To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 33

33

1836 SERVON, FRANCE

S omehow Amalie slept. It was fitful, but it was something. When she noticed thin strips of morning light forcing their way through the shutters, she threw off the quilt and strode to the washbasin.

Her hair was still sticky where she’d sat against the tree, but there was nothing to do about that. She couldn’t waste another second of daylight, especially if it meant Ren couldn’t follow her as easily. Her mind wandered back to the quandary of which route to take.

First, she thought about the main road leading directly to Mordelles and the countryside. It was the fastest way, but also the most obvious. Ren would anticipate that route, and she couldn't afford to be predictable. Too risky.

Next, she considered cutting through the forest. The dense trees would provide cover, but it was always dangerous. Even during daylight hours. The forest was known for its treacherous paths and wild animals. Though she’d never believed the attacks spoken of were committed by anyone other than vampires. And now she was sure there was one tracking her.

A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered Theo's words. There are some fates worse than death.

Her mind raced, considering the narrow, winding streets of Valenciennes. She could weave through the alleys and side ways, hoping to lose Ren in the labyrinthine layout. It was a longer, more complicated route out of the city, but it might be her best chance.

Could she ever be sure she’d lost him? She still didn’t understand how powerful he was. Theo had been able to track her, but once she thought he was dead, she hadn’t been careful.

It wasn’t an option not to go to her family.

She’d have to do everything she could to mitigate the risk.

Amalie took her key to the innkeeper, thanked him, and asked if she could leave through the servant’s door. He gave her a strange look but acquiesced.

She pushed through the steamy, bustling kitchen and exited into the back alley, filled with food scraps and a striped tabby cat, most likely the same one that had given her a start the night before.

Amalie made her way to the street. She looked both ways, scanning for Ren amidst the vendors and townsfolk visiting the boulangerie for their morning baguette. When she was sure he wasn’t there, she lowered her head and started walking.

She should’ve found a disguise. Something to cover her hair, at least. It was too recognizable. Her attention snagged on a rack of scarves on display on the other side of the street. She crossed, her heart picking up speed.

Amalie wasn’t a thief, but she didn’t have any money and her family was in danger. She ran the soft fabric of a midnight blue scarf through her fingers and memorized the location of the shop. She could come back and pay them later.

When she was about to pull the scarf into her shirt, the hairs on her neck prickled. Amalie’s eyes snapped up, and there he was. Ren was strolling leisurely past the shops, his hands tucked into his pockets. He caught her eye and smiled.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple as she let go of the scarf and jogged down one of the side streets. She swiped it away, clenching her jaw. Ren was like a cat. Toying with her until he pulled her back into his clutches.

She was more convinced by the second that he wasn’t on Theo’s errand. But why was he there? Did he suspect that she was a guardian? Is that why he’d told her the name of the man who had been attacked?

As Amalie turned onto a side street, she paused, catching her breath. She wouldn’t be able to outrun him. It had been stupidity to think she could escape the town unnoticed.

Pressure built behind her eyes as her breathing quickened, panic gripping her chest. She pulled at the neck of her shirt. Her clothes were too tight.

She looked up, expecting to see Ren’s gray eyes peering at her, but instead she froze. Marcel and Olivie strode up the street toward her. Marcel wore the same clothes he’d been in the night before. Olivie, on the other hand, looked more like a stable boy than a woman. Her hair was pulled up under a cap, and she wore a plain white shirt, her mustard colored trousers cinched at the waist with a brown belt.

Amalie straightened, forcing air into her lungs.

“Amalie.” Olivie moved as if she wanted to rush toward her, and the thought of her friend wrapping her in a hug made her lip tremble. “Good to see you’re still alive.”

Amalie coughed a laugh. “See, Marcel? Olivie knows how to be polite.”

Her comment pulled a hint of a smile from him. “You’re still here.”

Amalie pursed her lips. “You found Olivie.” She looked to her right, then stepped out into the street, allowing the morning sun to wash over her. Olivie’s eyes widened, and Amalie could barely speak around the lump in her throat. “This is all I have to offer. I can’t think of any other way to prove myself, but if you have ideas?—”

“Follow me.” Marcel turned and walked back the way they’d come. Olivie matched his stride, glancing over her shoulder as Amalie tagged along like a baby duckling.

She refused to scan the streets for Ren. She didn’t want to see him there leaning against the wall, smirking.

It felt as if a lead weight sat on her chest, and her stomach grumbled as they reached the edge of town and paused in front of a café tucked along the river walk. Marcel asked for a table, and when the two of them sat, Amalie took the chair across from them in the shade.

The other tables were full. Men and women sat with their coffees, reading the morning paper. Two older men smoked while they puzzled over a chessboard. Such normalcy. It made her heart ache.

Marcel and Olivie ordered coffee and croissants. Amalie abstained. She didn’t have any money, and even if she did, her hands were already shaking.

Marcel grunted. “Why didn’t you send us information?”

Amalie exhaled. Did this mean he believed her? Or was he playing a game of his own? “I didn’t have everything I needed yet.”

“You do now?”

She held her breath, wondering what the right answer was. Did she have what she needed to help the Pourfendeurs? Yes. And no. She shook her head.

Marcel watched her. “What have you found so far?”

“Will you believe me if I tell you?”

He shrugged. “Depends.”

Olivie leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “Amalie, we’re your friends.” Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t move. Neither of them had touched her or come close enough that she could touch them.

Amalie wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t. If it were Olivie in her position, if she’d never come to Normandy and learned the truth about guardians, she wouldn’t have believed it either.

That understanding clarified what information she could share, even if they were friends. “Nothing the Pourfendeurs do will vanquish a vampire, Marcel. They feel pain, but they regenerate.”

Marcel’s eyes narrowed. “Amalie, we’ve killed hundreds?—”

“No.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t work. Not permanently. I saw it with my own eyes.” Amalie watched them both, but couldn’t discern their thoughts. “I have no motivation to lie to you.”

He scoffed. “No motivation? A vampire telling the Slayers that they should stop slaying?”

Amalie swallowed hard. “An excellent point.” She dropped her eyes, searching for some other explanation, but found every argument besides the truth wanting. And she couldn’t tell them that. “There’s a relic.”

“What kind of relic?” Marcel asked.

Amalie looked up. She took the olive branch. “A sword.”

“And you know where it is?”

Amalie pursed her lips. “No, but—” She paused and glanced up, scanning the passersby for stormy eyes and sandy, shoulder length hair. He was there somewhere. “I’m going to find it.”

The server brought their coffee in delicate porcelain cups set on saucers with a small spoon for sugar and cream. He set the croissants in the center of the table, and bits of buttered pastry flaked onto the embroidered tablecloth.

“How?” Marcel picked up his cup and held it in front of his nose, breathing it in.

Amalie’s shoulders tensed. “I need to get back to my family first. Then . . . I have some ideas.”

“Why are you up north?” Olivie broke off one end of her croissant and dipped it in her coffee.

“Someone has an interest in her.” Marcel flicked a glance at Amalie before taking a sip from his cup.

Amalie realized two things at once. Olivie was nearly her same height and she was wearing a cap, and they’d passed a storage closet when they’d entered the café. “Olivie, I need your help. If you’d be willing to give it.”