Page 6 of Into the Woods

A tall, broad wall of muscle, steel, and torment. Because there is no mistaking the fact that Christophe Robicheaux looks like he’s going to get great pleasure out of tormenting me.

Chapter 3

Denial

Christophe

twelve years old

“Go. Explorethe woods and play. You’re a child yet, Christophe, act like one. Get your hands dirty, build a fort, fight and slay the wild beasts of your imagination. Rescue the damsel in distress.”Mamansmiled softly and guided me toward the back door.

Far beyond the bright green lawn, gently sloping away from our summer home, was a forest dark and dense. The trees were so close together, they looked like a solid line separating this world from one that was completely foreign. Unknown.

Papatold me that it was important to know what was around me at all times. That I should never let my guard down and get caught by surprise. That I had to be the smartest man in the room. That someday,Le Milieuwould be mine.

Mamanstill thought I was just a kid, but I knew our family was different from others, that sometimes they did things that others might think were bad.

I didn’t know exactly what thebeaux voyousdid, but I knew we had bodyguards, and drivers, and didn’t have to worry about how much this big new house cost us.Papasaid it’s always been ours, we just had to make sure everything was in place for us to be able to come spend our summers here.

That the timing was right, whatever that meant.

I stared at the thick line of trees; my hands shoved deep in the pockets of my shorts. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go out there alone?” The closest I’d ever gotten to that much nature was when my class at school went to special programs in the park for enrichment activities. Even then, we had my father’s men with us and were never allowed to get dirty.

“Of course, Christo. I would never put you in harm’s way.” My mother playfully squeezed my biceps at the last two words. Her accent was still strong, very French, but she was always aware of how differently we spoke. “Go now and discover a whole new world so you can tell me all about it over dinner tonight,oui?”

I nodded bravely, my chest expanding with the outward show. On the inside, though, I wasn’t nearly as sure of myself.

One step led to many more as I pushed out the back door and crossed the huge perfect lawn. My friends from the city always returned to school in the fall full of stories about all the adventures they’d had over the summer vacation. Some went to their summer homes, some on months long trips to actual foreign countries, but they always had stories.

When I listened to the other boys brag about the boats they’d sailed on or the safaris they’d taken, I wanted to tell them about all the things I’d done, too. Except I’d had nothing to share. Museums weren’t that exciting, not for summer break. Shoppingand cooking lessons and French lessons and fencing were more like after-school activities, not summer fun.

I was protected. Sheltered.

This was different than anything I’d ever done, but how much fun would it be? I didn’t have a brother or sister to play with, which was awesome most of the time, but right now, stepping into the cool shade of the woods, it might’ve been kind of okay to have one for company.

The air changed as I found a path between the trees and stepped out of the blazing sun. It was quieter than I thought the world could be. Smelled cleaner, fresher than I knew was possible. And there was nothing to do.

I couldn’t go back inside yet;Mamanwould be disappointed. More than that, she probably wouldn’t let me. She wanted me to have an adventure, and this was where she thought I’d find one. I loved my mother, but she was crazy if she thought playing in the woods by myself was going to be a good time.

Sticks snapped beneath my feet as I wound my way deeper into the woods. I stuck to the path, because the last thing I wanted was to get lost out here. That might count as an adventure to my mother, but I couldn’t believe for a minute thatPapaorOnclewould be thrilled with that lack of attention to detail.

Uncle Alain was my father’s twin brother—younger by a matter of minutes. Most of the time, Alain was angry. Didn’t matter what was going on or how much fun everyone else was having, Alain was always pissed off.

I picked up a stick from the edge of the path and swung it at the trunk of a big tree. The crack echoed all around me as the stick splintered into a million pieces. I picked up another stick and swung again. And again.

When the last piece of wood hit the ground, and the air was silent again, a rustling on leaves from the other side of a fallenlog had my head snapping to attention. I didn’t move, barely breathed, waiting to see if I heard it again.

Being out there alone probably wasn’t such a great idea.

The leaves stirred again, and there was a sound like an animal crying or something.

Cautiously, I peered around the tree completely caught off guard by the tumble of pale blonde curls just visible beyond the log. I stepped out and approached, slowly tightening my grip on the remnant of the stick in my hand.

There, sitting on the ground in a tight little ball, was a little girl clinging tightly to her right wrist. Blood seeped out between her fingers and dripped on the bottom of her faded red dress.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked, rushing closer. It was a stupid question because she obviously wasn’t.

At the sound of my voice, she startled and curled in tighter to herself, but she didn’t make another sound. She went silent and small, clutching her bloody wrist close.

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