Page 18 of Wolf's Return
“Enough, Erin.” Seigneur Gaharet squeezed Dame Erin’s hand, taking the bite out of his command. He returned his attention to Constance. “This is all very interesting, and one day, when matters are not so pressing, Constance, we are going to have a long overdue conversation about everything you know about our kind, about our pack and about our lore. Now, however, we need to know what your grimoire says that can help my brother.”
Conscious of everyone’s attention, Constance flicked through the pages until she found the one she sought. “I have found no mention of any other wolf that could not shift. Not in all my coven’s dealings with the Langeais wolf pack.” She fidgeted in her seat. “And, as I mentioned yesterday, there are few things known to have the ability to affect a werewolf.” Constance spun her grimoire around and slid it across the table to Seigneur Gaharet. She tapped a finger at the relevant passage.
He glanced at the page. “What am I looking at here, Constance?”
She muffled a gasp. Had the Langeais wolves fallen so far from their heritage they could no longer read the words of the secret language? She glanced at Dame Erin.
Dame Erin shrugged. “Sorry, Constance. Without Google, I have no means of translating Theban.”
Google?Constance pulled the book back across the table. “It says here, ‘a werewolf has but two weaknesses. Wolfsbane, which doth render the wolf unable to maintain his form. He will shift from one form to the other and, if not removed from the herb’s presence, he will do so until all energy has been exhausted. Then he will die.’” She ran her finger beneath another line further down the page. “AndSilver, which doth suppress the wolf as though the wolf ne’er had existed. Where so the silver should touch the skin of a werewolf, it will burn.Only the removal of the silver can return the wolf to the surface.”
“I can attest to both,” said Ulrik. “I was under the influence of the wolfsbane for mere moments, and it struck me down, leaving me unable to stand or catch my breath. And silver…” Ulrik shuddered.
Constance held up her hand. “But this passage”—she pointed at the script on the bottom half of the page—“details the potion I prepare to ease a werewolf’s turning. Some herbsdowork for werewolves. Many herbs have more than one use, and I am hopeful somewhere within these pages is one I can use. I may have to experiment with the dosages, but…”
Seigneur Gaharet nodded. “Whatever you need, Constance. Anne will help you source anything you require.”
“Thank you, Mon Seigneur Gaharet. I should warn you, it might take some time, but I will endeavor to find a solution.”
Seigneur Gaharet smiled. “I have every faith in you, Constance. My brother is in good hands.”
Chapter Ten
D’Artagnon let the conversation flow over him, a forgotten participant slumbering by the fire. It would take time for the little healer to read through every potion and every page of her grimoire. More to test the dosages of any herb she thought might be useful. He yawned and stretched his legs, then rested his muzzle on his paws, his gaze fixed on the happenings at the table. He would be long gone before she found a solution.
Erin rose. “Well, if Constance is going to be busy reading her grimoire, I am going to get your father’s journal, Gaharet, and see if I can find out about the witch Old Tumas spoke about.”
Constance paused, a page part turned. She was as curious about the witch as his brother’s mate.
“Perhaps she was part of your coven, Constance. Or one of your ancestors,” said Erin, heading for the door. “Heterochromia—when a person has two different colored eyes—is a genetic mutation that often runs in families.”
Constance stiffened. Talking about her eyes made her uncomfortable. Again, the compulsion to comfort her seized him, but he resisted it and kept his place by the fire. A few more days and such emotion would no longer trouble him.
Ulrik leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Constance, when we met, you said Rebekah was not the first woman to come through time, and she would not be the last.”
Erin returned with the journal and began paging through it.
“I assume Marie was the first. Then Erin, then Rebekah. There are more coming?” Ulrik asked. “Do you know when?”
“I believe there will be others, but”—Constance shook her head—“I do not know when. My visions are not always clear. Sometimes it is more of a knowing than a vision. I know there will be more women from the future, but I cannot tell you who they are, or where they will appear. That I was given to know this suggests I will meet them.” She shrugged. “But that could be tomorrow, or when I am an old woman. Unless I get another vision, I have no way of telling. I am sorry.”
Erin frowned. “I never believed in seers and the like. In my time, there are many charlatans telling gullible people what they want to hear while trying to fleece them of their money. But I will admit, from what I’ve heard from Gaharet and Aimon, you sound like the real deal. Though it seems to me it’s not as helpful as it sounds. More like random snippets of information and half-assed answers. That must besofrustrating.”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Constance. “More than one time in my life I would have wished for clear knowledge, to be certain of exactly what the vision is telling me, but it is not my experience of how second sight works.”
D’Artagnon’s instincts perked up. She was holding back. Not lying, but hiding something all the same. Something about her visions. She caught his gaze and ducked her head down, her fingers fiddling with the cuff of her dress. Yes, she was definitely hiding something. But what?
Constance continued to study her grimoire, page after page. Occasionally, she would lean forward, her attention caught by a passage, or a word. Then she would press on. The tension in his shoulders eased. That she remained silent suggested she had yet to find anything of use.
Erin flicked through the journal, equally engrossed.
“Listen to this.” Erin smoothed her hand across a page. “It’s not about the witch Old Tumas spoke of, but it caught my eye and it’s interesting. It says here a woman, dressed mostunusually, turned up in your great grandfather’s time, Gaharet. He was out for a run. He made special note of it here because, and I quote, ‘I had not caught scent of her until the moment she suddenly appeared in front of me. Though I stood as a wolf, she showed no hint of fear, but held her ground and spoke to me as though I were a man.’”
Gaharet tugged at his beard. “Spoke to him as though he were a man, not a wolf? That suggests she knew what he was. And he did not catch her scent until she appeared in front of him.” He turned to Erin. “That is similar to how we met, though I shifted before you saw me as a wolf. I wonder, did this woman also travel through time?” He leaned closer to his mate, peering at the journal. “Does it say anything further?”
“Yes.” Erin read on. “Though she spoke Franceis, her inflections were strange to me, her accent broad and rounded, like no other I have ever encountered. As though she was from some faraway land. She asked me if I knew her, and I confessed I did not. Then she told me her name and waited, as though the mere mention of it should have meaning. It did not. She retreated, and I moved to follow her, but one of my pack called me back. A rivalry between two males over a female had turned deadly. On the morrow, I searched for her, but as with her arrival, her departure left no trace. I sent queries to the closest villages. None had heard of her either. Her name was Cordelia.”
“It does sound as though she was from the future,” agreed Gaharet. “I suspect the encounter was much like ours. I could fathom less than half of the things you said upon our meeting.”
