Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DAPHNE

October 25, 1765

Chateau de Champs-sur-Marne

Just a little further…almost there…got it! I seized the book from the top shelf in triumph, then promptly stumbled off the library ladder when a shrill voice startled me.

" Mon Dieu, Daphne, what the Hell are you doing?" Charlotte yelled from the doorway.

I righted myself and dropped the book to the floor, then stepped down from my perch.

"Nothing! Well, reading," I replied, feeling like a child caught misbehaving.

Charlotte strode into the library in a gown of vibrant chartreuse that glowed in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the pile of books I'd collected.

"Daphne, none of these appear to be salacious novels. In fact, these are all religious texts and—What's this? Malleus Maleficarum! Have you taken up an interest in the occult?" she said with a raised brow.

"No! Of course not." I rubbed at my temples, trying to ward off the ache building in my head. Charlotte folded her arms in front of her and waited expectantly.

"Well, perhaps a bit," I hedged. She gasped, her eyes sparking with excitement, and clapped her hands together.

"Fantastic! I've always wanted to learn how to cast a spell. What have you learned so far?"

I sighed as she fluffed her skirts out around her and sat upon the floor. She picked up one of the books and flipped through it. I collapsed to the floor beside her and closed my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a decent night's sleep and I felt stretched and threadbare.

"Can we find a spell that will help my husband become a better lover? You know, help him keep it up longer." She tossed the first book aside and picked up the second one. "Or perhaps there's a spell that will help him be able to find my?—"

" Charlotte, please ," I begged. "I am not in the mood to hear of Philippe's failings in bed."

She set the book aside and studied me. "Darling, what's wrong? You look positively dreadful. Shall I call for some tea?"

I sat up on my elbows and grinned at her. "Fancy a proper fucking drink?"

She leaned over, her expression grave, and felt my forehead. "Well, you don't feel feverish. I can only deduce that you've well and truly cracked, and to that I say, it's about fucking time. What shall we drink, ma chère amie? Brandy? Cognac? Whisky?"

"Oh, Hell. Let's go drink some of my bastard husband's good wine." I grabbed the stack of books and we made our way downstairs through the kitchens to the wine cellar. I hadn't had the bed removed yet and Charlotte's eyes grew wide at the sight.

"Daphne, you know I'm one for a fair tipple most of the time, but if you're sleeping in your wine cellar, it occurs to me that you may have a drinking problem." She sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows. "Although this is damned comfortable."

I handed her a dusty bottle of champagne and she popped the cork with practiced efficiency. She took a swig from the bottle and passed it back to me as I sat down next to her.

"It's a long story," I said. I drank deeply. "Tell me, Charlotte, do you believe in ghosts? Demons? Otherwordly apparitions?"

"Of course I do," she said earnestly. "I believe in everything." She chugged a good deal of champagne and burped, then laughed at her own rudeness.

"Do you think it is possible to kill them?" I asked.

"Probably. Everything dies eventually. I assume demons and spirits do, too. Why?"

"I think Henri is alive. Or un-alive. Or he's a ghost. He exists, somehow." I took the bottle back from her and drank again.

"What, like a vampire?"

"I don't think so. More like a phantom."

She snorted. "Figures. He was so much of a fiend that even Satan didn't want him in Hell."

"I'm serious," I insisted.

She peered at me curiously. "Well, I don't think you kill a ghost, chérie. I believe they need to be crossed over. Demons certainly must be exorcised. Vampires need to be staked, and I'm fairly certain I've heard werewolves need to be killed with silver—somehow. Have you spoken to a priest?"

"No. I'm worried they'll think me mad, or a witch. I don't know who else to talk to."

She drained the last of the bottle and stood to choose another one from a rack on the wall.

"You know, if you're really interested in things supernatural, there is one person you could ask," she offered.

Her sing-song tone told me she was thinking of étienne. I cringed inwardly. Since our night of passion, I hadn't been able to stop thinking of him. I couldn't settle my mind on what exactly had gone wrong. One minute, I was enjoying the most passionate time of my life, and the next, étienne had completely shut down—gone cold. I was distraught that he thought I would so easily go back to being his enemy after everything we'd shared. Clearly, the connection I felt had not been mutual.

Even when I wrote to him inquiring about our investigation, his correspondence was taciturn and monosyllabic—as if I was inconveniencing him with every missive. Had he heard from the jeweler? No . Was Josephine well? Yes . Had anyone seen Brigitte? No. What should we do next about the sudden and unnatural appearance of my evil husband, and how was he connected to Jeanne? Did the jars of objects in the basement mean Brigitte was dead? And what of the gaming piece from the casino?

No reply. Every night I waited, either for étienne to appear at my doorstep or for some foul wind bearing Henri's cruel voice to blow through my home. I needed to find out what was going on. What was Henri? How was he back? Was he dead or not? Was he alone responsible for Jeanne's death? If so, why? What did he have to gain? If he was working with someone else—someone who had a more intimate understanding of things supernatural, who was it? Why murder the king's mistress? And if Henri was back and taking part in some kind of nefarious plot or revenge scheme, why hadn't he come after me?

I found myself frustratingly desperate to speak to étienne. I wanted to figure things out with him, but his silence and sudden indifference made my head spin even worse than my ceaseless questions about our investigation. Plus, as much as I didn't want to admit, I wanted some kind of reassurance that I hadn't acted like a complete fool with him. It appeared that was not an affirmation I was likely to get.

In hindsight, I reasoned that I must have ended up as one of his short-lived conquests after all—the very thing I'd been trying to avoid. I felt completely humiliated. To have behaved so wantonly, allowing myself to be touched by his dark powers and practically begging him to make love to me… I couldn't believe I'd let it happen. When my final message went unanswered, I cried a river of bitter shame and chalked my behavior up to the vulnerability I felt after such a horrifying evening. I'd learned the hard way that the rumors had indeed been true—he was a reckless libertine who used women for one thing or another. I was lucky to get out from under him when I could. If he didn't want to work with me to figure out our predicament, I would carry on alone. I didn't need The Order's help and I certainly didn't need étienne de Noailles.

"I don't think so. Just because he is a vampire doesn't mean he knows about everything supernatural."

Charlotte pulled the cork from the bottle and sniffed it. She nodded to herself and sipped the dark burgundy liquid.

"He's the supernatural emissary to the king, Daphne. If he doesn't know about whatever metaphysical mystery you're dealing with, he probably knows someone who does."

"Perhaps he does. I'd much rather do it on my own. After all, if someone is going to get to the bottom of Henri's schemes, it will be me. He made my life miserable before he left, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him make my life a misery again. No…ghost, demon, monster, or plain old murderer, I'm going to see that his reign of terror finds an end," I muttered.

"So, you will not ask étienne for help?" Charlotte inquired, offering me the bottle.

"Certainly not," I huffed.

She leaned in close to my face and stared into my eyes. I backed away, alarmed.

"What?"

"I knew it! You slept with him! Of course you did! I'm so proud of you. What was it like? Was he as masterful as everyone says? Come now, you must tell me everything."

I almost denied it, but the champagne and Charlotte's comforting presence unlocked something within me. A tear slipped down my cheek and I sniffed.

"Oh no! Was it horrible? He didn't take advantage of you, did he? I will kill him myself if he did!" Charlotte gripped the wine bottle threateningly in her hand and burgundy droplets splashed out onto her skirts.

I took the bottle and drank, shaking my head.

"No, it was...oh, Charlotte, it was wonderful. I felt things I've never felt with any man. But I fear I did something wrong because afterwards…he just shut down on me. Now I'm afraid that I just became another name on his list of mistresses. Women of the court to use and toss aside."

The tears flowed more freely, and Charlotte tutted affectionately.

"You poor thing! Why do you feel like you did wrong?"

"I don't know!" I wailed. "All I know is that we made love and then he just went cold! What if he's lost interest in me because he finally succeeded in getting me into bed and the chase is over? Either that or…well, I've only ever been with Henri and his tastes were unusual to say the least—what if it's because I am horrible in bed? He was likely disappointed with me, otherwise he wouldn't be avoiding me, right? I'm so furious with myself, Charlotte, I could just explode! I was doing so well resisting him and his charms and in the midst of one weak moment..." I growled and gulped the wine. Charlotte patted my back.

"My darling, I'm certain you performed admirably. Men just behave this way sometimes—they don't have much experience dealing with anything beyond their own set of immediate needs. Goodness, if I want a bit of a cuddle after sex with Philippe, you'd think I was asking for the moon. He was probably overtired, or hungry! Men can be such strange creatures, to say nothing of supernatural men. Don't fret over it."

She took the bottle and drank. I blubbered a bit more and she leaned her head onto my shoulder.

"Do you want me to punish him? I could have him ousted from the tonne or spread vile rumors about him. I could tell the women at court that he has la grande verole and his manhood has become black and shriveled."

I wiped my face and giggled. "No, but thank you. I suppose I'm just embarrassed about it all. And it feels strange…being with a man who isn't Henri. And rather regretfully, there was nothing shriveled about him."

Charlotte cackled and nearly spilled the bottle of wine. We dissolved into drunken fits of laughter and my tears were soon forgotten.

On a sigh, Charlotte tossed the second empty bottle across the room.

" Alors, tell me about your ghost. Is it his room? Your chateau isn't haunted, is it?"

"No. Charlotte, you must never repeat what I'm about to tell you. Our very lives may depend on it."

"Cross my heart."

I took a deep breath. "I am investigating Jeanne's death."

"For The Order?"

My jaw dropped. "Charlotte! How did you—what do you know of The Order?"

She laughed. "If you think Philippe is smart enough to keep that big of a secret from me, you seriously underestimate me, chérie. I have known since we were married, and I know that you are also with them. Do not worry! I have kept it to myself for this long. Your secrets are safe with me. Now, go on. Tell me of the ghost."

My shock waning— of course Charlotte would figure it out, Philippe has no talent for espionage and Charlotte has a mind like a whip —I cleared my throat and continued.

"Right. After Jeanne was murdered, they believed étienne was responsible?—"

"What utter rot!" she interjected. "That man seduces women, he doesn't murder them. If he murdered women, there would be fewer pussies for him to?—"

"Yes, well, there was a report of Jeanne's death and it said vampire bite . I was supposed to administer justice on their behalf, but?—"

"You mean stake him?"

"Yes, Charlotte, please stop interrupting. I'm getting to that."

She selected another bottle of wine and sat primly at the foot of the bed. I told her everything about the investigation and about étienne, from our first meeting in the hedge maze to the graveyard, to his poisoning, to our encounters with the jeweler, Josephine, and the drunks, and finally the black magic bookshop basement. I told her about making love to him, though I left out the part about his healing abilities. For some reason, divulging that felt like a betrayal of something strangely sacred. When I finished, the third bottle of wine sat abandoned on the bedside table and her face was a pale, inscrutable mask.

"Well?" My nerves crackled as I worried about how she would respond.

"I cannot believe you've been through all that in the last few weeks," she said. "Firstly, I retract my earlier defense of étienne's behavior. He is certainly an ass. Secondly, this book you found in the basement—what was the title again?"

" Pseudomonarchia Daemonum ."

"You must be dealing with a demon of some kind," she said, her brows furrowing.

" Dieu , I know nothing about demons! The Order won't help me and it's been far too long since I've set foot in a church…" I groaned.

"I think I know where we may find a copy of that book," she said, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"No! Where?"

"The library at Versailles."

"That cannot be. King Louis would never have such a heretical text in his library," I said with a frown.

"You are right. It wouldn't be in his library, but it would be in Jeanne's."

"What? Charlotte, you aren't making any sense. Jeanne was a devoted Catholic, just like Louis."

"Yes, but she was also a grand patron of the arts. She attended salons with some of the most liberal thinkers in France. She was friends with Voltaire, for God's sake. The library in her apartments is said to have a much more enlightened and progressive catalogue of texts. Did you never hear the rumors of her interest in life beyond the grave? There were even whispers of her holding a séance at court."

My mind worked. I'd always thought Jeanne was an innocent victim in all of this. Was it possible she was caught up in something dangerous and otherworldly?

"But her apartments have been closed up," I said. "Even if she had a copy of the book, it would be nearly impossible for us to get inside that wing of the palace without attracting too much attention."

"Well, then, it's fortunate indeed that we have the perfect excuse to skulk around Versailles in the middle of the night next week!" Charlotte nearly fell off the bed in her excitement. Seeing my confused expression, she groaned in exasperation. "Oh, Daphne. Tell me you haven't forgotten about the midnight masquerade on All Hallow's Eve. You told me ages ago that you were thinking of the perfect costume."

Merde.