She shrugged. “Transfiguration is difficult,” she said. “But you’re not a wolf. You’re never a wolf. You, young man, are like the body and blood of Christ. We see it—bread and wine. We taste it—bread and wine. But we know, in our souls, that it is Christ. You are you—human form or wolf—with all the bad and the good that comes with it. Did you not wonder why the monks’ blessing, the touch of the crozier, didn’t change anything?”
“Because I am damned already. The curse is the proof, not the cause.”
She frowned at him. “Silly man,” she said. “Perhaps no blessing could heal you because you’re not broken.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but one look from her and he stayed silent.
“My daughter is a good person. She is speeding into the den of a real monster—one with a demon’s bargain. It was not Josceline alone who killed me—his demon was there, too. Do you want to help her?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “But what if I can’t? What if I can’t change? What if I can’t change back?”
She moved away from him. “All acts of faith require risk. You know that. You’ve been on the rough seas for a long time. Take Christ’s hand, and step out of the boat. Then you’ll know the water is safe to walk on.”
She was gone.
“Dammit.” He drove his hand through his hair and returned to his room. From his vanity he took a golden chain, strong and well made, that he had acquired on Crusade. He slipped his cloak pin on the chain and fastened it around his neck. He left the cross behind with the small hope that Marie might come back to Sarum for it.
He’d force the change. He had to. If the necklace held, he might be able to change back. If he lost it, it didn’t matter. He’d stay a wolf forever before he’d see Marie hurt.
There was no time to bother with the church in the woods. He stripped off his clothes and drew a deep breath. Rather than waiting to feel the magic, he imagined it there, stinging across his skin, and then underneath it, burrowing into him. The magic swirled in him, stronger than ever before, and he gasped. He found that part of him that was, and always had been, the wolf, and he imagined drawing it out, covering up the human part of himself. After a few painful minutes, he sat back on his haunches, panting. He was far less disoriented than he ever had been after any change before.
He bolted out the door and down through the castle, sprinting out into the sunlight and across the countryside toward the cathedral.
Chapter Fifteen
Marie hurried toward the gates of the cathedral, and a monk ambled out to meet her.
“Brother,” he began, frowning with concern.
Marie cast back her hood. “It’s me.”
The man stopped, startled. After composing himself, he smiled. “Of course, Sister Marie. Let me tell the bishop you are here.”
“No,” she said and shook her head. She was still breathing hard from the journey. “There isn’t time. Take me to him now.” She glanced up at the sky. It was approaching noon. The sooner they could talk, the sooner she could tell him about Clavret, about her mother. When Clavret found out she was gone, he could certainly guess where, and perhaps he’d flee. She wouldn’t let him get away.
She followed the monk into the church and through to the bishop’s office.
The bishop stood when she entered. Before she could speak, he held up his hand. “Thank you, Brother.” He nodded at the monk. “You may go.”
The monk gave a bow to the bishop and left.
“Now,” the bishop smiled at her, “sit. You seem quite worn out. What could be so urgent? Have you found the crozier?” He leaned forward, eyes intense.
“No.” She took a few more deep breaths. “But Clavret might be responsible for it.”
The bishop sat back, a look of surprise on his face. “You think so? I’ve known the man for a long while—he’s capable of many sins, but stealing a relic?”
Marie nodded. “I know you had hoped that his—” she gulped another breath “—dark magic might help unlock the book.” She swallowed, her throat parched from her trip. Her heart would not stop pounding, and the rose grew hot against her skin. She paused. What if he didn’t believe her? But this man had seen demons, fought demons, surely he would be willing at least to listen. “He killed my mother.”
“What?” The bishop jerked back in surprise. “Your mother?”
“Yes.” Marie drew a deep breath and held the tears at bay. “I saw it happen. I got the book open and had a vision.”
“You opened the book?” He folded his hands in front of him. His eyes were focused on her so intently that she leaned back.
“Yes.” She bit her lip, nervous—surely he wouldn’t call her damned for her mother’s magic. “My blood, it opened it.”
“Ah.” He pursed his lips. “Blood magic.” He nodded. “Go on.”
Marie drew another deep breath—her stomach roiled as the images rose in her mind. “There’s something else. Lord Clavret he’s—” she shook her head “—he’s a witch.” She paused, looking at the bishop, gauging his reaction.
“Go on, Marie, you’re safe here.”
“He turns himself into a wolf. I followed a path out of the castle and the grounds and into the woods. It led me to a crumbled church. Inside were the clothes he had been wearing the day he left, and there were black candles on the altar. He was there, a wolf. Later he told me it was a curse, from Crusade, attached to a wolf’s head pin he carries.”
“I knew that he was changed when he returned from the Crusade, but I did not think he was made that monstrous. And evil can give the power of transformation.” The bishop stood suddenly. “Of course I believe you. Come along,” he said. “We would be wise to speak outside, away from listening ears.”
Marie followed him from his office.
He led her through the cathedral and into the back grounds. She followed him through a labyrinth not unlike the one in the abbey. They emerged in the center to a small open space thick with lush grass. A blackened ring had been burned into the ground like the one she had seen those months ago. Five pillars topped with black candles stood equally spaced around the circle.
She spun around to retreat back into the maze, but the bishop blocked her way.
He grinned at her. “Fiat lux.” The candles sputtered and blazed to light.
Chapter Sixteen
Bleiz panted as he broke from the underbrush onto the road. A horse reared away from him as he passed by, bolting through the gates of the walled cathedral. He hurled himself into the church itself, sending monks scattering around him. He panted and stilled, listening. Where would he take her? He sniffed the ground again. There was no trace of her, but there was…something else.
He sniffled again. Had he been human, he’d have laughed out loud.
The ferret. A more aromatic mammal was hard to find.
The trail led into the cathedral, but out again, back through to a garden and a hedge labyrinth. They had—or at least the ferret had—passed this way. There was another scent, too, acrid and sharp in his nose, but faint. Even with his heightened senses, he barely found it. Sulfur. Bleiz hurtled down the spiraling path to the center.
“Ah, Lord Clavret, I rather hoped you might stop by.” Candles blazed at the five points of a pentagram. At the center, the bishop stood over Marie, who was on her knees, clutching the side of her face. Blood dripped from her nose. “Marie told me about your transformation—I’m impressed you hid it from me for so long.”
Bleiz lunged forward but froze when the bishop produced a knife, a wicked dagger stained with blood.
“Ah-ah.” The bishop grabbed Marie by the hair and jerked her head back. He pressed the blade to her throat. “Stay there, wolf.”
Marie winced as the blade nicked her neck. “Let me go.”
The bishop pressed the tip of the blade into her neck again, causing her to cry out. “Stay back,” he warned.
Bleiz growled low in his throat. If Josceline killed her, he’d rip the man to pieces, be damned fo
rever, and be happy about it.
“Another paw forward, and she dies.” The bishop laughed. “Well, she’s probably going to die anyway, like her mother—you remember how you killed her, right, Bleiz?”
He growled again. He wasn’t sure he could transform back into a man, and the time it took and the disorientation after would leave him too vulnerable for much too long anyway.
Marie held perfectly still. “You killed her, didn’t you, Bishop?” Marie’s voice was flat. “It was your voice I recognized, not Lord Clavret’s. Why?”
“I killed her,” he said. “I needed the rose—by that night she had already given it to you. Imagine my delight when your name came across my desk. A poor young woman with a failed marriage, looking for somewhere to go. I couldn’t get you into Shaftesbury fast enough. I came, that first night, to find you—to get that rose. But when I called…him…he was unhappy with my progress. Then you came out and saved my life.” He eased his grip. “You sent that demon back to Hell on your first go. We could be quite the team. With your mother’s gifts and magic, we could be the most powerful people in the kingdom.”
“Never,” Marie snapped.
“Pity.” The bishop drew back the blade.
A white blur scurried from Marie’s collar, and the bishop screamed. He flailed his arm, but Asta had latched on with a vengeance, and the ferret wasn’t about to let go.
Marie jerked back and scrambled away.
Bleiz leapt and hit the man straight in the chest, knocking him to the ground and sending the knife skittering toward the furious little nun.
The bishop finally dislodged the ferret, sending it flying.
“Bishop!” Marie stood in front of them, the bishop’s dagger clutched in her hand. The rose she wore around her neck glowed like it was lit from within.
Bleiz tried to push away from him, but the priest caught him and clutched him close, using him as a shield. The wolf snorted. He doubted Marie would have a moment’s pause before running him through to get to the priest.
Marie grabbed the rose. “My mother was a powerful sorceress,” she said more to herself than to either of the men. “Her relic sent that demon back to Hell.” She glanced up at the bishop. “I’d wager it can call him back here, too.”
The rose blazed to life. Marie stood tall, the monk’s habit fluttering in the wind her magic drew around her.
Bleiz twisted in the bishop’s arms and snapped at his face. The bishop shoved him away but tried to grab him again when he realized he’d lost his cover. Bleiz leapt clear.
If Marie saw him, she didn’t make a sign. Her eyes never left the bishop. Bleiz could see, a few feet away, Asta. She seemed fine, though a bit stunned. He crept over to her, caught her in his paws.
“I’ve heard that if you know their names, you can call demons.”
“No,” he said. “You could never call a demon in a cathedral.” He was crab-crawling backward as she advanced on him.
“Not in a holy church,” Marie confirmed. “But we aren’t in the church, are we?” She cocked her head. “Was the crozier really taken?”
“Yes.” He nodded, desperate. “I swear.”
“I remember that night in the abbey like it was yesterday. His name is seared into my memory. Hardouin? That was the name he gave me.” She looked around the circle. “Hardouin?” she called. “Demon? If you don’t mind, I’d like a word.”
Nothing happened.
“You can’t!” The bishop cackled. “You don’t have the power—you’re not half the witch Brigit was.”
Marie dropped the rose and laid the blade of the knife against her palm. She slashed down, wincing at the cut. With her bloody hand, she caught her rose again. “Hardouin? With my blood and my magic, I call you.”
“Don’t!” the bishop cried out. “It will destroy you.”
“Perhaps.” Marie stalked toward the bishop, knife in hand. “Hardouin? I have a gift for you.”
A whirlwind tore through the circle, and Bleiz ducked down. If he was going to die today, he’d at least get one hell of a show.
Out of the whirlwind a man stepped. No, Bleiz corrected himself, that was not a man, though he looked like one. He was dressed in fashionable attire, with blond curls and green eyes. He stared at Marie, ignoring everything else.
“Little nun?” he said.
That certainly explained to Bleiz why she hated the nickname.
“To what do I owe this honor?” The demon’s voice was strangely unironic.
“The last time we met, I kept you from taking the bishop.”
“Indeed, you did, little nun.”
“I have a name,” she snapped. Her rose blazed with a white light that made the demon wince.
“My apologies, Sister Marie.”
“Thank you.” She pointed the knife at the bishop. “Take him.”
The demon’s eyes widened. “Is this some kind of trick?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He killed my mother.”
“Your mother?” He seemed to consider it. “Ah, yes. That is why you looked so familiar to me. You look like her.”
“You were there.” Marie gave a grim laugh. “The looming figure behind the bishop. We’ll reckon for that later. For now, can you take him?”
“Is that a request?” He grinned.
“It’s a question of your capability.” When the demon scowled at her, she laughed. “Would you like to take him?”
The demon’s gaze shifted from her to the bishop, and a wicked grin spread across his face. “And then what?” His glance darted back to her. “What do you demand as payment?”
“You leave.”
“But there’s so much fun here. And you didn’t even make a proper circle.” He approached her, a low chuckle in his throat. “I could take you right here.”
The evil radiated off the demon as he stood directly in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.
She did, with a smile. “Try me.”
The demon blinked first. He strode back and snatched the bishop by the collar, hauling him to his feet. “Off we go, Josceline.” He turned to Marie. “How odd this is,” he said with a small bow, “to owe a nun a favor.”
Marie dropped the knife, let go of her rose, and darted forward, catching the bishop’s hands. She kissed his forehead. “May God in his mercy pardon you for your sins, whatever they may be.” It wasn’t the complete last rites, but it would have to do. She let go of him, stepped away, and returned her attention to the demon. “I will not forget your debt, Hardouin.”
“Neither will I, Marie.” He bowed. “Until we meet again.” With a wave of his hand, the whirlwind spun to life. The demon gently touched Marie’s face and disappeared into the wind.
Bleiz sighed in relief, believing everything was good, until he tried to change. The wolf’s head pin, chain and all, was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Marie ached, and blood had caked at her throat and run down, staining her cowl. She clenched her other hand in a fist, closed so tightly that her fingers cramped.
The wolf sprinted to where the demon had been and sniffed the ground.
“He’s gone,” she said to him. “At least for now.”
He whined.
A chitter drew her attention, and Asta took a flying leap, landing on her chest. Marie cuddled her close. “Thank you, pretty girl,” she cooed. “You bit that bad man! Yes, you did!” The ferret squeaked and squealed, snuggling its head under her chin until it finally wound itself around her neck and settled down.
“Bleiz?”
The wolf turned to look at her. If it were possible for a wolf to have tears in his eyes, this one did.
She sat down on the grass. “What’s wrong?”
The wolf came up to her. She reached out and stroked his head.
“It’s all going to be fine,” she said.
The wolf collapsed, dropping his head into her lap.
“Here,” she said, opening her closed hand. “Will this help?”
The wolf looked up and saw his cloak pin. She had clutched it in her palm, and it was slick with her blood.
“I couldn’t get the chain.” She reached into her monk’s habit, grabbed the drawstring on her shift, and tugged it free. She looped the pin onto it and tied it around his neck. “Better?”
Shuddering, the wolf gave a baleful howl, and his body began to break, shift, and tear. Marie tensed, forcing herself not to scream or shove him away. As the body reknit, his muzzle shifted into a face, and the fur receded, leaving his long, glossy hair. She stroked his cheek. Eventually, the shifting stopped, and his body stilled. He opened his eyes and gazed up at her.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello, Marie.” He drew a deep breath and hauled himself to his feet, stumbling with the effort. In another time and place, Marie was sure, he’d have been strutting for her entertainment, but now she stared at him openly, eventually settling her gaze on his face when he moved his hands to cover himself.
“Shy now?” she teased.
“You saved me.” His hand drifted to the pin. “I’d have been trapped as a wolf.”
“Perhaps. More urgently, you need something to wear.” She bent down and grabbed the hem of the monk’s cowl. She hauled it over her head and tossed it to him. “It will do for now.”
He caught it and hauled it on. “Thank you.”
“Why did you come? How did you know?”
“I found the book’s cross under the bookshelf. Your mother’s ghost was attached to it. She told me to come save you.”
“You spoke to my mother?” Marie swallowed hard at the pain rising in her chest. “Did you know her?”
“I never got to speak with her when she was alive.” He sighed. “She was murdered the day after I arrived at Kells.”
“A few months after the last time I ever saw her.” She ran a hand through her hair, loose around her face. “We’ve got a lot to do. You need to get back to Sarum Castle, and I’ve got to get back to the abbey.”
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