The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3

I’d returned to camp before the performance finished. Maximillian assured me no one would ever find my attackers’ corpses. True to his word, only the usual after-show chaos greeted me when I slipped backstage.

Despite my exhaustion from the poor rest of the previous night, sleep didn’t come for hours that night. I tossed for hours as my mind swam in the memories of all that happened. And when dawn came, Mother had to wake me more than once to draw me to the breakfast table.

“Finish up. Your uncle is waiting for you,” she said, nodding at his approach.

“It’s getting late, Esprit,” Uncle Guillaume said. He ran his hand through my tousled hair to smooth it back while I rushed through the last swallows of my pourage. “Where’s your hat?”

Moments later, we joined several men in the troupe to head into town for supplies. Saulieu was like most small provincial towns, divided into districts for commerce, government, and leisure, all surrounding a church at its center.

“Stay close to me. This will take time,” Uncle instructed.

It was the same in most towns—store owners took advantage of outsiders. But Uncle Guillaume was as intrepid as he was charming. He only needed enough time to get the keeper to arrive at a reasonable price.

I browsed the stalls for a short while, hoping to come across an instrument. It didn’t take long before the unwanted glares at the bruises on my face forced me to step away. They all watched me like I were a ruffian or a thief.

Left on my own, my mind returned to Maximillian and all he’d said to me last night. I’d promised to slip away this evening, though I hadn’t decided how I would manage it. But the world looked different in the light of day, and my feelings of apprehension returned.

The more I considered it, the more I feared my senses. How could the man not be a demon? He was as beautiful as the devil was before God the Father cast him out of Heaven. Despite all I’d seen and experienced—his beast-like form and the savage power for destruction he possessed—I’d believed every word his mind whispered. I’d felt in my soul all he told me was true. But wasn’t a demon in allegiance to the father of lies? Would deception not fall from his lips without the slightest effort?

My feet moved long before I decided to seek counsel.

I walked two blocks to the central square where Saint Andoche’s Church rose above all. Slipping inside, I found only a handful of parishioners at prayer in the quiet old building.

I’d not spent much time in church, but my mother was a devout Catholic, and I was familiar enough with its procedures to know what I sought. In moments, I entered an empty confessional and knelt to wait for the priest to slide the door open to attend me.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I declared, making the sign of the cross. “It’s been a year since my last confession.”

“Why have you waited so long to receive absolution, son?”

“My family tours the country, Father. I’ve not had much opportunity—”

“You’re one of the parade performers?” he interrupted me.

“Yes, Father.”

“Then you travel from town to town?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Are there not churches in the towns you visit?

“Yes, Father,” I answered hesitantly.

“I would hope you’d be more eager for God’s absolution, considering what you and your family do to earn a living. Are you a thief, too?”

“No, Father,” I said, growing agitated with the gruff older man. “I’ve stolen nothing.”

“Just people’s time, then? You distract them with your immoral music and dancing, and they pay you willingly.”

“My family—the whole troupe—are honorable people. We are artists and pay our taxes.”

I heard my father’s voice echo in my words.

“That is an answer for the town magistrate, child, not to the Lord in Heaven. He holds us to different standards of conduct. I’d advise you to think about what I’ve said.”

The man gave an impatient sigh, as if I’d upset him.

“What sins have you to confess, then?”

The priest had relieved me of my intent, and it took several moments to regather the courage with which I’d walked into Saint Andoche’s.

“I lay down with another man,” I said in time. “My cousin, Henri.”

I knew this priest might condemn me a hundred times more than he just had. But I also knew my secret would never leave this confessional box. He could never violate the Sacrament of Confession. Not even for the son of a filthy den of traveling thieves, not if I knelt before him with a penitent heart.

“What do you mean you lay down with him?” The priest’s voice had settled, as if he didn’t quite understand my meaning.

“We lay together in sin. We coupled. At least, we’d begun to before my father caught us and stopped it.”

“I should hope so. And what did he say to you?”

“Not much. Curses. Insults. He was too busy beating me to speak much.”

The priest gave another long sigh.

“But I know well enough I’m tainted by something even God’s absolution will not change about me.”

Again, the priest didn’t answer.

“Last night, I met a man who I believe to be a demon in disguise. Because of what I did with my cousin, I suspect I drew this demon to me. He spoke to me without moving his lips—I could hear his words in my mind. When a group of young men beat me for being…” the words caught in my throat, “this man transformed into a savage beast and killed them all to protect me. He wants me to go to him tonight and meet the others in his family. He says I am to be one of them; that I already am one of their kind.”

For a long while, no response came.

“You would lie to a priest in holy confession? Is this the sort of insulting wretch you’ve chosen to be?”

“No, Father, please. This all weighs upon my soul, and you’re the only one I can speak to.”

“It’s a great sin to lie in confession. Greater even than to lie with a man as a woman.”

“You have my word, Father.”

“What is this man’s name, then?”

“Maximillian.”

“His family name, boy.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“A man introduced himself to you and didn’t state his surname?” the priest asked, his incredulous tone bathing his words again.

I struggled to answer, considering his point.

“What does he look like, then?”

“He’s tall with light green eyes and blond hair pulled back in a ribbon. He’s also very strong. I thought he might be an ironsmith by the size of his arms and shoulders.”

“Did he attempt to lie down with you?”

“No, Father.”

“Did he suggest it?” the priest asked pointedly. “Did he indicate he would be receptive?”

“No, Father.”

“Were you drawn to him?”

Again, I struggled to answer, unsure of how much I should say.

“He showed me his body.”

“When did he do that? You said you didn’t lie with him.”

“When he changed from a beast back into the form of a man, he stood naked before me.”

“And?”

I sighed before I answered, recognizing what the priest meant.

“He’s very handsome, Father.”

The priest grunted in response, but I didn’t know whether he’d arrived at a conclusion, found my answer disgusting, or meant to be dismissive.

“My advice to you is to steer clear of this man. I don’t know if he is what you fear he is, but I believe nothing good can come to you from him. If you see him again, ask for his family name. He may try to conceal it from you for various reasons, but do all you can to learn it. Then return to me and whisper it in my ear when neither of us are in this confessional. I will see to the rest. But whatever happens, do not allow this man to steal you from your family. And never allow him to lie with you.”

That evening, I wrestled with the decision before me. I’d left the confessional resolute I would decline Maximillian’s offer. But the more I considered it, the more I wanted to know the truth. Was he what I’d suspected, the conclusion the priest had all but agreed with? Or was he indeed what he professed?

“Where are you?” Thérèse asked me.

I realized she’d come so close without my noticing.

“Your father will see,” I said, glancing about to find if we were alone.

“What’s the matter? You seem lost in concentration.”

She pulled my face to her when I looked away.

“Oh, it’s much better today. It should only be a couple of days more before it’s gone altogether. Certainly, you’ll be yourself before we break camp for Dijon.”

Again, I looked around to be certain no eyes were upon us.

“I’ve met someone,” I whispered. “A young man.”

Thérèse stared at me, dumbfounded.

“Oh! Here? One of the townsfolk? Who is he?”

“No, someone outside of town that visited to watch our show. He approached me afterward, and we spoke.”

I nodded when I saw the idea twinkle in her eyes.

“I think he’s like me. He wants me to steal away with him this evening, but I’m unsure if I should go.”

“Why not?” she rose her voice in protest.

I glanced around to show she’d been too loud.

“No, you must go. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. You might not get another chance,” she insisted.

“Someone’s bound to notice. You’d have to help me.”

Thérèse sighed and rolled her eyes as if I’d said something stupid.