drugged me and locked me up. I’d say it’s pretty normal to be upset. All I want is to go home. Please.”

  “Clelia, it’s not safe for you to go home. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  She didn’t understand anything. She felt drained and her brain felt like fried squid. She couldn’t remember who she was running from any longer. The police, Josselin, her father...

  “Why?” she said, grasping for understanding. “Why is it not safe?”

  “The attack on us yesterday...” He paused, his gaze almost apologetic. “I believe it was an attempt to kidnap you.”

  “But you beat them to it, didn’t you?” she said, letting the bitterness slip into her voice.

  He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Listen to me. If I’m to help you, you have to tell me everything you know. Talk to me about the fires.”

  She pushed with her hands on his chest, trying to sit up, but he held her tighter.

  “I don’t know who started the fires,” she said. “I only know it’s not Erwan.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I know him. I’ve lived with him all of my life. You know him,” she said accusingly. “You know he could never be capable of something like this.”

  “All right. Say it’s not Erwan. Who else would do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you? I’ve just learned that there’s a very powerful pyromancist in town,” he said. “His name is Lupien. And it looks like he’s chasing a local firestarter. He’s also after you. Now why would that be?”

  Clelia could feel herself pale. “I don’t know.”

  “Could it possibly be because he knows what I’m suspecting? That Erwan has the answer to the identity of our firestarter, and that you are the key to finding Erwan?”

  She shook her head fiercely. “This is madness.”

  “Clelia, I will never ask you to betray your family, but I pray that Erwan will come for you soon. Now,” he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, “please understand that I’m keeping you for your own good. I won’t let anyone get to you, do you understand? And I can’t let you run away. It will put you at risk.”

  He looked so much like he did that day in the woods when he attacked Iwig that she cowered a little. As much as he melted her insides, he also scared her. He was so intense, too powerful, completely unreadable.

  He put her on her feet gently, got up and pushed her down in the chair again.

  “Where was I?” he said, picking up the knife from the floor.

  He washed the carving knife and continued cutting the fish. Clelia watched him prepare a salad in silence and when it was done, he placed everything on the table and took a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

  He didn’t ask what she preferred, but simply dished up food for her and poured her a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. He handed her a knife and fork and pushed the plate toward her.

  “The tranquilizer would have suppressed your appetite, but you need to eat. You can’t go twelve hours without a meal. Try it,” he urged. “It’s l
ight. I got something that’ll be easy on your digestive system. It’s tuna, a favorite of mine. Tomorrow you’ll be very hungry. It’s a normal side effect of the drug.”

  To not evoke his fury or displeasure, Clelia dipped her fork into the salad and chewed listlessly on a piece of lettuce. She really didn’t feel like eating.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Now, a sip of wine.” He lifted her glass and held it to her lips. She watched him as she drank and saw his pupils dilate and contract.

  “I should warn you,” she said, “I’m not used to drinking wine.”

  Josselin smiled. “No, I’m sure you’re not. Just like you’re not comfortable with your naked body. Yet.”

  She swallowed, but the lettuce got stuck in her throat. In a flash, she felt heat crawl up her neck and face.

  “You’re beautiful, Clelia. You don’t need to be shy.”

  She almost snorted. As if someone like him would have ever looked at her. She was a far cry from the Thiphaines of the world.

  They finished the rest of their dinner in silence. Josselin made her eat every morsel on her plate. He even made her drink the wine, which gave her a buzz in her body and her mind that left her pleasantly heated and relaxed. When Josselin cleared the table, she offered to help, and then frowned at the absurdity of her suggestion, as she was, after all, a hostage and not a dinner guest. In any event, he declined, smiling as if he were amused, and she ended up watching him load a dishwasher that looked very new.

  After the meal, she suddenly felt tired again. She rested her chin in her hand. “If the nightmares are so bad, you shouldn’t have brought me here.”

  He paused, just for a second, in the middle of rinsing a plate. “I apologize for bringing you here. It was the only place I could think of on short notice. Believe me, I did try all of the hotels. Everything is full.”

  “That’ll teach you for planning a kidnapping in peak holiday season,” she said.

  He actually laughed. Clelia lifted her head, startled. She had never heard Josselin laugh. Chuckle, snicker–yes. But laugh, with his head thrown back–no.