Page 122 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
53
THE SHIT HITS THE WALL
“Nothing,” Léon mumbled.
Souveraine slapped his arm. “Léon has something to tell you right now, Catherine.”
He glared at Souveraine as though she could possibly understand the gravity of the situation. “I don’t!”
“And if he doesn’t tell you,” she threatened, “I am going to tell you.” This she addressed to Léon, complete with narrowed eyes and intimidating tone.
How badly he wanted Henry. How he needed his arms and his guidance. How he needed that chest to fall on. Which he would never fall on again.
But then, neither would Catherine.
She remained in the doorway, perfectly silent, but with a black horror in her eyes. A clear foreboding, waiting on the words she had more right than anyone else to hear.
Ashamed of himself, both for his callousness and his fear, Léon said to Souveraine, “I need Émile gone.”
“What is it?” asked Catherine, and there was a static about her. There was an energy, powerful and unnerving, that lifted the tendrils of her hair ever so slightly from about her shoulders, that seemed to make her very arms shimmer along the edges.
“Take him out,” Léon insisted.
“I think I should be here,” Souveraine replied.
Urgently, “Please do this for me. It is the last thing I will ever ask of you. Please, Souveraine. Please, do it now.”
“Léon—”
“Please!” He shouted, tears starting to his eyes.
There was a tense standoff, but Souveraine’s head eventually dipped in compliance, and she walked past Catherine and out the door with only a sympathetic glance for each of them.
Léon waited for the front door shut behind Souveraine and Émile. Catherine must have known that was what he was waiting for, as she kept perfectly still in the interim, eyes locked with Léon’s.
The very moment the door clicked, she said, “Guillotin just left. Again. I cannot think why he needed to be here twice in one day to talk about the machine. Especially as Henry’s article is sold already. And I cannot think why Henry’s room is locked. Or why he would not answer my calls. And I am being very calm with you.”
“You are,” Léon whispered. He’d seen what happened to the cafe and the streets of Saint-Quentin. He’d witnessed the weeks of red rain, and Henry’s worn-down determination to keep her happy all those years.
There was a flicker of light about her fingertips. “Well?”
“He’s…” An enormous ceramic bowl on a bench exploded, launching a razor-sharp shard across Léon’s cheek. He raised a hand to slow the hot blood. “Catherine, don’t.”
The doorframe around her splintered, running a crack along the wall as the very floor began to shake.
Léon dashed forward, clamping down on her arms, and instantly, he was hurled back with a shock that smashed from her skin, straight through his hands. He hit the floor hard. “You could kill him!” he shouted. “You have to stop!”
“Could?” she whimpered, breath coming fast and weak in her chest, her hands tight at her throat. “Then he is not?”
Thrown to the side as the floor listed, clambering to his feet to try to get close to her again, “Not yet. But Catherine, he wouldn’t want you to do this. He wants you to be happy. And we will stay with you.”
“Stay with me?” she yelled. “What do you mean? Why would I need you to…” Her eyes darted to the staircase. “Henry!” She bolted for the stairs, and Léon stumbled after her as the room swayed away from him, knocking him into the wall.
“Catherine!” He grasped the bannister to pull himself up the stairs, Catherine moving ahead of him swift and unencumbered, but each step cracking beneath her feet as she ran. Léon put a foot to the first step, which collapsed under it. “Catherine, no!”
Holding the railings tight, he climbed after her, falling and clambering up, struggling as enormous splinters upended and dug into his shins, tripping, but never stopping until he gained the landing, where he fell down in time to see her run to Henry’s door and slam two fists against it.
It was locked, and they both knew it, but she thrust her hands into her hair and screamed, and the doorframe caved, loosening an enormous chunk of plaster from the ceiling, which narrowly missed Léon. The door was weak on its hinges, and she used brute strength to smash it in. She stumbled over the mess, then froze in a picture of despair as her eyes fell on Henry.
