Bisclavret

Chapter 27

Henri stays true to his word, keeping close enough that his power lingers over me and I'm not in danger of tripping or running face-first into a branch. Beneath the false calm his magic provides waits a sea of roiling emotions: fear and anxiety and confusion and disbelief. I'm worried that if his power slips even a fraction, they might rise like a tidal wave and claim me. There's one way to avoid that, and with a heavy exhale, I surrender myself to my strange state of focus and detachment with more ease than ever before.

My vision sharpens, chasing away the lingering shadows. Grim reluctance settles over me as the night comes alive anew, and I press my lips together in a hard line, trying not to scowl. Surrendering to this ability doesn't feel good right now. It feels like giving up, like admitting to something I've been avoiding thinking about for weeks. Even with the numbness it usually brings, even with Henri's power burgeoning me, I'm still unnerved. Because this isn't normal, this isn't human, which is why I've been avoiding entering this altered state and relying instead on Henri's magic. It offers nearly the same results without the troubling side effect of making me question my humanity.

But between what Henri said before I fainted and what his father said and did after I woke up, I can't hide from the truth any longer: I have powers I shouldn't have. What does that mean? Where did they come from, my mother? She seems the most likely candidate with her tales of the uncanny and how she somehow knew things the rest of us didn't. But then there are all those stories of Papa in battle, how he never missed a shot, how his blades always flew straight and bullets seemed to bend around him, and now I'm wondering if that had more to do with magic than skill or exaggeration.

Now isn't the time, I tell myself, and with the impassiveness of my hyperfocus settling over me like a second cloak, it's easier to let these troubling thoughts go than it probably should be. Another sign I'm abnormal?

I shake my head and return my attention to my surroundings. There might still be a vampire – in the back of my mind, a hysterical laugh threatens. Really, a vampire? Is this my life? – lurking out here. I need to keep my wits about me. Straining my ears, I step carefully, rolling each foot from heel to toe as I try to make as little sound as possible. After the cacophony of battle, this silence feels deafening, wrong, as if the entire forest is holding its breath. The men are still working somewhere behind me, and the occasional voice or rattle of metal are welcome reminders that I'm not actually alone, lost in the wilderness. But in the spaces between their noises, the quiet feels loaded. Something is still out here, watching us – I can sense it with some vestigial part of my mind that feels like it's just starting to wake up. Henri seems convinced the vampire is gone, and maybe it is, but I can't shake this clawing feeling that unseen eyes are boring into my back.

It could just be him, but I doubt it. His presence has always served to calm me, at least when he's exuding so much magic. I might not be able to see him, but I can feel him out here with me, somewhere to my right, slinking through the trees as he flanks me, staying true to his word and keeping me in sight.

No, this...strangeness, this offness comes from my left, somewhere deeper in the dark heart of the woods. I hunch my shoulders and walk the last fifty paces to the clearing quickly, wanting this over and done with, so I can retreat to the relative safety of the chateau. At least there, I'm used to my surroundings and the constant spying and duplicity. Better the devils you know than the ones you don't.

The human captain sits alone in a small forest dell created by the death of an ancient oak. Moonlight slants into the clearing at an angle, bathing the scene in silver and casting long shadows over the forest floor. The oak's trunk lies decomposing on the ground in pieces, looking like the vertebrae of some fallen giant. Mushrooms and lichen rise from the rot, and as I cast my gaze around, I have to fight back a shiver. This looks like one of the fairy circles from my mother's stories, where villagers of olden times brought their dying babes in hopes the fae might save them.