Page 12 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“Yes, and you haven’t answered any of them. Don’t you think I’m somewhat entitled to even the smallest scrap of information, given how ferociously you behaved with me?S’il vous plaît, Antoine.Tell me something. Anything!”
His cheeks reddened again, but I wasn’t sure if it was from frustrated apoplexy, or from shame. My entreaty worked, however, because he relented.
“I don’t know. I needed time to think. I thought I might bribe you to forget what you saw. Failing that, I…I don’t know. I did not want to kill you.”
“That’s comforting,” I chuckled.
He suddenly looked rather miserable, and my heart dropped.
“It’s my fault you’re in danger,” he said. “I was careless back at Versailles, and because you were with me, thebêtes de sangwill come for you, too.”
“The Beasts of Blood? What are you talking about? Were those the soldiers?”
Antoine nodded.
Unease took root in my gut. “I’ve never heard of them. Are they King Louis’s men? What do you know of them?”
He stood and paced, darting glances back toward the door. Clearly, he was worried about them. I crossed over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell me what you know of them,” I said again.
He frowned.
“You fear them,” I observed.
He nodded. “As should you,” he said.
“Why should I? I managed to kill one of them already.”
“No,” he said slowly. “Bullets do not kill vampires.”
4
ANTOINE
November 1, 1767
Somewhere outside Versailles
“Vampires,”she exhaled.
Her breath stirred a lock of brown hair that had escaped her cap. I stared at it, transfixed.
“How is that possible?” she asked. “I know how the king feels about vampires. I can’t believe he would allow his armies to be infiltrated. He does not trust them. Even with all the work the emissary has done, there’s a difference between accepting the blood plague as an inevitability and throwing the full weight of his support behind the integration of vampires.”
“Nevertheless,” I hedged, dodging her questions. “It is so. Now do you understand why I cannot just allow you to traipse about the countryside alone?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
Before I could argue, she began tearing her discarded costume into large squares of fabric—fabric that probably cost more than the average Frenchman’s annual wages—and packing up whatever she could find into little bundles. In went the rest of the bread and pastries from the breakfast tray, a candle and spare flint from the bedside table, the pistol and a small bag of powder and shot. When she’d finished scouring the room for anything else useful, she carefully tied the small bundles together and stashed them inside her skirts.
Clever girl.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked at me with thinly veiled disdain. “Well, if your pursuers are vampires, that means we only have the rest of the day to make a head start. I must get back to Versailles.”
She made for the door. I moved in front of her.
