A Dance of Demons - Chapter 3

There wasn’t much left of Robert Blanchet to bury. Gagne hadn’t been exaggerating when he had said the wolf had torn him to pieces. It had ripped out his entrails, mauled his face, and pulled his limbs from their sockets. It was such a violent, aggressive attack, it would have seemed deliberate if wolves were capable of such things.

It wasn’t a wolf.

The thought tormented Urbain. It made him look over each of his fellow townspeople with the kind of paranoia he didn’t like. The irony of a witch looking at his neighbours and wondering which of them might have been the monster wasn’t lost on him. Wasn’t he doing the exact same thing Jeanne was afraid of them doing to him?

Could he really be blamed for it, though?

It wasn’t a wolf.

Odette Blanchet’s face was pale and stone-faced as her father’s casket was lowered into the ground. She bounced her youngest sibling in her arms. The baby was only a few months old, making him the sixth living Blanchet child. Urbain couldn’t remember how many they’d had in total, but he knew at least two of them hadn’t survived. The last baby had died days after its birth, and the ten-year-old Armand died of consumption two years ago. Odette herself was only fourteen, and now responsible for the rest of them since their mother had died in the spring of complications from childbirth. The dwindling number of women in the settlement was concerning.

No wonder there was such a dead look in her eyes. As if there hadn’t already been enough responsibility on her shoulders. How would she manage to support them all herself?

Louis Lacroix handed Urbain a shovel. Urbain took it without saying anything and began throwing dirt into the hole. As the five men covered the casket, Urbain could hear one of the young boys asking Odette why they were burying his papa.

“Hush,” Odette said.

We could take in some of the children.

The boy tugged on Odette’s skirt.

“When is papa coming back?” he asked.

“I said hush.”

“But why—“

“I don’t know!” Odette screamed.

She stomped one foot on the ground. The baby in her arms burst into tears. As Odette burst into tears herself, Jeanne took the baby and bounced it gently until his crying stopped, while another Annette wrapped her shawl around Odette’s shoulders.

“What a tragedy, leaving behind all those children. That poor girl,” Martel said.

He paused his shovelling and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, smearing dirt over his forehead.

Urbain only nodded. Despite the sweat rolling down his back from the exertion, the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end.

“That damned wolf is still out there,” Lacroix said.

Not a wolf.

Wolves were mindless animals. They killed indiscriminately when the opportunity presented itself. They didn’t target any specific livestock or people, they just went after what was already there.

Frère Michel had written about a monster like this in his grimoire. It had stalked a small village for two months. It had killed countless livestock, and half a dozen villagers. It walked on two legs, had eyes that glowed red, and acted as if it had a human mind.

Frère Michel had travelled to the village to find the culprit. According to his notes, he’d confronted a farmer he suspected of being the monster. The farmer had told him he’d inherited the curse from a travelling merchant. In the end, Frère Michel had killed the man.

Urbain tried to imagine how his great-great uncle had felt when he’d done it. Had it been difficult for him, or had it been as easy as cutting the head off a chicken? Did he lie awake at night regretting his decision? Or did he comfort himself with knowing that he had saved others from being killed?

If Frère Michel had given the beast a name, whoever had translated his notes hadn’t written it down. The name Urbain had heard came from an Iroquois man travelling East. A French settlement called it rougarou. Both Frère Michel and the Iroquois man claimed that demons were responsible for this curse.

A curse, or a gift.

Urbain lifted his head to glance over the small crowd watching them bury their neighbour and comforting his survivors.

Could it be Odette?

Urbain shook his head to dismiss the thought as son as it came. He couldn’t imagine it. Robert Blanchet might not have been the warmest man and he drank far too much, but he had been a good provider for his family. As far as Urbain knew, he had never raised a hand against them. And Odette was such a caring young woman, she would never kill her own father. Not like that.

If anybody else suspected the wolf was more than just a wolf, he couldn’t tell. It could have been any one of them.

He had to keep this to himself for now, at least until he could figure out who it was.

Martel clapped a hand on Urbain’s shoulder, making him jump. His muscles twitched reflexively.

“Wandered too far into your own thoughts?” Martel asked with a grin.

His white teeth were a stark contrast against the dirt covering his face. The bright tone was out of place in the darkness surrounding them. One of the other men helping fill the hole glanced up with a frown.

Urbain couldn’t make himself return the smile. His eyes moved over to Odette, who had stopped crying and was back to looking down at the fresh grave with a haunted expression. Jeanne was beside her, still holding the now-sleeping baby.

“I’m wondering what’s going to happen to the children,” he said.

Martel’s grin fell. It was replaced with a more sober expression. He nodded a little and rubbed his beard.

“We’ll hardly let them starve, will we? They’ll be looked after. It seems your Jeanne has taken a shine to the little one. I always thought it a shame she lost the last baby,” he said.

Urbain winced. The reminder of the last loss still made his heart twinge. As much as he wanted to have another baby in the house, the stress might be too much for Jeanne right now. It was too early to tell anybody she was pregnant again. If she lost this baby… He wasn’t sure either of them could go through it a third time.

“Claudine is enough of a handful as it is,” he said.

“She certainly has a lot of energy. Children are adaptable,” Martel said with a laugh.

Urbain nodded absently. He let Lacroix take the shovel back, then walked to stand beside Jeanne.

“Do you know who’s going to take him?” he asked softly.

Jeanne shook her head.

“Not yet. Odette will be moving in with Annette to help with her little ones. Bertrand is going to take the older two. Yvette will take Thomas, and Marie-Claude will take Jean-Philippe,” she said.

She counted the children on one hand while still balancing the baby still in her arms.

“You want to keep him,” Urbain said.

Jeanne clearly tried to suppress her smile, but she didn’t quite manage it. She looked up at him.

“Nobody wants to worry about a new baby through winter,” she said quietly.

Urbain frowned and scratched his jaw. The dirt on his face stuck under his nails.

“Is it really a good idea with your— condition?” he asked.

“Maybe not, but what else can we do? Leave the poor thing out in the wild to freeze to death, or be eaten by that wolf like his father?”

Jeanne shuddered visibly and held Enfant Martel closer against her chest. He was too young to be given a proper name.

Urbain swallowed. He glanced around to make sure nobody was within earshot. He set one hand on the small of her back and began guiding her back toward the cabin. He whistled sharply to catch Claudine’s attention, and motioned for her to follow.

Claudine gave the Martel boy a quick hug and ran to catch up with them. She skipped beside Jeanne, singing loudly with no regard for the solemnity that still hung in the air.

“À la claire fontaine

M’en allant promener.

J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle

Que je m’y suis baignée.”

Certain that Claudine’s voice would drown him out, Urbain lowered his head and spoke quietly.

“Jeanne, I don’t think it was a wolf that killed Robert Blanchet,” he whispered.

Jeanne’s step faltered. She looked up at him with wide eyes and blinked rapidly.

“Then what in God’s name do you think did it?”

“A rougarou. Like the traveller told us about. It’s in my family’s book.”

Jeanne stopped walking. All the colour drained from her face. Her lips trembled a little.

Claudine kept skipping ahead for several seconds before she realized they’d stopped, and turned around. She grabbed one of Urbain’s hands with her much smaller one.

“Papa! Papa, I don’t want to walk anymore. I’m hungry.”

Urbain crouched down and picked her up. He continued walking. After a few seconds, Jeanne ran a little to catch up to him, holding the Enfant Martel close.

“You can’t go after it,” she whispered.

“I have to.”

“You can’t. You know what it can do.”

“That’s why I have no choice. You know it just as well as I do. Nobody else here can.”

Monsters of magic could only be killed by magic. No regular bullet would work. And as far as Urbain knew, he was the only witch in the settlement. It had to be him.

Jeanne was quiet for several minutes as they walked. So was the baby in her arms. It was remarkable. Claudine had never slept so easily as a baby. Finally, when the cabin came into view, she spoke again.

“What can I do to help you?” she asked.

“How attached are you to your mother’s silverware?”

###

Urbain wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that Jeanne was letting him help hunt the rougarou, or that she had actually melted her mother’s silverware down to make silver bullets while he had gone to tell Martel he was going to help with the hunts. They would have been better off holding onto at least something to trade if they didn’t have enough eggs, but it had to be done.

There was no other way to kill a monster like this. At least, not according to the grimoire.

He didn’t want to be out here. He wanted to be home with his wife and daughter, and the new boy that was already starting to feel like a permanent addition to their family.

Dealing with the cold was a small price to pay to keep them safe.

“You look nervous, my friend,” Martel said.

“Can you blame me?” Urbain asked.

They were out here hunting a wolf — as far as Martel knew — who had killed not only countless livestock, but a man as well.

It wasn’t necessarily unheard of. Wolves were known to attack travellers, especially ones wandering through the woods at night. Urbain had heard many stories of adults as well as children being killed. He had also heard stories of wolves snatching children from their beds, but he’d always doubted those ones. It was more likely that those stories were told to frighten children into behaving.

Or, maybe just as likely, those wolves were also rougarou.

He shuddered at the image of a wolf on two legs opening the door to a cabin like his in the middle of the night.

“Cold?” Martel asked.

“A little.”

It was easier to explain than the truth.

Martel gave Urbain a sympathetic smile and pulled his mitts off, offering them out to him. Urbain hesitated.

“Come now, we can’t have you losing any of your fingers to cold. You need them working much more than I do, Urbain. You should be at home with that new baby of yours, too. I can handle watch for the rest of the night.”

Urbain took the mitts and put them on. He had to admit, it did feel better than having his hands exposed to the cold.

“Jeanne can take care of a baby on her own for one night,” he said.

“You must have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. I’m nearly done cutting trees for the season.”

It must have been the lack of sleep and darkness surrounding them that made Urbain wonder why Martel was so insistent.

“I don’t mind, really. I would be up all night anyway,” Urbain said.

After so many sleepless nights, Urbain almost wasn’t sure he even remembered how to sleep anymore.

He doubted he would be able to sleep again until the rougarou was dead.

Was it possible that killing Robert Blanchet had been a mistake? Maybe the rougarou only killed him in self-defence.

Did it matter?

Intentional or otherwise, self-defence or otherwise, murder was murder. If Urbain couldn’t bring himself to kill the thing, he would at least made sure they had some sort of trial the same way he would if it was an ordinary human.

“You know, it isn’t so awful to be the only one awake at night like this,” Martel said.

Under different circumstances, Urbain might have agreed with him. The New France countryside was nothing like the old one, but it still brought back memories of sitting outside Yvon-René’s father’s farm just like this and talking until nearly sunrise. That had been before his and Jeanne’s fathers arranged for them to marry each other. After that, he’d stopped slipping out of the house at night after everybody else was asleep.

Urbain sighed. His breath fogged in front of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to stifle a yawn.

“Urbain, go home. Wake Lacroix on your way, the lazy bastard was supposed to be out here with me tonight,” Martel said.

Urbain shook his head. He could make it until morning.

And he did, but only barely.

###

Urbain spent the next night tossing and turning, barely getting more sleep than he would have if he had been out patrolling for the wolf again. When morning came, he found that another of Lucas Charron’s pigs had fallen victim to the rougarou.

The third night had him out with Louis Lacroix. Lacroix spent the entire night scowling at the tree line and saying nothing. Urbain found himself singing quietly to keep himself awake.

“À la claire fontaine m’en allant promener,

J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle que je m’y suis baignée.

Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, jamais je ne t’oublierai.

Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, jamais je ne t’oublierai.”

The singing made Lacroix huff and snort, but he didn’t say or do anything to make Urbain stop. His foot tapped in time with Urbain’s deep voice. By Urbain’s second time through the song, Lacroix joined in.

“Sous les feuilles d’un chêne, je me suis fait sécher,

Sur la plus haute branche, un rossignol chantait.

Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, jamais je ne t’oublierai.

Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, jamais je ne t’oublierai.”

There was something about hearing the surly blacksmith singing a love song that made Urbain smile more than he intended to. He straightened his expression as soon as Lacroix scowled up at him and cleared his throat.

“Chante rossignol, chante, toi qui as le coeur gai.

Tu as le coeur à rire moi, je l’ai à pleurer.

Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, jamais je ne t’oublierai.

Il y a longte—“

“Wait, quiet. Do you hear that?” Lacroix said sharply, straightening and grabbing his rifle.

Urbain stopped singing and looked around. He hadn’t heard anyth—

There was a faint but distinct sound of something walking over dry leaves. He grabbed the lantern with the hand not holding his own rifle and lifted it to search for any sign of the source. He couldn’t see anything, but he could still hear it. Where was it coming from?

There!

Behind them!

Urbain whirled around. Before he could say anything, the dark shadow moved.

It leapt over the fence and landed with its full weight on Lacroix’s back. There was a horrible crunch of bone breaking.

The glass of the lantern shattered on impact with the cold ground, and the small flame quickly grew as it caught the dead leaves, illuminating the form of the rougarou crouched on Lacroix’s motionless body. Its claws and teeth gleamed with blood. It looked up at Urbain with bright red eyes. It seemed to be grinning up at him.

Urbain fumbled with his rifle. Damn him for not being a better hunter. How could he work with his hands for a living, and still be so completely useless with a gun? He stumbled back in an attempt to put some space between himself and the monster.

This was a monster. There was no denying it.

The rougarou stood at full height. There was something his build that was familiar enough to send a cold stab through Urbain’s gut, though he couldn’t place it through the rush of panic making his head spin.

Come on, come on. Shoot it!

The rifle slipped from his sweaty hand.

He cursed loudly. It came out in half a sob.

A deep rumble that sounded like a laugh came from the rougarou.

Urbain lifted his head without thinking about it, and their eyes locked. His entire body froze. The rifle fell from his hand.

“You,” he whispered.

The rougarou laughed again. It pointed one clawed finger at Urbain. When it spoke, its words were warped by its muzzle.

“If you… tell anyone… who I am… you are next.”

It was enough to make Urbain move again. He grabbed his rifle from the ground. By the time he was standing upright again, the end of the rifle aimed at the spot above Lacroix’s corpse. The rougarou was disappearing into the woods on four legs. Its words echoed through Urbain’s mind, making sweat roll down his back despite the cold air.

The words weren’t a threat, but a promise.

The rougarou didn’t mean that it would kill Urbain if he told anybody the rougarou’s name, though he had no doubt that would also happen.

No, it meant something much, much worse than that.

It meant that Frère Michel’s writing was right.

It meant that if Urbain told anybody the rougarou’s name, he would be the next one to carry the curse.