Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  Aggie of course made her own wedding dress. It’s even more elaborate than those I saw in my nightmares, with enough lace to make three dresses for me and a train six feet long that one of the littlest Devereaux girls will carry.

  I stare at the dress, my mind burning with jealousy. I want to be the one in that dress; I want to be the one marrying Alejandro. But I have to wear a much smaller white dress that calls to mind the one in our family portrait, the one I wear in my nightmares. I hate this dress instantly; even the dark red one from Christmas would be better.

  Mrs. Devereaux gives me a basket full of flower petals. She tells me that once we get to the cathedral I’m supposed to go down the aisle and scatter handfuls of these petals along the way so the rest of the wedding party can walk on them. “I understand,” I say.

  I watch Mrs. Devereaux help Aggie get into the wedding dress. I sit in a corner with the basket on my lap. I feel so useless, so extraneous. I might as well not even be here. It’s unlikely Aggie or Alejandro would notice if I left.

  This thought continues to haunt me as Aggie turns around in the dress. “What do you think?” she asks me.

  “You look pretty,” I say, giving her the twelve-year-old answer.

  “You think Alejandro will like it?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Aggie seems satisfied with this. She turns around to face the mirror, smoothing out a few imaginary wrinkles. Then Mrs. Devereaux gives her the veil, which she puts down over her face. “I think I’m ready to get married,” she says.

  Us girls go out to our carriage first. We go on to the cathedral, with Alejandro and the male members of the wedding party to follow separately. On the way to the cathedral, Aggie turns to me and says, “Make sure to spread the petals as evenly as possible. We don’t want just random clumps of them.”

  “I know,” I say. I want to growl that if I can kill a Class-4 demon, I can certainly spread some damned daisy petals on the floor of a cathedral. I can’t say this with mortals in the carriage, so I turn away from Aggie to stare out the window.

  Aggie, Mrs. Devereaux, and the girl holding the train go to the rectory of the cathedral to wait so Alejandro won’t see her, something that’s supposed to be bad luck. I loiter on the front steps of the church, careful not to get any dirt on my stupid white dress. It would serve Aggie right if I did get it dirty, and if I dumped her stupid petals behind some bushes.

  Alejandro shows up a few minutes later, looking resplendent in his suit. He unwittingly humiliates me by patting my head. “Is that you, Mademoiselle Sylvia? I thought it was an angel.”

  I smile in spite of this silly compliment. “It’s me.”

  “Are you ready for your important job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” He gives me another pat and then leaves me on the front steps of the church, where I wait until Mrs. Devereaux fetches me. She forces me to stand by the doors to the interior of the cathedral.

  The organist starts in on an unfamiliar tune and then two of Mrs. Devereaux’s sons open the doors. I’m paralyzed for a moment as I see everyone in the cathedral staring at me, including the priest by the altar. Mrs. Devereaux gives me a slight shove and I lurch forward. I reach into the basket, numbly taking out some petals. I finally gather my wits, remembering what Aggie said about distributing them evenly.

  I make it down to the altar, where I then sit on the front row of pews. From there I watch Alejandro glide down the aisle with the grace of royalty. My heart sings at this, at least until he gets to the altar and turns away from me, looking to the rear of the church.

  Despite my jealousy, I can’t deny that Aggie looks beautiful. The dress of course fits her perfectly, flattering her skinny body. The sunlight coming through the stained glass windows gives her a glow that makes me think this must be what an angel looks like. In that moment I’m finally happy for my sister.

  That happiness doesn’t last long. The moment Alejandro lifts the veil and kisses Aggie, the jealousy returns. It’s official now: they’re married. My sister is now Agnes Chiostro, while I am still little Sylvia Joubert, alone and adrift.

  The reception is held on the estate. There’s plenty of food and drink, enough for an entire regiment. Aggie doesn’t usually drink more than the odd glass of wine, but on this day she drinks glass after glass of champagne. I want more than the single glass of wine I’m allowed; I want some of my Scotch whiskey to help soothe my pain.

  I begin to cry as Alejandro raises his glass in a toast to Aggie. “Since the moment I met Agnes, I knew she was the love of my life,” he says.

  I don’t stay to hear any more of this. Instead, I slip inside and go upstairs. I’m finally able to tear off the awful white dress. I change into my tunic and leggings, the proper clothes for what I’m going to do. I find the bag I brought here from Edinburgh, which still has some of my other clothes. I dump these out, filling the bag with food, water, and money.

  The party is still going on outside as I slip down the stairs and to the front door. As I reach the front gate, I turn and look back. I know Aggie is going to be angry and disappointed with me, but I can’t help it. There’s no place for me here, not with her and Alejandro.

  I open the gate and start down the road—into the unknown.

  Part 4

  Chapter 22

  It’s so cold. In my hurry to flee from Aggie and Alejandro’s reception, I didn’t think to bring a winter coat with me. Now it’s snowing and my teeth are chattering. I continue to stomp through the forest, trying to keep warm. I curse myself again for not fleeing to a warmer climate.

  It would have been easy enough to go down to the port and buy passage or stowaway on a ship bound for Egypt, Louisiana, or even Alejandro’s home country of Italy. Any of those places would be warmer at this time of the year than the Black Forest.

  I didn’t go to the harbor because I knew that would be the first place Aggie would look. She and Alejandro knew people down there, people who could have told them where I was heading. So instead I got on the road heading east. Only instead of continuing east into Italy, I turned north, making my way to Germany.

  The first five months are easy enough. I walk during the day and find somewhere to conceal myself for the night. When my food runs out after two weeks, I take to foraging—and sometimes stealing—for what I need. I don’t stay in any towns or with any farmers so I can remain invisible from Aggie. There’s always a chance that Glenda and the coven know where I am, but she hasn’t confronted me yet.

  My days of invisibility are nearing an end as snow drifts down from the skies. I can’t delude myself anymore by thinking I can stay in the forest all winter. I need to find somewhere sheltered, where I can build a fire to warm myself. If I could find a cave that might work, except that I’d probably run out of food and starve before spring comes.

  So I continue stomping through the forest, shivering inside my tunic. I wonder what Aggie and Alejandro are doing right now. Are they still looking for me? Did they even notice that I’m gone or were they too in love to care about a silly little girl? By now they might think that I’m dead. I think of poor Alejandro, who already lost his sister.

  The memory of his smile and his kiss on my cheek prod me to keep walking east. I’ll go all the way to Russia or even China if I have to in order to forget about him. But then I’ll probably never truly forget him, just as I’ve never forgotten Henri. A love so pure never fades away; it lasts forever.

  The wind picks up, blowing snow into my face. It’s going to be a blizzard and I’m caught out in the middle of it, wearing nothing more than my ragged tunic and leggings. The tears in my eyes turn to ice almost immediately. I force myself to keep going, but my pace slows, my legs becoming heavy.

  This is how it ends, I think to myself. I’m going to die as a little mortal girl after centuries as a witch. All because I couldn’t stand my sister’s happiness. I’m going to die for that jealousy, undeserved jealousy since Aggie has never shown me anything but kindnes
s and love. I think again of those early days in our house, when she let me braid her hair, encouraging me. I remember the dress she gave me on my thirteenth birthday to show that she believed I would become a witch. I should have stayed. I should have done whatever it took to make sure she and Alejandro were happy.

  I finally pitch forward, lying motionless on the ground for a few moments. This is where it’s going to end, out here in the forest, far from home. My body will be feasted on by scavengers, the remains perhaps found by some hunter in the spring. My bones will be buried in an anonymous hole, an end similar to Sophie’s. It’s what I deserve for my selfishness.

  As I pass out, I hear a woman’s voice and think it’s Mama calling to me.

  ***

  When I wake up, I’m not in the afterlife. Instead, I’m in a wooden house about the size of the old Devereaux homes back on the estate. I’m resting on a straw mattress, blankets pulled up to my chin. I sit up to look around the house, but there’s no one here besides me. How did I get here? I push the blankets back to see that I’m wearing a white nightgown about four sizes too big—an adult’s nightgown probably. In the fireplace I see a pot and smell roasting chicken. Obviously someone brought me here, dressed me, put me to bed, and left food cooking. But who?

  The door bangs open, a gust of freezing wind prompting me to dive under the covers. I hear a woman’s voice, the same one I heard before I passed out. “You’re awake. I thought you might sleep all winter like the bears.”

  She says this in German, but I’ve dealt with them enough over the years that I have a fairly good grasp of the language. I lower the blankets to see a woman almost as wide as she is tall. She takes off a snow-splattered coat and hat, shaking out black hair that’s lined with gray. Her eyes are brown, so except for the weight she could be a dead ringer for my mother.

  “You found me in the forest?” I ask.

  “Yes. I was collecting firewood before the storm and found you frozen half to death out there. Whatever did you think you were doing?”

  “I’ve been living in the forest for months,” I say.

  “You’re an orphan then?”

  “Yes.” I look around the house to see what the woman has done with my things. “I have some money. It’s not much, but—”

  “Nonsense, child. I don’t need your money.” The woman comes over to me and squeezes my right bicep. “But I could use a pair of strong young hands to help me around the farm.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Then it’s settled.” She gestures to the pot in the fireplace. “The broth should be plenty warm by now. Sit there and I’ll bring some to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The chicken broth is what I smelled earlier. The woman offers me some black bread to go with it, but I decline, not feeling hungry at the moment. As we eat, she explains that her name is Greta Braun—I should address her as Frau Braun—and this is her farm. Her husband used to work the land while she and her daughter tended the animals, but then a fever killed her husband and daughter, so she’s been alone for the last two years.

  “What of you, child? What’s your name?”

  “Sylvia J—Joliet,” I answer, remembering at the last minute to use an alias so she can’t send word to Aggie that I’m here.

  “So you’re French?”

  “Yes. From outside Paris.”

  “And why are you wandering the forest?”

  I only shrug at this. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “You do now,” she says and smiles at me.

  ***

  I spend a week in bed, getting my strength back. Once I feel up to solid food again, Frau Braun takes to spoiling me. “You’re so skinny,” she says. “We have to put some meat on those tiny bones.”

  Frau Braun isn’t as good of a seamstress as Aggie—she doesn’t have Aggie’s experience—but she’s able to alter some of her daughter’s old clothes enough so I can fit into them. This includes a heavy leather coat and boots that I wear outside to the barn.

  The Braun farm is similar to the vineyard, but not exactly. The wheat has already been reaped and stored, so for the winter we just have to care for the animals. Frau Braun owns a dozen cattle, dairy cows for milk and cheese. She spends one morning teaching me how to milk the cows, something we have to do no matter how much it snows. “You can’t let the milk build up,” Frau Braun says.

  The first time I try to milk a cow, I squeeze the udder too hard and the cow tries to kick me. Besides being startled, there’s no harm done. Frau Braun laughs and then helps me up. “You have to be gentle,” she says. She takes the udder in her hand and shows me how to do it again. “Firm but gentle. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.” I try again and this time the cow doesn’t kick. It remains standing in place as I drain the milk into a bucket.

  Frau Braun claps me on the back. “Very good, young one. You are a quick learner.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once we’ve collected the milk, we have to separate the cream from it. What milk and cream we don’t need—which is most of it—Frau Braun stores in a shed until she can take it into town to trade for what we need. In the spring and summer she would do this right away, but the roads are nearly impassable right now from the snow.

  Because of the milk and cheese and the hearty portions Frau Braun insists on giving me, it isn’t long before she has to take out my clothes to give my stomach and backside more room. By the time spring comes, I’ve actually become plump. Looking in the mirror, I see a round, soft face with bulging cheeks and a double chin. I put a hand to a stomach that bulges as if I’m pregnant. Even my fingers have turned pudgy. The only part of me that hasn’t grown are my breasts, which remain steadfastly flat.

  I should probably hate this change; after centuries as a monster killer and gun runner, I should hate to become a fat cow. Yet, I don’t. I smile into the mirror, liking the way my chubby cheeks brighten. I’m not the Sylvia Joubert who used to kill monsters and sell guns. I’m a new person, a milkmaid instead of a warrior.

  With this new body comes a new attitude. For the first time that I can remember, I’m actually pleasant. I smile a lot more and even my voice seems brighter. The reason is that when I wake up, I already know what I have to do: I have to go out and help Frau Braun with the cows and feed the chickens and collect their eggs. Every day there’s a whole list of things that must be done in order for the farm to function. There’s no time to lie around, worrying about the past or the future, only time enough to live in the present.

  As the snow begins to melt, Frau Braun takes me into town. It’s not much of a town, just a simple village. We take our wagon loaded with milk, cheese, and eggs to the store to trade for meat, flour, and coffee. This is the first time I’ve gone into the store, so she introduces me to the shopkeeper. “This is my niece, Sylvia.”

  “Hello,” I say, feeling suddenly shy.

  “I didn’t know you had a niece, Greta,” the shopkeeper says.

  “There is much you don’t know about me,” Frau Braun says, but in a pleasant way, capped off with a wink.

  Besides the meat, flour, and coffee, Frau Braun also buys a couple yards of pale blue fabric. “What do we need that for?” I ask.

  “To make you a pretty new dress for the spring festival.”

  “Oh,” is all I can think of to say at the moment. We haven’t really talked about what would happen once spring came. I’ve been so busy working on the farm that I haven’t considered going anywhere else once the weather warmed up. There’s not much of a decision to make, as there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with Frau Braun. I smile at her and then say, “Can I get some new shoes too?”

  ***

  The spring festival is a yearly tradition in the village. From what Frau Braun says, the exact date varies, as sometimes spring comes late. Once the snow is gone, the villagers leave their homes and assemble in the town square to celebrate having survived another harsh German winter with singing, dancing, feasting
, and lots of drinking.

  The dress Frau Braun makes me is crude compared to Aggie’s, but I still have tears in my eyes when she gives it to me. “It’s beautiful,” I say, knowing she didn’t really have the money for such a luxury and how much work she had put into making it after I had gone to bed.

  The day of the festival I put the dress on, along with the pair of shoes I bought with my own money. Frau Braun uses some of the leftover fabric to make me a kerchief that she ties around my hair. I’ve tied my hair into looping braids, one on either side of my head. The end result is that I look nothing like the old me. Even my eyes are different, bright and sparkling instead of cold and harsh.

  Since it’s a nice day, we walk into town, bearing some cheese and roast chicken for the feast. I feel like skipping, but I resist this urge, not wanting to trip and get my dress dirty before everyone can see me in it. A few months ago the opinion of a bunch of provincial German farmers wouldn’t have mattered to me, but now this is my home, where I want to spend the rest of my life.

  The rest of the village is already there when we arrive. There’s about a hundred people in all, including a couple dozen children. Frau Braun puts a hand on my back and then leans down to whisper into my ear, “Why don’t you go and show the other children your new dress?”

  “All right,” I say with a tremor of uncertainty. I’ve spent all winter on the farm except for that one trip to the village, so I’ve never met the other children before. Seeing a few boys about my age, my cheeks turn warm. I suddenly feel fat and ugly. I shouldn’t have come here; I should have stayed on the farm with Frau Braun.

  A girl about my age comes up to me. “Those are very nice shoes,” she says.

  “Thank you. I bought them myself.”

  She introduces herself as Eva and like Frau Braun, instantly determines that I’m not from around here. “Where do you come from?”

  “France,” I say, looking down with embarrassment at the ground.

  “I have an aunt in France,” Eva says.

  She invites me to sit down at her table with a couple other girls. I listen to them share the local gossip they probably heard from their mothers while I mostly stuff my face with food. One of Eva’s friends finally turns to me and says, “We haven’t seen you here before.”