Illustration by the fabulous Katy Betz.
On Falstaff’s second expedition into Paris with Benedick, Plum tied her hair back and went to work in the distillery to keep from fretting. Grinding herbs into teas and mixing tinctures was soothing, and the younger people were minding the children. When Christian wandered in to watch her, Plum nodded in greeting, but did not try to engage him in conversation. If Christian wanted to speak, he would make the overtures. She had learned that much in the past few months.
“Do you know the story of the evil at the University?” he asked eventually. Plum stopped mixing herbs and stared at him. Christian met her eyes with a startling frankness. There was no madness there, only curiosity. When she did not reply, he continued.
“There was a prisoner in the Grimoire, some poor soul who had broken into the University and lost his mind. He screamed for days about it.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died.” Christian studied his hands. “But not before I had learned enough from him to know what it is that haunts the place.”
It was an invitation. Plum laid her mortar and pestle aside and settled herself onto the bench beside her father in law.
“What did you learn from him?”
“It would be better if I could show you.”
Plum frowned, wondering how he could show her anything, here in the distillery in Versailles. The line between past and present was thin, but even Plum’s magical abilities could not break it, and the ghosts were far from the palace today. Then Christian took her hands in his, and Plum Saw.
Screams in the dark. Someone in the next cell was screaming, and the sound of it reverberated against the stones. Most people, when they scream, cannot breathe after a time, but these screams went on and one until Christian clutched his head and moaned, wanting to scream himself. Amontillado wine, he thought inanely, and a walled up clown…
When the screams finally stopped he could still feel the prisoner in the cell beyond, huddled up. This was new, it was different, being able to sense a person like this, and yet Christian was not surprised. Down here everything was different. The person on the other side of the wall was a madman. Whatever had happened to him to warrant his incarceration down here, his mind was gone. His silence didn’t last for long. Christian was jolted from an uneasy sleep by the renewed screams.
“Shut up, shut up! They will come if you don’t shut up! Amontillado wine, walled up beneath the earth-”
“What is coming? Who is coming? It cannot come, She cannot come; she has been contained! Pater noster qui es in caelis-”
The voice was in his head. He saw the madman opposite the wall kneeling on the ground, muttering in Latin. Praying. This could not be happening.
“Who are you?”
“They all died and she came for me! Sanctificeteur nomen tuum-’
“Who came? What are you talking about?”
The vision changed from the madman to a beautifully desolate courtyard. There were trees and fountains and a riot of scarlet flowers against the façade of white stone, but something was wrong, terribly wrong. Dreadful quiet filled the air. No wind rustled the trees, no water moved in the fountains. It was completely still here. A pall hung over it. The great clock on the face of the building was forever frozen at five minutes to four o’clock. The walls went up and up and up-the University. And then they were inside.
A watchful darkness surrounded them. Waiting. Even the ghosts did not come here; this was the domain of something Other. Something wicked. Whatever it was came quickly, as they were exploring the upper floors. Something rustled in a far corner, and a dark cloud arose out of nowhere to rush at them. In it’s midst was a shrieking, howling banshee, flying at them in a rage. She surrounded them in darkness, flying straight for the madman. Rage, horror and despair crashed down on them like a wave, and with it came madness so vast that there was no way to escape it. And with the madness came terrible knowledge.
The screaming, raging banshee was a little girl. She had the ash blond hair of her mother and the pale blue eyes of her father. But she was different, she was wrong, something was very wrong-
Christian broke the connection. Plum opened her eyes and stared at him.
“That was-it couldn’t be…was it?” she ended lamely.
Christian nodded. “It was. Marie-Therese-Charlotte, the little daughter supposedly exiled to Austria after her family died. I did not show you what she poured into that man’s mind, but it was terrible.”
“But what happened to her?”
“When she was left alone, after Le Roi and La Pauvre had met their fates and her brother had disappeared, They took her away from the Tower to the University. They knew she had some of her mother’s powers and They wanted to take it from her. The University was famous for its library of occult works. I don’t know what they did to her, but whatever it was, it resulted in the entire University complex being sealed off to protect the Capitol from the evil-or perhaps to protect the evil from the people. She is still in there, that twisted creeping thing that isn’t quite human anymore.” Christian sighed.
Plum folded her arms, shivering. That little girl, transformed into an evil thing. Terrifying.
“You said they didn’t get all of her powers. Why not?”
Christian smiled, and reached for her hands. “Look again.”
He took her back through the memory, and stopped at the dark corner that the banshee had occupied before attacking the madman. The girl crouched there, her dark clothes tattered around her, faded fine garb. Her eyes smoldered. Strung on a ribbon around her neck was a fine pearl fleur de lis, glowing in the dark. Plum gasped. Christian took his hands away.
“That is why,” was all he said.
*
From Lost Ones: Ghosts of Paris, my first published book.
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