Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I smile.
“Breakfast,” he says. “You must be starving.”
I am.
CHAPTER 9
Armand
Beatrix settles in with the pack quite well, but of course I cannot let the mystery of her provenance lie. I send Daniel to scrounge up all the information he can find about her. He’s a solid man, and I know if he finds something scandalous he won’t use it against us.
A week passes, and life begins to somewhat settle into its new routine. I am a busy man, splitting my time between never-ending pack business and time with my mate.
I have avoided bringing up anything to do with her past, because it makes her uncomfortable, and she has deftly avoided talking about anything that happened outside the orphanage itself.
Daniel returns with tidings of his investigation, but I know the moment I see him I am not going to like what he has to say. He has a particular hangdog look about him that suggests failure.
“Bad news, Maître,” Daniel says, slinging himself into the chair in front of my desk.
“Yes?”
“The orphanage is gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Not the building itself of course, Maître, but the inhabitants. The structure, as it were. There are no more orphans, and no more staff. There’s nothing besides the shell of the place. Looks like the director took your money and ran.”
“Did you find any records?”
“No. I found nothing. The place has been stripped bare.”
I find myself pacing. The notion that he took the money and did God knows what to the girls who were too young to be adopted bothers me. I might have inadvertently made some lives very miserable.
“They didn’t disappear. Track them. The director. The records. Search registries of storage facilities. I want to know who my mate is.”
“A DNA sample might be helpful. There’s a database held by some parties…”
“You mean the Americans?”
“No. I was thinking the Russians.”
I let out a sigh at the prospect of attempting to get information in or out of Russia at this point in time.
“From what I last heard, the Russian packs are overrun with…” I don’t even want to say it. The cold ones are rampant in the northern climes. They were run out of France many years ago, and I hope that I do not have to do it again in my time. Vampires are like rodents. They creep in under cover of darkness and they suck the life out of a place.
“Yes. I know. But at this point, if we want information…” he says. I know the Russian packs have been dealing with vampires. I’ve heard rumors of marriages and worse. We won’t be stooping that far.
“Let’s look for the director first.”
“Or perhaps you could convince the young lady herself to be forthcoming.”
“I don’t think she knows very much. She was young when taken to the orphanage. Whatever happened to her after that is clearly unpleasant and nothing she cares to remember, let alone recount. No, this is a task for you, Daniel.”
“Very well, Maître. But I think you should send Antoine. He’s older. People respect him more. He can walk into any official building and look like he works there.”
“Not a bad idea,” I say. “Is that what you want, to be off the hook?”
“I just think Antoine would do a better job.”
“And you miss the cooking at the chateau.”
“And I miss the cooking here,” he admits. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
A week later…
While the mystery of her heritage is being resolved, I focus on Beatrix. I want to show her how good life can be with us, and I want to show her the world she now inhabits. A visit to the local village is, therefore, essential
We are beginning the happiest days of our life. I am determined they will be such. I may not know everything about Beatrix, but I know enough to understand she has had precious few nice moments in her life. That is something I can and will remedy.
The local village is a treat I have been saving for her, waiting until she seemed settled and ready to be out among the general public. A week has gone by without major incident, and she has been relatively controllable. She has been practically civilized in most respects.
We take the train into Fontlune. I had tracks run there because the journey is so picturesque, running as it does along the cliffs of the area that look out over rolling hills dotted with ancient buildings. This is one of the oldest parts of the world, where humanity has made its home since the stone age. The villagers are happy enough for the tracks as they allow for some freight to be brought that would otherwise be stuck on trucks that rarely like to rumble through the crumbling country roads.
Fontlune is a medieval village set on a cliff side, much the same way the chateau is, but older still. The buildings here have not changed measurably since the founding of the town. Red-roofed colombage buildings made of graying yellow stone and half-timbered walls straggle along the cliff face, and the center of the town is tucked in under the tall church tower.