Gregoire intercepted Leon in the sideyard just after lunch.

“No.” Greg said. That was all. “No.”

Leon growled.

“Don’t be an idiot, boy. If you thought your father could inflict the worst pain you’ve ever felt, keep in mind I’m stronger than he ever was. And you’re not my son.”

Neatly done, thought Greg, trying not to look too impressed. One minute he was on four legs, the next two. He’d changed with barely any visible effort.

“She’s my wife,” said Leon. “I can find her. I can make her come back.”

“Yes, she’s your wife. Not your mate. Neither of you are animals in a pack. If Marion wants to leave, she can leave.”

“No. She’s mine! She belongs here!”

“Be a man, Leon.”

Gregoire took a deep breath. The pain in his back and head was now just a dull ache, but he knew his Talent wouldn’t be fully restored for another day or two. He hated feeling this helpless.

“We have things to do,” he said. “Come with me. We need to talk to your father.”

It was, as Kristal had promised, a nice bedroom over the restaurant, very snug, with only one window that was covered by a tapestry embroidered with a large cross.

“I used to come up here to work when I had to stay late,” she told Marion. She nodded at the tapestry. “That should keep them out.”

Marion was mulling this last statement over and wasn’t sure she heard what Marion said next correctly.

“I’m sorry,” Marion asked. “What did you say?”

“I said Pete will be outside in the hall.”

Pete, the big man who usually worked downstairs in the kitchen, nodded.

“I can’t be here,” said Kristal. There are some things I need to take care of. But you’ll be absolutely safe here. Pete will look in on you every hour. He’ll be right outside in the hallway. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask him.”

Kristal bent to give Marion a light peck on the cheek. “Don’t be afraid sweetheart. Pray and be strong. You’re safe at last.”

They both walked out. Marion could hear Kristal talking to Pete in a low voice just outside the door. Then she heard Kristal’s high heels as she walked away.

She walked over to the tapestry and looked at it. When she drew it back she saw only a tiny window that looked out onto a driveway and a row of garbage cans.

She went to the door to the hall, put her hand on the knob. It turned easily. When she opened the door, she saw Pete sitting in a rocking chair a few feet down the hall. He rose. “Ma’am?” he asked.

Marion smiled at him. “Nothing,” she said, and stepped back into the room, closing the door.

“It’s my fault,” Felicia said. “I came in and found his desk like this. He walked in while I was trying to straighten it up. I’ve been trying to reason with him.”

Telesphore’s desk, usually neat to the point of bareness, was covered wth paper. He sat in the chair with pages stacked in his lap looking from face to face, his eyes hard.

“None of you loved him enough,” he said. “None of you.”

“Papa,” Leon said.

“YOU didn’t even LIKE him!”

“Oh, now Tel,” said Gregoire, “Be reasonable. Leon doesn’t deserve…”

“You’ll throw it all away,” Tel said, rising to his feet. “That’s what you’re all planning, isn’t it? Just sweep everything away, pretend Lamont never lived! It’s just trash to you, isn’t it, trash written by someone you never knew.”

“No, brother, no, it’s not trash,” said Gregoire. “Not at all.”

“You can’t have him.” Tell looked from Greg to Leon. “You can’t take him away from me.”

And suddenly he was shouting. “YOU DIDN’T LOVE HIM ENOUGH! NONE OF YOU DID!”

The air sizzled around Tel, and Greg heard Leon make a faint, frightened noise.

He wondered if it would up the ante too much if he pulled out his wand. Even at half-strength he could probably prevent Tel from hurting Felicia or Leon, but he’d incapacitate himself even more and it would hurt like hell. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

A door opened behind them.

“Telesphore,” said Artiste, his voice easy and unalarmed. “What’s all this about?”

“Artiste,” said Greg. “Please. Back out carefully, go downstairs and get Laurette.”

“She sent me up here,” said Artiste. “She’s busy. Don’t worry, Greg, Tel isn’t going to hurt me.”

He walked up to Tel, still smiling.

Leon moved away from his father. “Mother,” he said quietly, his eyes on his father. “Come over here. We’re leaving.”

Felicia stood and walked towards Leon.

Tel lowered his arms. She stopped.

“Telesphore, you’re being selfish,” Artiste said.

Tel shook his head.

“No,” Artiste said. “I mean it. You are selfish. We’ve lost Lamont here, and here,” Artiste touched his forehead and his chest. “All of us. Except for you. You are in pain, Tel, but at least you can feel that pain. You don’t feel that same numb hole in your heart, in your memories. Those papers of yours are what we have left of him. Please. Couldn’t you share just a few of them with us?”

“Well..I could…I could read a few of them to you.”

“That would be wonderful.”

It was true that Kristal had a very nice shelf of books in the room. Her reading tastes were similar to Marion’s, and she had an up to date collection of historical novels.

So Marion was reading. Or at least, she had a book open in her lap and her head was bent over it. Friday’s Child, by Georgette Heyer.

Peter was quite dedicated. She didn’t have a watch, and there was, oddly, no clock in the room, but she’d been keeping track, and it had gotten to the point where she could predict to within a minute or two when the door would open and he’d stick his head in.

She just kept her head down as though too engrossed in the book to notice.

There were more noises downstairs. Voices, lots of rattling in the kitchen, where they were probably getting ready for the dinner crowds.

Marion estimated that Pete was going to look in again pretty soon. She walked over to the bed, lay down with her back to the door, and closed her eyes.

“20, 19, 18, 17, 16…” she thought. “15…14…13…12…”

The door opened and she heard heavy footsteps enter the room. They stopped near the foot of the bed.

There was a pause, then she heard them walking away. The door closed.

Really, she wondered, what was the point except to occupy her time, pretend she was doing something other than sitting around waiting for that Abbot woman to come fetch her?

That Abbot woman who smiled so constantly she had to make an effort to keep a straight face while talking horrors.

So, Marion thought, what was she going to do now? Lie down and pretend to sleep some more the next time Pete looked in? Maybe. It gave her at least a little edge, even if it was all in her head.

She didn’t want to lie down. She didn’t want to read. She wanted to leave, but as soon as she’d seen Pete, she knew they wouldn’t allow it. That’s what had truly decided her, had made her decide she didn’t want to talk to this Father Ignacio.

Marion stood up. She paced for awhile. She read the spine of every book on the bookcase. She sat back down in the chair.

It was getting to be about that time again.

She walked back to the bed and sat down.

“11…10…9…8…7…6…”

“5…4…3…2…1…”

“…..”

She waited.

The voices downstairs were louder, the occasional comment she couldn’t understand, a laugh. She could smell food, onions frying in butter, a faint whiff of tomato sauce.

Could Pete have forgotten about her?

Marion went to the door and listened.

If she opened the door and saw Pete standing there, she couldn’t bear it. Marion turned around and looked at the window.

Behind her someone rapped on the door three times. Hard.

Marion walked to the door and opened it. Nobody was standing there. She stepped out into the hall.

Pete was snoring faintly. Just beyond him was the door that led down to the kitchen.

She turned around. There was another door at the end of the hall.

There was a distinct click, and she saw the door knob jerk, the sound of a bolt sliding back. The door creaked open, a cloud of dust falling from its frame..

The stairwell was so dark it was black, and it smelled like rust and rotten wood. She had to feel her way at first, stepping carefully, keeping her hand on the metal rail. After a few steps she could see daylight slanting in through a half open door.

She stepped through it.