Chapter Eight, Pt. 4

Soft rays of sunlight spilled into the bedroom the next morning, coaxing me toward the waking world as though nudging me. It took a moment for me to establish where I was again, which almost made me chuckle from the absurdity of it all. I hadn't woken in the same place twice since entering the wolfen realm and every day brought with it that personal inventory.

Only today, the usual details were a bit jumbled.

Charlotte Walker stood on one side of my mind, a human girl with a list of likes, dislikes, dreams, and desires that she'd formed in the short years she'd been attached to planet Earth. The names of parents, siblings, and the catalog of life experiences never varied; but they reached an expiration date about two weeks ago, when another woman came to life on the other side of my brain.

She looked a lot like me, but she was different at the same time. The human form she assumed was deceiving at best; a golden glint within her eyes suggested at just what lied beneath the surface. Underneath one psyche laid another, one with white and light brown fur and a tail that waved from side to side whenever she was near the man who'd created her.

Her first name was still Charlotte, but her last name was Marchand. And she was squeezing the life out of Charlotte Walker.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, wondering who I was today. Was I still the ghost of my former self or was I the newly-emerging wolfen girl taking over bit by bit? Some days she seemed so alluring and other days she seemed as much of a villain as Mr. Gray, pacing around her cage with her teeth bared, waiting for me to come close so she could strike. I swallowed hard and rubbed my eyes once before turning my head to gaze out the window.

Today, I was only Charlotte. It seemed like a reasonable compromise.

I avoided the mirror when I padded to the closet and grabbed a change of clothing. The shower was much shorter and freshening up took a matter of minutes, featuring a routine that was straight out of the human side's normal itinerary. Dry and brush the hair. Brush the teeth. Make myself look presentable while avoiding too deliberate a gaze into the mirror, lest I see that emerging wolf staring back at me. I made it through dressing without facing my inner self, but as I walked back into the bedroom, I caught sight of the window and stopped in my tracks.

The forest in the distance caught the glow of morning and wore it like a robe. Pale yellow and light red glistened upon the vibrant greens and again, I found myself wishing for my paints to attempt finding the right color palate. Thoughts of brush strokes upon a canvas provoked a smile and the sight before my eyes compelled a word to spring forth from the deepest recesses of my subconscious.

Home.

I caught my breath, drawing inward sharply as if catching myself doing something indecent. Clenching my eyes shut, I turned from the window and shook off the premonition before opening my eyes once more. The smell of food was wafting into the room from downstairs and my dizzy head needed something to eat and some time to clear. Nodding to myself, I plucked the knitted blanket I'd been wrapped in last night from the bed and brought it with me.

The inviting sound of a woman humming drifted toward me as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

I snuck into the hallway, grinning while listening to Annette Blanchard add the occasional lyric in French to her tune. Approaching the living room, I tiptoed through the threshold and almost expected to see Corbyn, while knowing at the same time that he wasn't there. I couldn't smell autumn; it brought a puzzled expression to my face which only relaxed when I approached the couch. The faint embers of a scent teased at me while I laid the blanket down.

Kneeling down, I pressed my nose against the arm of the couch and inhaled deeply. A notion taunted at me as I stopped to consider Paris in the fall. I couldn't be sure the secondary scent was Paris because I'd never been there and had no clue how I smelled to somebody else, but I smelled Corbyn and drew away from the plush fabric with a frown. He'd slept on the couch last night.

If he slept at all.

'Well, where was he supposed to sleep?' Inner Charlotte asked with a tone of voice that bordered on accusatory. I glowered at the couch and sighed while standing. Nothing else provoked my senses that seemed worth exploring on the couch, so I dusted off my pants and decided to peek around the living room a bit more.

The piano nearly tickled its keys for my attention and this time, when I looked at the instrument, the premonition brought images with it, just like it had when I visualized the wolves. Within the brightly-colored lens of second sight, I saw Corbyn sitting there, his hands dancing over the keys as though caressing them while demanding from them at the same time. Their deft movements drew forth a melody that sounded familiar, yet was one I swore I'd never heard before in my life. Something somber and yet hopeful; dreamy and yet melancholy. It was just as beautiful as he was and it was almost painful when he stopped playing.

Something else captured his attention.

Corbyn looked to the side and smiled. “Viens ici! Assieds-toi,” he said, motioning with his hand before patting the bare space of seat beside him. “Aide-moi à jouer.” I couldn't tell who he was looking at, and turning my head to look only caused the whole vision to dissipate into smoke. I blinked a few times when the vacant piano and the shaded area of living room replaced the image that had just been there.

“Bonjour, bonjour, petite amie!”

The female voice nearly sang the words at me like a bird fluttering into the living room, knocking me from my thoughts. I looked at her and smiled as she smiled back and glided to me as though walking on a ray of sunshine. In her hands was a mug with steam drifting upward from its contents. I smelled coffee. “Comment vas-tu ce matin?” she asked once she reached where I stood and handed me the cup.

I accepted a kiss upon each cheek and nearly reciprocated this time before pulling away and indulging in a quick sip of my coffee. “I'm alright, thanks,” I said, albeit hesitantly. “How are you?”

She pursed her lips in thought, motioning her head from side-to-side. “Comme ci, comme ça,” she said. “Je suis un peu fatiguée.”

I chuckled. “I heard you both talking pretty late last night. I'm sure you are tired.”

“And Corbyn says you do not speak French.” Annette laughed and patted my shoulder. “How they underestimate us.”

The comment drew another laugh. “Well, really. . . I don't.” I paused to take another drink of my coffee, my eyes settling upon the piano again. “It's strange, but sometimes I hear it and I have no idea what you all are saying and other times, I hear it clear as day. Like somebody translated it before it reached me.” My gaze remained fixed upon the piano, the melody I'd heard still taunting my ears. I forced myself to look back at Annette. “Does that make any sense?”

Annette smiled warmly and nodded. “You are gifted, petite amie.” She glanced quickly toward the hallway. “And, I bet a bit hungry. Would you like something to eat?”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“Very good. Come then, I have food prepared and want to hear more about this special girl.”

Annette wrapped an arm around me and I nearly sighed from relief as that maternal warmth covered me once more, just as it had last night. It reminded me of the light that would occasionally shine in Corbyn's eyes or touch his face. The glow of sunrise and sunset in the distance. Everything was ethereal and everything was unique. How could there be anything special about me in such a mystical realm?

We walked into the kitchen and I noticed Corbyn's absence once again. The words jumped from my throat before I could stop them. “Where's Corbyn?” I asked.

“Ah, he is being the alpha male again,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow as I sat at the kitchen table. “What does that mean?”

Annette approached the stove, motioning for a plate in the cupboard before turning the heat off the burner and dishing the contents of a frying pan onto the plate. “He is concerned,” she said. “And woke me early this morning to tell me he'd be away for a bit.” Annette pulled a fork out from a drawer and placed it onto the plate. “His pack is in danger and he wants to make sure there aren't others out there, lying in wait. I told him I think that Couture boy was acting as a rogue, but Corbyn is unsettled nonetheless.”

I mustered a polite smile for Annette when she handed me the plate. It faded almost immediately. “That sounds a bit dangerous. What if there is somebody out there?”

'Why do you care, good Charlotte?'

Annette sighed and walked back to the counter to fetch a coffee cup she'd left sitting there. “I asked him the same; even suggested that he wait and summon a few of the others to help him look. But, he was adamant.”

“He's stubborn,” I said, choking back the impulse to add, 'just like me' to that observation. Instead, I lifted my fork and began picking at the food Annette gave me.

“Yes, he has always been one very stubborn wolf.” Annette sat at the table across from me and cradled the coffee cup in her hands as she settled into position. “Philippe asked for a son and didn't know what he was getting into by making such a request, I promise you that.”

I chuckled and Annette grinned. Nodding, I took another bite and swallowed before I spoke again. “My parents often said the same thing about me. My mom wanted little girls and wound up with two hurricanes and a drama queen.”

“You are one of the hurricanes?”

“Yes, Mom calls me the Category Five. Thankfully, my sister's only a two or a three.”

“I think Corbyn is a bit more like a tornado.”

I laughed, nearly choking on another bite. Annette giggled. “Are you alright, petite amie?”

“I'm fine,” I said, regaining my composure. “Yes, he is very much like a tornado.”

Annette lifted her coffee cup and drank from it before nodding and placing it down onto the table. “Always brash. Always stubborn. But. . . a gifted child as well, grown into a gifted man.” Her eyes settled on the mug while a melancholy look emerged within her eyes. “Philippe married Marguerite for an heir – for a Marchand – and he received a Blanchard instead. He received a son who challenged him from the first moment he could form words into sentences. All his life, Corbyn has discovered that the world does not want to know what you see within dreams.”

I frowned as an impulse and ceased eating for a moment. “It would be nice to know some of it, though. A person gets the feeling that he's keeping a lot from them when he plays his cards so close to his chest.”

“Sometimes the full picture is not always evident.” Annette nodded and looked away as my gaze shifted toward her. “Sometimes there are pictures, ideas, half-formed images. Sometimes there are only feelings. Sometimes you see one corner and not the other. And then sometimes. . . there is that fear that the moment you are most vulnerable with a person, they will not trust what you have to say.”

Annette finished off her coffee and rose to her feet. “And sometimes, you don't have the foggiest idea what you're doing and you do not wish the people around you to know you're operating on blind faith.” She chuckled at herself. “That is pride right there. Much more the Marchand within him.”

I flashed a smile and ate a bit more as Annette rinsed her cup in the sink and set it in the basin. “How are you related to the Marchands?” I asked.

“Philippe is my nephew,” she said. “I am actually Corbyn's great-aunt, but he is kind enough not to remind an old woman of her age.” My eyes raised toward her again as she leaned against the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “Ma soeur, Marie, married Pierre-Louis du Marchand. Marie was a Blanchard before that.”

I nodded, recalling Corbyn's words in the cavern. “You don't look like an old woman.”

Annette smiled warmly. “Merci, petite amie, but I am nearly three hundred years old. I was a woman of forty years when I became a wolf and I have been a wolf for two hundred and fifty years. Time passes so quickly.” She sighed and allowed her arms to drop to her sides again. “I was married to a nobleman who died some years prior to the French Revolution, leaving me with my son Michel to seek refuge with Pierre et Marie. We all sensed it; a warning, if you will. Perhaps none of us had confidence in the monarchy any longer, but Marie and I began to talk about rumors we'd heard within our family, in some effort to escape from Paris before things went awry.”

“Rumors?” I asked, as I continued to eat.

“Oui, fables about the Blanchard family that had been passed down for centuries.” Annette walked to the table and sat again. “You see, there was always talk that we had special abilities. Our parents told us stories about relatives who changed form and disappeared during the rise of the full moon. The word garou was so shrouded in mystery back then, but aunts and uncles swore they remembered seeing them when our family lived in Northern France. It was a whim, but we searched for our long-lost relations anyway.

“When we found them, it was Pierre himself who asked on our behalf that we be brought into the fold. He offered his entire estate to the pack and in return he was revered by many. Especially when he mediated the feud between the Coutures and Blanchards. When Pierre was visited with the gifts, we considered it a sign that he'd been given to us as a leader.”

“The gifts?” I asked as I finished my food. I set the fork onto the plate and furrowed my brow at Annette.

Her smile turned knowing. “When the Blanchards were made wolfen, the moon bestowed special talents upon us. We see the hidden things and advise and warn of things that will be. We've always had a heightened sense of intuition which is why those bastard Coutures hate us. We see them for the snakes they are.”

“All of the Blanchards have this ability?”

“Most of us have intuition. The special gift belongs to the leaders.” Annette's eyes seemed to glint golden as she spoke the next words. “Philippe doesn't have the gift, so he doesn't understand, but the reason why the Blanchard family still follows his lead has much to do with Corbyn. The gift has not departed from the Marchand family. And. . . I see a bit of it in you, too.”

My face had to have paled a bit. Annette rose to her feet and took the empty plate from me without adding to her words. A warm, reassuring pat found its way onto my back, but I was lost within that notion of looking at dual identities, sensing the stalking footsteps of the wolf encroach upon me. It inspired another shudder up my spine, as well as an ominous feeling of dread which descended into my stomach.

“Petite amie?”

I shook myself from the moment and looked up at Annette. She gazed back at me with concern-laden eyes. “Are you alright, my dear?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Yes, I'm fine.” My hands found their way around the coffee cup and fidgeted a bit while my eyes rose toward the kitchen window. “I think I should go for a walk. I haven't felt all that on-kilter this morning.”

Annette nodded. “I'm sorry. If you would like to take a walk you are certainly welcome to. I've just been instructed by Monsieur Marchand to keep you safe.” She assumed an erudite air as she spoke his name which provoked a chuckle from me and a smile and wink from her.

I nodded. “Very well, safe it is. We couldn't have him getting angry with us.”

“Non, non, c'est vrai. The boy has a temper on him.”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

Annette laughed. “Ah, but I bet you gave him a bit of spunk back for it.”

Recalling our argument provoked more of a frown than any sense of relish. All of a sudden, it seemed like a hollow victory. “A bit too much spunk, I think,” I said as I stood.

Annette picked up on my tone and wrapped her arm around me. “Petite amie, I have seen people rip him apart with words before,” she said. “I imagine he would rather fifty cutting words from you than one from most of the others.”

“Well, he got at least that, so I hope you're right.”

“Let's not think about that for now.” She looked at me without relinquishing her hold on me. “It is a beautiful day outside. Would you like me to show you around the village or would you prefer to be alone?”

“I don't know about being alone right now.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I made no motion to cover them up and looked at Annette with a smile. “I'd appreciate the company.”

Annette nodded and relinquished her hold upon me. “Let me get my shoes and we can go.”

I nodded and waited until she left the room before exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding. Settling into the chair again, I stared at the floor and caught myself counting tiles in order to ignore the thoughts circling around in my head. Annette returned quickly, but it wasn't near fast enough for my taste.

I stood when she emerged into the kitchen and followed her lead through the back door, seeing the landscape open up before me and attempt its siren call upon my soul once more. I wanted to be captivated, but I couldn't manage to push past the nervous breaths I took in order to hold steady. That might have been why Annette wrapped her arm around my shoulders again, a gesture that set me at ease a little bit. If I had to be perfectly honest, though, it wasn't the kind of consolation I was really seeking.

Especially when the first of the villagers found us.

Annette and I walked across her property and onto another dirt path, headed toward the river running in the distance. We'd begun chatting idly as we walked, Annette answering my questions with patient grace. I asked her how she became wolfen when she wasn't claimed by a mate and she chuckled. “Claiming a spouse isn't the only way one is made wolfen, petite amie. It is just the most personal way. You are not merely bringing a wolf into the fold, you are setting a lasting impression upon them. Something that brands them as uniquely yours.”

“Brands them?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oui, another male won't be able to claim you now. You were claimed by Corbyn and bear his mark.”

I nodded as I'd already ascertained that much from what Corbyn'd told me. Moving the discussion forward, I asked about Corbyn's parents and learned of other families within the wolfen realm. I heard stories of political posturing on Philippe's part when he chose Marguerite, aligning another family underneath the Marchand flagship. She told me about the main town and the festering animosity many wolves there held with regard to humans.

Listening to the explanations helped me to understand something of the Marchand heir that found his way into my life. I opened my mouth to ask her why the Blanchards were different than the other wolves when a voice sounded behind us, stopping our stroll.

“Annette! Une minute!” The voice was female and as we turned toward her, I caught sight of a young woman jogging toward us, her brown hair bouncing behind her as she struggled to catch up. Annette relented her hold upon me and smiled at our new companion as she finally reached us. “Bonjour, Annette,” the woman said.

“Bonjour, Suzette. Comment vas-tu?” Annette asked.

“Très bien, merci.” Suzette nodded at me and seemed hesitant as to whom she should address. “Qui est ceci?” she finally asked, throwing it both ways to see who would bite.

Annette looked at me and grinned, then looked at Suzette. “This is Charlotte.”

“Charlotte?” She furrowed her brow at me. Extending her hand toward me in a tentative manner, Suzette was stuck for a proper reaction.

That is, until Annette added, “La femme de Corbyn.”

The change in reaction was instantaneous. Suzette's eyes became wide and she broke into a smile that rivaled Annette's when she first laid eyes upon me. “Oh goodness!” she said and while she took my hand in hers again, she didn't merely shake it, she kissed it and bowed slightly before drawing me into an embrace. Dumbfounded, I allowed her to hug me and kiss my cheeks before she pulled away and laughed.

Suzette cupped her hand over her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears. “Bonjour, Madame Marchand. Bonjour,” she said and more words quickly followed. How much of a miracle it was that I was there, how happy it made her. Suzette glanced from me to Annette and back again as she stumbled in-between English and French with words of praise and great relief that Corbyn hadn't been forced to marry 'that Couture girl.' “Things are going to change now, right?” she asked Annette. “We finally have an outsider joining the pack; this means things are going to change?”

Annette hesitated and must have picked up on the fact that I was getting more and more lightheaded just listening to Suzette carry on. “Suzette, take it easy, this whole thing is only now resolving itself. . .”

“I must tell the others.” Suzette nodded and kissed me once again before turning onto the road. “I'll be back!” she called as she started running. “Charles and Henri and Anne. . . they will love to hear. . .”

“Suzette!”

Suzette stopped and turned to face us again. Annette frowned. “Corbyn is away right now,” she said. “I don't know when he'll be back. Wait for him before you go about becoming the village gossip.”

“I will only tell those three, I promise!” Suzette ran off before Annette could stop her again, which prompted Annette to sigh. She looked at me, asking me if I wanted to head back into the house, but I only shrugged and assumed an unaffected air. What were a few extra glances my way? A few more people smothering me with kisses while calling me Madame Marchand? I continued trying to convince myself I didn't care as we walked toward the river in silence.

The scenery served as a pleasant distraction at first. I caught sight of wolf cubs running around just like I'd imagined and looked for that brown wolf cub I'd seen amongst the gray and silver ones that wove around us. They made me laugh and Annette chuckled as well while explaining that not all wolfen children were born as wolves. “Some of us seem to be more human than others, but all of them change one way or the other by the time they're a few years old,” she said.

I chuckled when a dark gray one approached me and danced around me. Kneeling before him, I scratched behind his ears and he nuzzled at me before licking my face once. “It's so hard to think they're part human as well,” I said. The pup placed his paws upon my lap and nuzzled against me once more. I wrapped my arms around him and scratched his back in response. “I get stuck sometimes, thinking of. . . um. . . us in one form or another.”

A warm smile graced Annette's countenance when I looked up at her. “You're a natural, petite amie.”

I huffed a nervous chuckle in response, offering the young wolf another pat on his head before standing. A voice in the distance called toward us, speaking a name that sparked the wolf's interest and spurred him to run for the woman who yelled for him. I looked up as well, but when I did, my heart skipped a beat.

Annette sighed as she looked with me and saw several people standing in the distance, all looking at Annette and I – me in particular – with interest while whispering amongst themselves. When several saw my eyes fixed upon them, they nodded their heads and bowed a bit, their golden gazes all possessing a hint of reverence intermingled with the warmth they tried to convey through their actions. My pulse immediately throttled into a quick, unsteady rhythm with my throat growing dry. “Like a princess, eh?” I asked toward Annette.

Her hand touched my shoulder. “You are very important to them,” she said. “You are hope.”

“What does that mean, Annette?”

“Think of it this way.” I glanced at her as she looked away, her eyes becoming distant. “We've not had a lot to hope for since we came here. We were chased away from home by the Coutures, with the threat of our future being placed partly in their hands should Corbyn be forced to marry one of them. They hate us. And having a claim upon the pack's leadership means they would have a say in our destiny.”

Annette sighed and looked at me again. “Sometimes I swear they set Corbyn up to have a chance to end us for good.” she said.

I frowned and glanced away again, realizing I'd never quite looked at it that way. As I regarded the others standing there, I furrowed my brow at the thoughts circling around in my mind; the accusations I'd hurtled at Corbyn when we argued and the constant stream of apologies Corbyn tried to issue, replete with offers to explain himself. What if there was another truth to all of this? That thought coupled with the sight of each smile the villagers offered me, each of them tacitly telling me that I was a miracle.

I wanted to run.

The desire was nearly urgent enough to inspire action. I wanted to sprint away from the crowd and hide somewhere until I could seek sanctuary with Corbyn again. I wanted to lock myself into a closet until he was the one everyone was smiling at, nodding at, and greeting like dream come true. I shifted my attention toward Annette again. “Can we head back?” I asked.

Her gaze turned concerned as she wrapped her arm around my shoulders again. “Of course, petite amie,” she said. Annette coaxed me forward and attempted to offer the people we passed smiles and nods for the both of us. However, they approached me just the same, kissing me and embracing me while welcoming me to their village. I mustered as many smiles in return as I could, but by the time we reached Annette's home, even hearing my spunky French hostess grumble about Suzette wasn't enough to draw a chuckle from me.

The rest of the day was a dreamy haze of activity.

I helped Annette clean her home and hang her laundry upon clotheslines in the back. I thumbed through a few books on her shelves and ate dinner with her, all the while casting apprehensive glances toward the door each time I heard activity outside. The door never opened, though, and even walking past the piano and playing idly with the keys wasn't enough to summon the pianist. The sun set without any sign of the gold and gray wolf.

That night, I stood on the porch, gazing up at the sky while drawing deep breaths from the wind. A frown on my face, I felt a knot form in my stomach and sat upon the porch swing with my eyes still fixed on the inky expanse above. The moon was nothing more than the thin outline of a crescent and precious few stars were present to dispel the darkness. Instinctively, I raised my feet onto the swing and hugged my legs as the cool breeze blew past without a familiar scent.

A tear escaped my eyes before I could stop it.

Had I done it this time?

I could see him leaving, certain I didn't want him around me and bent upon ensuring my protection. He was fast, I knew that much, but I could still see other wolves coming upon him, either guards who came too close to his tracks or another Couture out on a reconnaissance mission. The images that followed were born purely from my imagination, but they scared me just the same; pictures of another wolf mauling him or guards capturing him. Even glimpses of him injured and unable to call for help.

Another tear escaped my eyes. “Please be alright,” I said, whispering while clutching my legs a little tighter. Closing my eyes, I allowed the words to escape with the next tear that descended down my cheek. “I need you here with me, Corbyn.”




Story Beginning | Chapter Eight, Pts. 5-6