First Blood

by S. Cedric

  But of course, that is not enough. It is never enough.

  Madeleine has to do it—as she promised—in front of the supernatural forces they have called up, which have been stronger and stronger every time.

  “Go on.” Ismael is impatient.

  “Do it,” Pierre cries out.

  She swallows hard. She has the impression she is moving slowly toward the dog.

  When she looks at the defenseless creature, she feels sick. Worse, she knows this damned dog. It belongs to old lady Herisson, her neighbor. She had climbed over her fence to steal the animal, which came to her without resistance.

  Mrs. Herisson will never know what happened to her pet. That was almost too bad.

  At the time, the thought had made her smile.

  But now, things are different.

  Madeleine sees black dots dance on the outskirts of her vision. It is the stress. She has a painful cramp in her gut. At the beginning, she had this symptom only after the invocations, when she manipulated the natural forces too long. But recently, just thinking about the sessions has been enough to bring on a cramp in her gut.

  She stands over the frightened animal. It is cringing, and its large eyes seem to beg her. It wags its tail weakly.

  “No, I can’t do it.”

  She feels their eyes burning behind her. She can hear their hearts beating in pace with hers.

  “It’s not any harder than a pigeon,” Ismael says.

  He is right. She has already sacrificed pigeons. She has torn their guts with her teeth and bitten into their still-warm hearts. And she has felt the forces sleeping beyond the veil that suddenly stopped breathing and directed their attention to her, ready to listen to her demands.

  This is different.

  She cannot do it. It is too much for her.

  “I’ve had enough.”

  “A little willpower,” Pierre says, impatient. He is standing against the wall. “That’s all it takes. Pull yourself together.”

  Madeleine turns around and faces them, not at all proud of herself. It is as if she were discovering their youthful yet hardened faces for the first time. They are children ready to become adults. Now, with blood and sacrifice. With folly and cruelty.

  She realizes that it is time to open her eyes. If she continues, she is sure it will be too late. She is close to her limit now, and she is terrified of what she will find on the other side of the wall of shadows once she has crossed over.

  “I’m stopping,” she says. “I’m finished.”

  “You can’t turn back,” Pierre says. It is a thinly disguised threat. “You know that. We took an oath.”

  She knows very well that she has taken an oath. They have sealed it with ashes and their own blood. They have pledged to open the forbidden doors.

  It was a mistake.

  “To hell with that damned oath,” she says. “I refuse to do it. You’ll have to make do.”

  Their eyes fill with wordless anger. The dog cringes even more.

  “Don’t drop us now,” Guillaume says. He has always been the overexcited one. “You know how important it is. You can’t just leave like that. You can’t leave at all.”

  She turns to Ismael.

  “Say something,” she begs. “You understand, don’t you?”

  He shoots her a look, disappointment twisting his mouth. His contempt cuts through her like a red-hot blade. Physical pain is nothing, compared with the suffering she feels when she sees the look in Ismael’s eyes.

  She drops the knife and heads for the door, breathing hard.

  She needs some air, right away.

  35

  Toulouse

  “What are you doing?” Detective Thibaut Brodin asked when he saw the inspector sitting alone in the office. Everyone else had left for lunch.

  “I’m taking advantage of the calm to go through the reports,” Vauvert said without looking away from his computer. He was scrolling through pictures, maps, and reports. Everything from the Loisel case was in the database.

  Brodin sat down next to Vauvert and watched the moving collage. The inspector went from one to the other in chronological order. The documents sped by on the screen.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” Brodin asked.

  “I wanted to go over everything we have on the Loisel case. It will help me get everything straight in my head.”

  The detective nodded. He was sporting a jacket that paid homage to Kiss and had not shaved in a while. His hair was a mess.

  “You’re right. My mind is reeling too. We need to get the big picture. I was there when we searched his home. I can tell you that it was spick-and-span. I’ve never seen a house so clean. What leads do we have left? You think it’s an accident? Murder? Could it be like the Agnes Le Roux case? She was that heir to that casino fortune in Nice. They never found her body.”

  “That’s a lot of possibilities,” Vauvert said, still absorbed in the pictures on the screen.

  “Give me your theory then,” Brodin said. “I know you have one. You always have one.”

  “Okay.”

  He clicked on a file. The picture of a pretty young woman with red hair and mint-green eyes flashed on the screen.

  “Who is she? Doesn’t she work for Loisel?”

  “No,” Vauvert said. “I just added her picture. The woman you are looking at is Amandine Beaumont, his ex-wife. I went to see her parents yesterday to talk about her.”

  “Oh, yeah. The accident with her baby. That was weird.”

  “More than you think, Thibaut. His wife and his child died shortly before Loisel founded his first company. It grew like wildfire. The following year, he sold that business and bought two more.”

  “Where are you going with this? Do you think there is some connection between his wife’s death and his first business? Did she have money?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m simply asking questions. I’m putting the facts together and lining them up. The fact is, the Loisel empire took root a few weeks, maybe even a few days after his wife and child died. That is rather unusual. And here we are, ten years later, and Loisel is at the top of his game. He pays a routine visit to one of his factories in Saint Gaudens. It’s this one.”

  He clicked on another picture. It showed buildings that looked like hangars and a parking lot full of dump trucks. Behind the buildings were huge mounds of plastic containers. A sign at the entrance to the complex read “Loisel Corp. P.E.T.”

  “They recycle plastic bottles. Loisel spent the day there, as he did on a regular basis, according to witnesses. He left the complex at the end of his visit, and then he vanished. Nobody has seen him since. I want to know what the staff members who saw him last at the facility had to say.”

  Vauvert scrolled down the files and clicked on the recorded statement of a staff member.

  A room with white walls appeared on the screen. Beyond a window, a nearby factory was spewing thick smoke into the sky.

  The man answering questions had a long, thin face and a blue shirt with stripes and a large badge that read “Security.”

  “This is Oliver Pace’s statement. He was the security guard on duty that day,” Vauvert explained. “Listen.”

  He turned up the volume.

  “Yes, Mr. Loisel was here all day. I can vouch for that. He often comes in to take care of the accounts himself. When did he leave? Around six in the evening. I remember. I opened the gate for him. He even talked to me. I don’t really remember what he said. Wait, let me see. Oh yes, he told me to have a good evening, and then he said he couldn’t wait to get home. Normal stuff.”

  Vauvert hit pause.

  “So?” Brodin said. “What does this video show?”

  “He told the guard he was going home.”

  “Yes, that we know. But like I said, his house was in perfect order. It didn’t look like anyone had been there.”

  “Because he cleaned it top to bottom before he left. And he never went back there that night,” Vauvert said.
“I checked the highway cameras. They show him taking off in the direction of Montréjeau.”

  “I don’t see what that changes.”

  Vauvert smiled, the wrinkles deepening in his craggy face.

  “It could change everything. Loisel’s home was in Noé. If he wanted to go home, he would have driven toward Toulouse. But he didn’t. He went the other way, toward Montréjeau, which is the road that leads to Spain.”

  “Oh,” Brodin said, scratching his head.

  “Maybe he had something else to do. It was only six in the evening.”

  “Perhaps, but I doubt it.”

  “So what do you believe?”

  “I think this man was afraid of someone. He was very afraid. I would bet my life on it. He did not go home, because he had decided to run away.”

  “Do you think he’s hiding?”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I think.”

  “But from whom?”

  That is the key question, Vauvert thought. The image of the woman in fur crossed his mind. Then he remembered the swollen, decaying bodies of the Beaumonts. He shrugged.

  “He’s hiding from someone who wants to find him at all costs—someone who, if he’s found, will certainly subject him to the same fate as his in-laws. If it were me, I would be very afraid of someone capable of doing that.”

  Brodin nodded again.

  “I see what you mean. That would fit. But the question is the same. Where do we look?”

  Vauvert continued gazing at the screen. Then he smiled.

  “Why, in your opinion, did he spend the day in that precise factory?”

  “The guard said that he often went there to do the accounts.”

  “I have a hard time believing that. Pierre Loisel has a dozen businesses. This is the smallest of them, with only twenty people on the payroll. The recycling process is entirely automated. Yet he goes there several times a month, when he doesn’t even bother to visit his much larger factories nearly as often. That brings me to what you said earlier.”

  Vauvert pulled up the employee list.

  “When you saw the picture of his ex-wife, you thought she worked for him, right?”

  “I must have made a mistake,” Brodin said. “Look. Her. There. They look alike, don’t they?”

  Vauvert clicked on the picture Brodin had pointed to. It was a woman with red hair. Even in the thumbnail, you could see the resemblance. When it spread across the whole screen, the resemblance was even more striking.

  “Annie Lavigne. She heads up human resources.”

  Annie Lavigne’s eyes were brown, not green like Amandine Beaumont’s. But otherwise, the similarities were striking. Not only did they have the same hair color, they also had the same round face and refined features. Annie Lavigne wore her hair in two long braids that made her look vaguely like a Nordic goddess. She appeared to be the same age that Amandine was when she died.

  They were exactly the same type of woman.

  Vauvert read over the information on the screen. Annie Lavigne was thirty-six. Her husband worked at the Saint Gaudens city hall. They had a five-year-old child.

  “Loisel was spending time with her,” Brodin said. He was starting to follow Vauvert’s line of thinking. “Do you think they were having an affair?”

  In response, Vauvert looked for the video of her statement. He found it quickly. Annie Lavigne, wearing a pair of fashionable wire-rimmed glasses, appeared on the screen. She looked shattered.

  “Yes, Pierre, I mean, Mr. Loisel and I spent the day like we usually did.”

  She was sobbing.

  “I don’t understand what could have happened to him. Everyone liked Mr. Loisel.”

  Vauvert and Brodin watched the whole statement without commenting. There was no need. It was obvious that Vauvert had been right.

  Madeleine is sitting on a rock in front of the pine-filled valley. She is trying to catch her breath.

  She can still hear the fear-filled moans of the dog in the wind.

  She can also hear the others arguing. Pierre’s sharp voice calls it a disaster, all those long months of preparation reduced to nothing. Guillaume sounds angry and suggests that they go on without her as if nothing happened. Pierre says it is impossible, because they won’t have the right number, and the consequences would be dramatic. Their voices get louder. They are fighting.

  She understands that her sudden departure has disappointed them. She should have warned them about her misgivings.

  But she can’t help it.

  Just thinking about that poor puppy makes her shake all over.

  When Ismael approaches her, she feels her heart break.

  “I’m disappointed in you. After everything we did together.”

  His voice is like ice. He has never spoken to her like that. It hurts. She bends over, clutching her hair by the roots. She is ready to tear it out.

  “It’s evil. I think we were wrong, right from the start.”

  “From the start? You know what happened at the beginning? At the dawn of time? Men plunged their hands into the red source and called up forces from the other world. There is no evil in that. What’s evil is failing to honor a promise. That’s what cowards do.”

  Madeleine wraps her arms around herself. It hurts really badly. It feels like her muscles are detaching from her bones.

  “I am not a coward,” she says.

  “I’m ashamed of you,” Ismael says. “That puppy is more worthy than you.”

  She gasps.

  “And what will there be after that?” she spits out.

  “You know. You know well enough, Madeleine. We talked about it so many times.”

  “You don’t realize, do you?”

  She looks up. She has tears in her eyes.

  “You won’t be the one who carries a child inside you. You’re all boys. You cannot imagine what it means for a woman. None of you can.”

  “In that case, we’ll find someone to replace you. You are not the only one with the gift.”

  She sniffles.

  “You’re very angry with me, aren’t you?”

  The daggers in Ismael’s eyes threaten to kill her.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again,” he says, without the slightest trace of emotion.

  It feels like all the air had been knocked out of her.

  “But you can’t say that just because...”

  He turns away, not listening.

  “Go back to our place. When I get home tonight, I want you out of the apartment. Understood?

  “You can’t be serious! Ismael!”

  She is crying.

  “Adieu, Madeleine.”

  She buckles over in pain. She can’t let him do that.

  She can’t.

  “Wait.”

  Ismael is going back inside. He is leaving her.

  “Ismael. Wait!”

  She straightens. Her vision is blurry.

  “Wait,” she says in a small voice.

  He turns around, giving her the same scornful look. She cannot stand it.

  Madeleine takes a deep breath.

  She knows she will have to do it. Once again.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “But you just said you didn’t want to,” Ismael says. “This is nothing to joke about.”

  “I said that I’ll do it.” She walks toward him. “I won’t be weak again, I swear.”

  The boy flashes a small smile.

  He holds out the knife.

  “Okay, prove it then. Now.”

  36

  It was two in the afternoon when Eva arrived on the huge esplanade at La Défense. Men and women were hurrying across the concrete space, entering and leaving the shiny buildings. She took in the old stone church that was squeezed between two modern glass structures. It was quite a contrast. The church bells rang out under the snowfall, chasing away a flock of pigeons. For a moment, they filled the gray sky.

  Gaia Corporation had offices on the seventh floor of one of the high-tech buildings. It h
ad black carpeting. The gray walls were covered with pictures of the company’s recent acquisitions. Every hallway had greenery, fountains and a coffee machine. The picture windows offered a view of the teeming esplanade below.

  Striding past the empty receptionist’s desk, she reached Vincent De Bonald’s office and knocked on the door. De Bonald, the deputy director for communications, opened his door. He looked startled when he saw the white-haired woman wearing sunglasses and a black leather jacket.

  “How did you get in here?” he asked.

  “Don’t panic, Mr. De Bonald,” the newcomer said, holding out her badge. “The receptionist was away from her desk, so I just decided to find you myself. I’m Inspector Eva Svärta from Criminal.”

  The man was around fifty, had gray hair swept a bald spot, and carried extra pounds. His light purple shirt, probably a designer label, stretched around his belly and his tie seemed to mercilessly crush the folds of his neck. He examined the albino inspector. Clearly, he was having a hard time reconciling her appearance with her status as a police inspector.

  “Are you bringing me news about Mrs. Reich? Have you found her?”

  “Unfortunately, we have not. I have some questions to ask you.”

  “That will not be possible,” he said. “I have already answered all the questions your fellow officers asked.”

  “But not mine.”

  She walked across the spacious room to his desk and sat down.

  “This won’t take long,” she said with a smile that meant the opposite.

  “Very well, but I don’t have all day,” De Bonald said, reluctantly taking the seat behind his desk. “I’m a busy man.”

  He closed his computer. Eva noted the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. His dark eyes continued to focus on her, suggesting a certain resolve. She noticed a wedding ring on his left hand and a signet ring with a gold cross and a red rose on his right hand. An interesting detail.

  “What happened last night was a terrible tragedy,” he said softly. “Jonathan was a good man. We are all grieving.”