Pyromancist Page 5

  Clelia blinked at him. “Forty.” This was no time for a geography lesson.

  “And I know how to feed myself with fish.”

  She suddenly understood his plan. “No, I won’t watch you become a fugitive because of me. Someone must be able to help us.”

  “No one can help us but ourselves.”

  She grasped at straws, anything to change his mind. “It won’t work. We can’t just disappear. People will wonder what happened to us.”

  “I’ve already told Tristan that you wanted to go to Paris for the summer and that I bought you a train ticket. And I’ve told the men that I’m going to work on a fish trawler for a few months. A lot of them do it.”

  “But not at your age.”

  “I’m not your average fisherman.” He tried to smile bravely.

  “But the animals...”

  “Call Rigual in the morning. Tell him to take care of them. He’s a good man. He’ll see to them.”

  Clelia had exhausted all her arguments. “I can’t leave you,” she said, crying quietly.

  Erwan had always been a man of few words and didn’t often show his emotion. He only laid his hand on her shoulder again and said, “Ken ar wech all, may we meet again,” before he shuffled through the door in the direction of the beach.

  Chapter Four

  It rained that night. By early morning, there was no light, only the drizzle that washed over the panels of Clelia’s roof window. Looking out, she couldn’t distinguish between the clouds and the sea. The two entities flowed into each other like an old married couple.

  This morning she went through her ritual with a heavy heart. She pulled on her denim shorts, a yellow T-shirt and her blue rain jacket. She brushed her teeth and did her hair in two braids. As per Erwan’s instruction, she didn’t pack. She only took her mobile phone, charger, a cap, sunscreen and her purse. Josselin’s revolver was still in her backpack. She had thought about it all night and decided to get rid of it. She could hardly look Josselin up and return it, knowing that his girlfriend was asking questions around town. Those questions were enough to make her seem guilty. By now, she understood how the townspeople’s minds worked.

  She prayed that Josselin was all right, but she’d probably never know. That thought alone was a knife in her heart. She had turned the events of the last few hours around and around in her head, thinking about Josselin’s desire to end his life, his agony, his kiss, and about Erwan’s revelations. Her body was a coiled spring, her heart pumping, as she swiftly got ready to abandon the cottage.

  Descending the stairs, she found that Erwan wasn’t in the house. His boat was gone. Only the dinghy drifted in the shallow water. Today she wouldn’t prepare his tea, or lay the table for his breakfast. It was just like Erwan to have left in the night. Facing each other this morning, saying goodbye, would have been too difficult.

  Erwan had already gotten rid of all the fresh produce and taken out the trash. After feeding first the dogs and then the rest of the animals, she spent an extra long time with each of them. Tripod, as if sensing something, wouldn’t leave her side. He followed her until she was forced to take a stern tone and order him to the stay. It broke her heart. She cuddled him one last time and made sure that none of the cats were in the house before closing the door. She’d call Rigual and ask him to take care of them. Rigual wouldn’t ask questions if she didn’t offer explanations. It wasn’t in his nature.

  Because of the rain, she didn’t take the dinghy. Navigating through the thick mist would be too difficult and hazardous. Instead, she pulled on her red rubber boots, took the bicycle and pulled the hood of her rain jacket deep over her face before taking the road that led to the harbor of Larmor-Baden. Snow ran out ahead of her, while Rain, Thunder, and Cloud followed. They often accompanied her to the mainland, but today she would have to make them turn around before she got to the harbor. She tried not to think of it as she shielded her eyes against the drops of water that pricked her face. The wind picked up and it started to rain heavier. She pedaled her bike into the onslaught of the weather, into the harsh direction she couldn’t help feel her life had suddenly taken.

  By the time she had crossed the sleeping town and taken the path through the woods along the coast to the jetty, she was shivering. There was too much mud to continue on the bike, so she left it inside the small abandoned boathouse on the way, and continued on foot. The wolfdogs ran excitedly around her, undisturbed by the wet weather. Only Snow was on edge. She could tell that by the way he kept his ears drawn back and his head low to the ground. Maybe he picked up on her own anxiety, her own uncertainty.

  Clelia only paused on a low cliff to throw Josselin’s revolver into the sea, praying that no one would ever find it, that no fishing rod or net would ever hook it. She also prayed that Erwan would be all right and that some logical reason for the fires would surface so that she could return to the only life she knew.

  She was so absorbed in her thoughts, her eyes shielded from the drops of rain and focused on the ground in front of her, that she didn’t notice the stranger obstructing her path until Snow came to a halt. Snow’s gums pulled back from his teeth in a threatening growl. The man stood a little way ahead of them, a leg on either side of the narrow path, effectively blocking her way. His head was uncovered and the rivulets of water that ran through his short brown hair and down his face didn’t seem to bother him. His eyes were wide and open, the same chestnut color as his hair, and his skin was tanned, his face shaven. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a brown leather jacket, the type with wool in the collar that pilots wore, and his jeans were tugged into brown boots.

  Snow growled again, inching forward, while the other three dogs instantly took their pack attack positions, Rain and Cloud flanking Clelia with Thunder at her back. The man looked at the four wolf hybrids and laughed nervously.

  “Quite a pack of wolves you’ve got there,” he called to her in English. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Under normal circumstances I would have shaken hands and introduced myself, but...” He motioned with his head at Snow.

  “What do you want?” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the rain.

  “Are all you locals so friendly?” he said with a grin.

  Clelia remained quiet.

  “I’m staying at a hotel at the harbor. I’m on my way to the village,” he offered. “I was hoping to speak to some people in town about the fires. I’m a journalist from Paris.” He extended a hand but Snow took two menacing paces toward the stranger, who immediately dropped it again. “I would have given you a business card, but...” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t perhaps be willing to answer a few questions, would you?” He bared his teeth in what looked more like a grimace than a smile.

  “I’m in a hurry,” Clelia said, averting her eyes as the man shamelessly studied her like an interesting science project.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  Thunder growled behind her and Rain and Cloud widened their circle to surround the man from the sides.

  “Um,” he cleared his throat, “do you mind calling your dogs off?”

  Clelia didn’t whistle or speak their names. She knew they wouldn’t attack, not without a word or a gesture from her. Normally she wouldn’t allow them to scare a stranger like this, but there was something about the man that had her scalp prickling in an uneasy way. The last thing she needed was media exposure.

  “I just want to talk to you about the fires,” he said again, glancing from Rain to Cloud. “It’s for an article I’m writing. I’ll mention your name. Wouldn’t it be nice to see your name in a national newspaper?”

  “I don’t know anything about the fires,” Clelia said.

  “What’s your name?” he said again.

  “What does it matter?” she said, regarding him with mistrust.

  His eyes were bright, and even through the rain she could see the sparkle in them.

  “Not a lot of people around here speak English. It’s awful weather
to be out. I can buy you a cup of coffee at the bakery and we could just talk. Or, you could invite me home, if you’d feel happier in your own environment. I just want to get more information for my article.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help you, Monsieur. I’m in a hurry. Can you please move so we can get past?”

  He narrowed his eyes. It was only a fleeting movement and she couldn’t be sure if it was because of the rain or because he was annoyed with her unwillingness to cooperate, but after another second, he stepped aside.

  He kept a wary eye on the dogs, but when he fixed his gaze on Snow, the wolfdog went into a pouncing position, crouching low, his head lowered and his eyes lifted. Snow wasn’t an aggressive dog. The man’s lip lifted at one corner. For a moment, Clelia thought the man was going to snarl. The other dogs had moved around him, and when they growled, he looked away from Snow.

  “I would get farther out of the way, but maybe you should call your dogs off first.”

  Clelia moved forward until she was ahead of the man and only then did she flick her fingers. Immediately Rain, Cloud, and Thunder left their positions to heel by her side. Only Snow still crouched in front of the stranger, his lips quivering with warning.

  The man lifted his eyebrows. His expression was mocking. “Impressive.” He took on a look of disappointment. “Pity we couldn’t talk.”

  Clelia didn’t spare him another glance as she hurried up the slope that would take her around the cliff and to the harbor. Snow only followed when she was at the top of the hill.

  Before they reached the end of the forest, it stopped raining. As if a magic wand had been waved, the mist cleared over the ocean to let the sun through a ring of clouds, shining a fan of angelic light over the calm water. Clelia paused to regard it. Never before had she seen the rain just stop like that and the fog disperse as if it never covered the sea like a blanket. She wondered if she could maybe consider it a good omen. If the rain hadn’t stopped, she would have had to wait out in the woods or somewhere on the harbor until the sea was clear. This was no small blessing.

  At the edge of the forest, she bade farewell to the dogs. As she went on her haunches, they immediately came toward her, sitting around her in a circle, their heads turned up, Snow’s intelligent eyes knowing. Clelia bit back the tears as she caressed each one, kissing them on their heads. Of all the animals, she felt closest to the dogs. She had found the pack of puppies in the forest next to their dead mother. Poor thing had been shot. The farmers in the area had been complaining about a fox killing their sheep and had been out on a rampage for a month. One of them claimed to have shot a wolf. Turned out he had shot a defenseless husky.

  The hunting didn’t stop, not until every wild fox and stray dog had been cleared from the forest and the valley. Clelia had managed to hide the puppies in the shed where Erwan kept his nets and fishing gear, and had raised them with a mixture of buckwheat porridge and milk. They were her family, as much as Erwan was, and all she had in the world. She kissed each one a last time before she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and stood, pointing a finger in the direction of their island.

  “Home boys,” she said through her tears. “Go home.”

  They yelped, and when she turned, she could feel their hesitation hanging in the air.

  She slowly faced them again. “Please, go,” she whispered.

  They reiterated until they disappeared behind the pine trees. By the time she got to the harbor, she could hear them howling, although she couldn’t see them any longer. For a second, Snow’s profile appeared on the hill, his head lifted to the sky as he cried out a song of sorrow. She had trained them not to bark or howl near the village in fear of the townspeople who could come after them with their guns, but she knew that Snow could help this cry as little as she could help her tears.

  Slowly she made her way to the jetty, every step a step away from what was known, a step closer to the unknown, to that world the islanders didn’t acknowledge. From that far away, unknown place, a sound descended from the skies. She recognized it long before

  Chapter Five

  The helicopter circled over the ocean. Josselin sat in the back, scanning the boats with his powerful binoculars. He felt like shit this morning, having woken up in the middle of the night in the megalithic site in the pouring rain. He had a headache from hell and he cursed all the gods and idols for waking up alive, because he was sure that when he embarked on his mission, he had been determined not to leave it breathing. Then, fucking miraculously, he woke up with his revolver gone, disappeared into thin Shakespearean air. What a theatrical joke. It was the best ironic, comical tragedy of the year.

  He grimaced at the thought. He shouldn’t have come back, shouldn’t have accepted this assignment. He couldn’t stand the memories. But Cain would have personally kicked his ass to his grave if he as much as tried to make excuses. He’d always known that the truth would catch up with him. He couldn’t run forever. His eyes focused on the moving boats, eliminating one after the other, until Bono, the pilot, spoke into the communication system link in his ear.

  “Anything?”

  “Nothing,” Josselin said darkly.

  They were supposed to take the old fisherman, Erwan, and his granddaughter into ‘custody’, well, unofficially and off the record into custody, because their organization was one that, as long as both the American and French governments were in agreement, didn’t exist. Last night, while he was on his private, unsuccessful suicide mission, the old man had slipped through their fingers.

  “Shall I turn a couple of more times?” Bono said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Josselin nodded at the muscled man with the shiny skin the color of molasses who filled the pilot seat so effectively that he actually crowded the cabin.

  Bono gave a thumbs-up sign, tilted them left, and down.

  Josselin turned the binoculars to the harbor. Someone was intent on burning down the whole damn village and it wasn’t a simple open-and-closed case of arson. His team didn’t operate on normal assignments. He headed a special task force of paranormal crime investigators and the fact that they were called in to his birth town for the mysterious and deliberate destruction of properties left him clueless.

  Sure, there was the speculation about Clelia d’Ambois’ mother, but it was exactly that–only speculation. When he was told about the fires, he recalled some stories about the Japanese girl who was abandoned by a trawler. It could have been nothing, just a bunch of superstitious fishermen blaming a dry spell and their own negligence on the girl. He never knew Katik. He was only four when she died. If she had indeed possessed the ability the Japanese men had accused her of, she would have passed it on to her daughter. Guesses. There was nothing concrete. Besides, he had always been keenly aware of the very young Clelia. If a supernatural force was at play, it wasn’t in her. He had tasted her blood once, after all, and he would have known if there was something in the frail girl. All there had been was angelic goodness, which is why he stayed as far away from her as possible.

  He had been to every burnt house. There was nothing. No signs to point them in any direction. Except for the old man, Erwan’s DNA literally dripping all over every single one of the sites and lots of talk about witches and witchcraft. No clue as to how the fires had started. For all he knew, it could have been the devil himself with a pointed fork setting the buildings alight.

  He should have point-blank refused the mission on the grounds of conflicting personal interests, but that would have raised questions about his past, and then Cain would have known exactly how screwed up he really was and would have booted him all the way to an early retirement, if not to some mental institution, or God knows, elimination. And by God, he had no problem taking himself out, but leaving it in the hands of someone else ... that was a different matter altogether.

  “We have a suspect in view,” Lann Dréan, the slender blond Russian with the yellow eyes, said from the ground station into the mic.

  Lann was the
wizard-like aeromancist on the team, who had, only minutes ago, used his art, one of the seven forbidden by common law for four centuries, to clear the weather for the helicopter to take off. If Lann had spotted a suspect, it meant he had picked up someone via their satellite tracking.

  “I’m listening,” Josselin said.

  “At your twelve o’clock,” Lann said. “She’s on the jetty.”

  Josselin turned his head and saw the profile of a person at the top end of the quay in a navy blue rain jacket and red fishing boots.

  “Got it,” Bono said, “turning a hundred-and-eighty degrees. Shall I take this baby down, Joss?”

  “Is there space to land?” Josselin said.

  He sure as hell didn’t feel like dropping down with the rope again as he had in Cairo just a week ago. He didn’t feel in top form this morning and a Tarzan act might just have him spilling his guts all over the sea and the pier, attracting sharks the likes of Cain, who’d start asking questions about his wellbeing and insist on a renewed psychological and physical examination. This time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to prevent the demons in his soul from making themselves known.

  “I can land her, no problem,” Bono said with a tinge of excitement in his voice, which should have had Josselin worried. Bono was an air cowboy who only enjoyed his job when it required crazy, impossible stunts that put his skill to the ultimate test.

  “Let’s go,” Josselin said nevertheless, feeling stranger by the minute. It was more than his physical hangover. He wiped a hand over his unshaven face, the stubble sharp under his palm. He suddenly wished that he hadn’t vomited the bottle of pills out, and wondered what the hell had happened. Maybe he should ask a geomancist to toss a few rocks into the sand to tell him, he thought grimly.

  His thoughts dwelling in a different location, he kept his eyes trained on the target in question. The young female remained in her position at the top of the jetty. She wasn’t the fish they were after. She was the bait, so to speak. Even with the distance still too far for him to form a visual, Josselin already had a bad feeling about this.