The curse of Kalaan (22 page)

Seeing Clovis she started to ask, “By any chance, was there…”

“No, Mademoiselle,” the butler seemed in a hurry. Then, seeing her distress, he added more gently, “I would have informed you immediately.”

He looked at her, a hint of worry in his eyes.

“Please forgive me if I am too forward, Mademoiselle, but is something worrying you?”

“No, Clovis. Of course you are forgiven. Thank you for your concern.”

She turned around and went towards the sitting room just in time to see Catherine lifting her skirts, well above her knees, to put her slippers back on. Virginie could hear Clovis clicking his tongue behind her and smiled. She found the young cousin’s devil-may-care attitude refreshing. The butler passed in front of them to open the door and stood aside for them to enter.

“Oh! There they are,” exclaimed Amélie feigning delight. She threw a thankful look at Catherine for her appearance. “Your Grace, I believe you already know the young Marchioness of Macy.”

“Your Grace,” Virginie murmured as she curtsied to the Duchess Delatour, a very unpleasant potbellied woman in her eighties, stuffed into a candy pink dress.

“Your mourning period must be over if you are dressed in such colorful clothing,” observed the old duchess in a dry cutting voice.

Virginie’s pale blue outfit was sedate, especially compared to the duchess’ flamboyancy. The spiteful woman was completely tactless to allude to the recent loss of her father.

“It is,” she replied, looking the duchess in the eyes and smiling politely when she would have preferred to skin her alive. Behind her, Virginie could feel Catherine stiffen with rage.

“And who is this… person?” the duchess asked, looking with contempt at the young woman behind Virginie.

“Catherine of Croz, the daughter of my late husband’s cousin. We are very pleased to have her with us here and…”

“Does she not have the means to hire a seamstress?”

Kalaan stood up from a clumsy curtsy and held himself straight and tall looking down on the old woman.

“Please excuse my paltry appearance, Your Grace,” he began, ignoring Amélie who was shaking her head in fear of what he might say. “It does not do you honor, I am sure, but my trunk with all my silks as well as my jewels was lost overboard. The storm that occurred just before our arrival did not spare us. Perhaps it was a sign from God, a punishment for my frivolity. What do you think?”

The duchess coughed, making her triple chin shake, and brought her hand to her throat, where an ostentatious diamond necklace sparkled like a constellation of stars. Kalaan secretly rejoiced at the old bat’s reaction. She understood his message. If you push him too far, the retaliation would be most unpleasant and unavoidable.

Amélie cleared her throat to continue the presentations when Salam, dressed as usual in his blue Tuareg clothing, was announced. The old aristocrat was positively contemptible, mocking the pagan’s attire.

Virginie was monopolized by the odious old woman who felt she could take all the liberties she wanted as she was a distant cousin of the king of France, Charles X. She did not have the chance to notice the two other people who accompanied the duchess. The first was presented to her as the duchess’s fourth grandson, destined for the priesthood. He would most likely become a bishop, thanks to the Delatour family’s immense fortune. In his early twenties he looked emaciated in his novice’s habit – a dark cassock and a black rabat with a white border. He had smooth features, a sallow complexion and his brown hair was cut very short.

“Charles-Louis is my pride and joy,” the old duchess said, positively cooing.

The poor grandson did not himself appear very joyful. In fact, he seemed sad. He didn’t smile and his eyes revealed a certain weariness. His attitude was that of a man worn out by the years and completely dispassionate. Could it be he was hiding behind this façade, to escape his overwhelming grandmother?

When the third person, hidden behind Salam’s tall stature came forward, Virginie thought her heart would stop beating. Her blood froze in her veins and her head began to spin. If Catherine hadn’t discretely held her up, she probably would have fallen backwards.

“And this is Darius Borgas,” the old biddy simpered as she placed a gloved hand on his forearm. “A gentleman and close friend the family. He is also special advisor to the king on matters of health for he is the most renowned apothecary in the kingdom and his medical knowledge is unequaled. He always has a miraculous potion to cure any illness, truly a godsend!”

Or a gift from the devil!
said a little voice inside Virginie’s mind. To her, every word of praise concerning Darius was a slap in her face. She could not take her eyes off of the smiling monster. His pale gray eyes had a hypnotic quality to them. He was tall, though not as tall as Salam, and dressed in a brown ensemble, a beige shirt and cream-colored silk scarf perfectly knotted around his neck. Darius was incredibly elegant, and could have been handsome if his features weren’t so harsh and his expressions so cruel.

Good heavens, am I the only one who can see the aura of evil doing around this man?
thought Virginie, trying to seem detached and unaffected by the blackguard. Perhaps not. Salam also seemed on the defensive and was gauging the gentleman who stared at Virginie as if he wanted to suck up her soul. All the while Kalaan’s face showed his irritation.

In fact, Kalaan was upset because he was convinced Darius knew Virginie, and perhaps in an intimate manner. Could they be lovers? They were both acting very strange; Virginie was petrified and Darius’ eyes never left her, as if he was sending a silent message that she understood perfectly.

The young count was overcome with jealousy and his hand, which before held the young woman’s arm in a protective manner, squeezed her to point where she jumped in pain. She looked at him with surprise in her eyes. Could she see his anger at that moment? Or rather Catherine’s?

No, Kalaan was actually the last thing on Virginie’s mind. She was fighting her own demons and could feel fear taking its hold on her. She was terrified that Darius found her hiding place and that he had dared come to her when she was with friends. She had taken all the necessary measures to prevent it. The only person who knew where to find her was the detective she’d hired to investigate her father’s death. Could the old mercenary have betrayed her? Did he tell Darius everything in exchange for better pay? It could explain why she never heard from him. Another wave of dizziness came over Virginie, but this time she resisted, finding the strength to stand straight and unflinching.

Dinner was served and Amélie, leading the way to the dining room, invited her guests to take place at the table. Everyone followed listening to the Duchess Delatour, who was apparently the only person with the right to talk.

At the entrance to the dining room a large dog, with gray and white fur and pointed ears appeared. He growled showing his fangs as the guests walked by. When the old woman in the candy pink dress passed he got on his hind legs put his paws on her shoulder and began to nibble her neck.

“Oh! You bad boy!” she tittered, “Be good now!”

Kalaan didn’t wait long to act. He jumped on the beast, grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground, holding him there.

“Is she insane?” The duchess screamed in shock and indignation.  “Don’t touch my dog, you stupid girl!”

Kalaan, kneeling in his skirts, paid no heed to the old bat. He was waiting for a sign of submission from the dog before releasing him. Submission came soon enough. The dog stopped growling aggressively and began yelping, licking his chops and even himself.

“Good boy, gently now,” Kalaan’s voice was quiet and reassuring as he slowly released his hold and began to pet the animal. The following minute the dog rolled over onto his belly and crawled to Kalaan’s feet, whimpering like a puppy.

“What have you done?” The duchess was tapping Catherine on the shoulder with a napkin she’d taken from the table.

“If you don’t want to suffer the same treatment as that beast, I suggest you never hit me again,” Kalaan spoke as he stood up very tall and held himself over the harpy, who, shrank away.

“Do you know what that animal is?” he asked, pointing at the ball of fur.

“It is my dog! A gift from my eldest son on his return from Siberia.”

“No. The dog is a husky, and their behavior is similar to that of a wolf. The Chukchis
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, a people who have lived with these animals since at least two thousand BC, have a legend. They say that these dogs were born from a love between a wolf and the moon. This one is a male, and a very young one, at that. He is trying to find his place here. As with a wolf, when he was biting your neck, ‘twas not a game but a demonstration of strength and domination. He wants to be the alpha.”

“The alpha?”

“The master,” Kalaan replied in his crystalline voice, sighing at so much stupidity.

“Was it necessary to brutalize this… this susky?”

“Husky... and no, I did not brutalize him. I only showed him who the leader was here.”

To prove what he said, Kalaan snapped his fingers and told the husky to sit, which he did immediately with a yap before licking Kalaan’s hand, his pale blue eyes looking deeply into the amber-green eyes of the count.

“Kal… Catherine!” Amélie caught herself just in time. “Let us all be seated, my child.”

After her brief intervention, Amélie gave her son a discreet nod of approval and then returned to her detached attitude presiding over the dinner table. The meal was an ordeal for everyone except the duchess who spoke and ate at the same time. She was only pleasant to those who had arrived with her, and somewhat, with Amélie. All the others were treated with the same disdain. Catherine was the only exception to this attitude. The duchess ignored her completely, perhaps for fear of being thrown to the floor and held there until she peed on herself like the husky, who, by the way, was now lying happily and peacefully at Catherine’s feet.

The time for dessert was approaching and what was probably morbid curiosity incited the duchess to turn to Salam.

“You sir, the pagan, have you ever had to face the man-eating beetles? From what I understand, they are horrible! The bugs dig under the skin and make their way up to the brain to eat it, while the person is still alive!”

If only they could have eaten this nuisance’s brain and her tongue while they were at it,
thought Salam, who remained stoic. Smiling calmly, he waited until she was stuffing her face with cake to reply.

“They are the sacred dung beetles, Your Grace. They only eat fibers, which they then eliminate as excrement. They roll the excrement into little balls in which they lay their eggs.”

It gave Salam great pleasure when the duchess almost choked on the food in her mouth, that is to say half of a serving of cake. The cream was dripping down her chin.

Kalaan laughed out loud banging his fist on the table and the grandson seminarian couldn’t help but do the same, though more discreetly. Isabelle appreciated seeing this side of him winked at him making him blush like a virgin. However, when Salam noticed this, his face darkened.

Virginie wished she could participate in the good humor, but Darius’ heavy unrelenting eyes petrified her. She desperately wished she could escape from this room, run to pack her trunks and leave, go as far away as possible. But where could she go?

After a long silence Amélie wanted to restore the good atmosphere, so she asked the question that had been on her mind ever since the guest’s unexpected arrival.

“I am happy you finally decided to visit us here on Croz, but why in the middle of winter?”

“Oh my dear, a horrible affair! Terrible things are happening in Paris and I was so frightened that I could only think of one thing, to come join you here! Even if this region exasperates me because it is sad and humid at least with the sea around us I feel a little safer.”

Kalaan would show her if his country was sad and humid! He would drown her or turn into
boued
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for the lobster crates! Before he could actually do anything, the duchess returned to her theatrical monologue.

“Do you know, heaven have pity on me, but the police found the remains of a dismembered man in the Seine, just across from my beautiful home! The Chief of Police, the famous
Monsieur
Vidocq
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, came to see for himself and requested permission to question my personnel about it.”

“Vidocq went out for a simple homicide?” Kalaan interrupted her, much to the surprise of both the duchess and Darius Borgas, who narrowed his eyes and began to scrutinize him.

Blast it! Catherine shouldn’t talk like Kalaan would. But the damage was done and Borgas, whom he’d seen from afar on several occasions in Paris, and didn’t much like because he suspected him of dishonesty, could not possibly recognize him in the features of the
‘
thing.
’
Also, it is quite plausible that, Catherine would know who Vidocq was. After all, the man was a living legend.

“Apparently the man, who was horribly chopped up, was one of his friends. He knew so, because the arm they fished out of the river had a unique tattoo. Oh! I cannot remember the name of the dead man. Probably the shock of seeing that at my door... don’t you think…? But what was the name he told me?”