Page 61 of The Assassin and the Libertine
The shop looked exactly as it had when we’d been here the last time. I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t think anyone would be so foolish as to come here—except for us, of course. I stepped through the doorway and held up my hand to stay the others. I closed my eyes and listened carefully—there it was, the faint fluttering of another heartbeat.
“Someone is here,” I whispered to Daphne. “But I only hear one.”
Her lips tightened in a firm line. We crept forward slowly, me leading the way, followed by Father Clarence, with Daphne bringing up the rear. This time, I picked up a small candle from a shelf and lit it, then passed it back to Father Clarence. I moved to the back room and the staircase beyond. Even with the wavering light of the candle, the darkness seemed to close in on us. Father Clarence’s breaths came in shallow pants and the beads of his rosary clicked softly in his trembling hands.
The stairwell gaped before us and we began our descent.
Halfway down, I could make out Charlotte’s pale skin on the floor, directly atop the pentagram. She was breathing but showed no signs of consciousness. I frantically searched the rest of the room for another presence but saw nothing. We appeared to be alone.
I hurried down the remainder of the stairs. At the bottom, Daphne caught sight of Charlotte and rushed forward, but I stopped her.
“Wait,” I cautioned. “See where she lies. Remember what happened the last time.”
“Charlotte!” Daphne hissed. “Charlotte, it’s me, Daphne! Wake up,chérie.”
Charlotte did not stir.
Father Clarence came forward and bent down, crossing himself again. He reached one hand out, but the moment his fingertips breached the summoning circle, the air in the cellar changed. Gusts of rank, rot-scented air swirled around us, carrying a languorous disembodied voice.
“Oh, I really wouldn’t do that if I were you, Father.”
I looked at Daphne, who had paled. Her features twisted in rage.
“Henri!” She snarled. “Or should I call youAsmoday?”
A deep, malicious laugh echoed off the walls.
“Very good,ma pute.We’re a little bit of both at this point.”
Father Clarence swallowed a squeak and began reciting from his bible. The laughter grew louder, drowning out the priest’s prayers to a litany of saints, until he called upon Archangel Michael. Suddenly, the laughter became a roar and for a second, all was silent.
Daphne looked around wildly. She threw herself forward, reaching for Charlotte’s limp arm. The moment she breached the circle, she was thrown backward with violent force.
“Daphne!” I ran to her. She was uninjured, but dazed.
Father Clarence’s eyes widened, but he did not cease his prayers. The small candle shook in his hand when another gust of foul wind blew through the room. Our only light now extinguished, Father Clarence cried out in fear. Without the ability to read the correct passages, he whimpered and resorted to a furious repetition of the Lord’s Prayer.
“What did I say?” the voice bellowed. “You never listened to me—never minded me. You dishonored our marriage vows then, just as you dishonor them now. Fucking that vampire! Oh, yes,ma pute, you think I don’t know? I knoweverything.I can smell him all over you, little whore. You hear that, priest? You think I am the worst of your troubles? Turn your prayers to this sinner, you fool.”
Daphne shook with fury. Her pallor brightened to a flush of anger.
“Monster,”she spat. She fumbled in her pockets and produced another small candle and a flint. She struck at the flint unsuccessfully. The laughter resumed.
“Stupid woman. Must I do everything for you?”
At once, the room lit ablaze. Several torches along the walls glowed with a sickly yellow light, casting the cellar in a pollutedincandescence. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw Daphne was paralyzed in revulsion.
Across the room stood a very solid—very real—man. He had once been attractive, I thought, but now his skin stretched and bunched over his sagging flesh in an unnatural way. His clothes were stylish and expensive, and would have been impeccable if not for the splashes of blood that covered them. His face was unmarred except for the gaping black voids where his eyes should have been. He grinned cruelly at us, then adopted a tone of bored nonchalance.
“There now,” the man said. “Is that better?”
“Henri.” Daphne’s voice broke through on a sob.
“In the flesh—well, sort of.”
“What has happened to you?” Beneath Daphne’s terror was a hint of pitied sadness.
“You did this to me!” Henri snarled at her. “If you’d only been a better wife, I would not have sought fulfillment elsewhere—all the way in Venice! If you’d just been compliant, I wouldn’t have been driven into the arms of all those other women. I wouldn’t have been there that night in Venice whenHefound me.”
