Pyromancist (13 page)

Before he secured her to the bedpost with the
handcuffs, he tied bandages around her wrists. He attended to the
cuts on her knees and her feet, disinfecting them and sealing each
one with a useless plaster, as if he was caring for a child. Fact
was he didn’t know what else to do.

“How’s your body? Not too badly bruised? Do
you need another painkiller?”

She turned her back on him, as much as the
handcuffs allowed her, and he took his place in the chair, watching
her in silence.

Chapter
Eight

Clelia heard Josselin’s breathing change and
listened to it for a long time. She turned on the silent bedsprings
to watch his sleeping form. The deep lines around his mouth were
etched into his face like a marble statue. Even in his subconscious
state, his closed eyes looked tortured, moving restlessly. A frown
pleated this brow. His long lashes twitched. His lips made sounds
but she couldn’t make out the words. Her arms were aching from the
restraining position.

She studied him, allowing her gaze to caress
him. He didn’t remember her, didn’t recall the kiss they had shared
in the cemetery of the standing stones. He had been drunk, but a
small part of her had ... what? Hoped it would have touched him as
much as it had touched her?

His head turned sideways, and then back. He
grumbled. His voice was a deep vibration that came from his chest.
Clelia longed for her hands to be free, so that she could thread
her fingers through his hair, place her palm on his cheek, pull him
into her arms, soothe him in his restless sleep. His moaning became
louder, his voice more pained. Clelia watched, wide-eyed, wanting
to go to him and to call out his name, to pull him from the despair
she saw in his features. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t watch him
suffer, even if she knew he needed his sleep.

“Josselin,” she said softly.

His eyes flung open. For a second, she
cringed back, as she thought he was going to leap from the chair.
She saw his muscles tense in preparation for the action, but then
recognition set in and his body visibly relaxed.

He stared at her. “What is it Clelia? Do you
need something?” When she didn’t speak, he leaned forward. “Are you
thirsty? Hungry?”

“You were dreaming,” she said.

He rubbed his temples. “Yes.” He sighed. “So
I was.”

“It was a bad dream.”

He looked at her with sad eyes and then
nodded slowly. “Yes, it was a very bad dream. Sorry I woke
you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Is it always the
same?”

“The dream?”

She nodded.

He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I
haven’t had it for a very long time, not since ... I’m back.”

“I’m sorry about your family, Josselin,” she
said softly.

His eyes widened fleetingly. “Of course you
know. I thought you were too young. How could they tell you
something so brutal, so evil, at your tender age? That story would
have been enough to haunt your sleep with nightmares.”

“Josselin, why did you bring me here if the
memories are so painful? Why did you come back to this house?”

For a minute, his expression froze in shock,
and then he swore. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew where you were?
I would have never left you here had I known you realized where you
were. You must have been scared out of your mind.”

He got up so quickly that she jumped. His
weight dented the mattress as he sat down next to her, his hand
going to her cheek.

“Why didn’t you say something, Clelia? I
wouldn’t have left you alone if I had realized that you knew you
knew were in a spook house.”

“You have to let it go. It wasn’t your
fault.”

He laughed bitterly. “Not my fault? What did
they tell you? Did you ever hear the truth? The whole truth?
Because if you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

“Please, Josselin, don’t punish yourself. You
were just a boy.”

“You don’t know anything, Clelia, or you
wouldn’t judge me so lightly. But I don’t blame you for your sweet
ignorance. I envy your innocence.”

“Tell me what happened,” she said. It was
born from a deep need to reach out to the man next to her, to heal
what needed salvation.

He shook his head. “I’ll massage your arms
and then you have to try to sleep.”

“You should have known better than to bring
me here. You did this. You brought me here, and now you owe me the
truth. You owe me that much, Josselin. Tell me what has been
haunting me since you left me to the mercy of your ghosts, tied to
your nightmares in a room that was yours in body, but empty of your
soul.”

She had taken a stronger approach with him
and she knew it was a gamble. She risked waking his wrath instead
of opening his soul to the wounds of the past, wounds that could
only heal by exposing the puss that made it fester. She held her
breath for his anger. He could easily lash out at her for sticking
her finger into the open cut of the past and twisting it around,
stirring up buried images that could now only escape through his
dreams. Instead of attacking her with action or voice, his eyes
grew sad, and regretful.

“You felt them? My ghosts?”

“It was terrifying, Josselin.”

“I would never have exposed you, had I known.
I swear.”

“Did it happen here, in your room?”

He got up. “You haven’t eaten all day. I’ll
make you something more appetizing than a sandwich. I got fish at
the market. Do you like sushi?”

“I won’t eat. Not until you tell me.”

He frowned. “Why are you doing this?”

He removed the handcuffs and lowered her
arms. She flinched as his fingers stroked over her muscles,
applying firm pressure.

“I wouldn’t have handcuffed you if it wasn’t
necessary,” he said.

He continued to massage her upper and lower
arms while neither of them said anything. Clelia looked away so
that he wouldn’t see the reaction his hands had on her. His touch
was warm, and she felt it heating other places it wasn’t touching.
He sat very close to her. She could hear him breathe, and smell the
clean scent of his skin, mixed with something spicy and exotic.
Slightly flushed at her body’s easy surrender where Josselin was
concerned, she kept her eyes trained on the floor.

He let go of her arms. “You need to move
around to stimulate your blood circulation or your body will become
stiff. Come.” He got to his feet.

“Where are we going?” she said warily.

He sighed. “Clelia, I told you I won’t hurt
you. Stop looking at me like that. We’re just going down to the
kitchen.”

He offered her his hand and a smile, and not
knowing what to make of the gesture, she accepted hesitantly.
Moving into the dark corridor, Clelia couldn’t help but lean closer
to him. When she recalled the horrors that had passed in the house,
she shuddered, her heart squeezing painfully when she thought of
what Josselin had gone through.

He immediately flipped on a light switch and
rubbed his thumb over her wrist reassuringly, moving quicker down
the stairs and through an entrance hall into another dark passage
that led to a kitchen. The room was large; the walls tiled all the
way to the ceiling with olive-green ceramics. The floor tiles were
larger and a darker shade of green. A big fireplace dominated one
wall. Above it hung copper pots and pans. Instead of doors, the
cupboards had yellow and green curtains hiding their contents.
Delicate china was displayed in a buffet that stood next to the
window. Everything was old and the stove even more outdated than
the one in Erwan’s cottage, but it looked clean.

Something bothered Clelia. Standing in the
middle of the room, glancing around at the spotless walls and
scrubbed floors, she said, “If you didn’t plan on coming back to
this house, why did you have it cleaned?”

Josselin opened the fridge and started
removing items, which he left on the kitchen counter. “I’m selling
it.”

“Oh.” So he wasn’t bringing Maya here to
fight his ghosts and to build a new home. It also meant that he
might not be staying, that he’d be heading back to New York as soon
as this was all over.

“If you want, you can give me a hand, or you
can sit here.” He pulled out a chair by the wooden table.

Clelia sat down. She watched him flattening a
fillet of fish with the blunt side of a knife.

“When are you leaving?” she said.

“When this is over.”

“When will it be over?”

“When I’ve done my job.”

“And then you’ll let me go?”

Josselin stopped. He looked up, straight into
her eyes. “No.”

A vice tightened around her throat. “What do
you mean?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I want to talk about it now,” she said,
starting to feel just a little bit hysterical. “You can’t keep me
against my will.”

He ignored her, placing pieces of fish on a
plate.

Clelia got to her feet. She looked around the
kitchen, searching for windows or doors. Everything that could open
was barred. A sudden sense of claustrophobia engulfed her. It felt
as if the room was closing in on her. Aware of Josselin staring at
her, she ran to the backdoor and tried the knob. It was locked. She
ran to a window and pulled frantically at the latch, shaking the
glass in the frame. It didn’t budge. Becoming more hysterical by
the second, she ran from window to window, repeating the useless
procedure, banging her fists on the glass, knowing it was
pointless. Even if she broke the glass, the shutters on the outside
were barred. She turned around the room in three-hundred-and-sixty
degrees of panic.

Josselin stood very still, regarding her with
a strange expression of pity on his face. For some reason that
sorrowful look infuriated her, as all of this was his fault.
Hyperventilating now, her eyes fell on the hallway. She glanced at
Josselin and saw that he had already anticipated her move by
following the direction of her eyes, but she didn’t care. She was
desperate. She sprinted for the corridor, putting real effort into
it, even if she knew Josselin was closer to the exit. With one step
sideways, he effectively cut her off.

Clelia stopped and retreated until she felt
the kitchen counter at her back. The wooden board was on it, and
the knife Josselin had used to carve the fish. Her hands searched
behind her until she felt the shaft. Josselin watched her quietly,
his arms crossed. She brought the knife forward and directed the
sharp point at him. Her hand shook so badly she couldn’t keep her
aim straight.

“Let me go,” she said, warm tears flowing
over her cheeks.

“Or else?” Josselin said softly, the
compassion still there in his eyes.

She took a step toward him, holding the knife
in front of her. “I’ll use this if I must.”

“Then use it, Clelia. Do what you have to
do.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t even look scared,
damn him.

“Step aside!” She moved forward some
more.

Josselin tilted his head, exposing his neck.
“You want to go straight for the vein,” he said. “If you only
injure me, I’ll bleed a bit, but it won’t prevent me from
handcuffing you again.”

She shook so violently now that she could
hardly stand on her feet. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Come on, little witch. I won’t resist. Cut
me.”

Clelia moved until she was only an inch away
from him. She wanted nothing more than her freedom, but she
couldn’t even lift the knife to press the point to his skin. She
was too weak. She was pathetic. She could never harm him, no matter
what.

Admitting defeat, she dropped the knife. It
clattered to the floor, the noise a hollow sound in the kitchen.
Her shoulders stooped, and then she started crying like she had
never cried before. Josselin moved toward her, but she backed away.
He would be angry. Now he would make her pay. She ran around the
table, back to the other side of the room, pushing her cheek and
stomach against the locked backdoor, clawing with her nails into
the wood, desperately wanting out, even if she knew it was
useless.

His body pressed against her from behind, his
chest against her back. Josselin cupped his hands over hers above
her head while wild sobs tore through her.

“Shhh, little witch,” he whispered in her
ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that.”

“I want to go home,” she said through the
sobs that shook her.

He brushed his cheek over hers, a day-old
stubble grating her skin. “You can’t go home, Clelia.”

The verbal admission took her last strength.
She sagged as her knees buckled, but he already had his hands on
her hips, holding her up with his grip and his body.

“I cannot let you go home, Clelia,” he said
softly. “It’s not safe.”

They stood like that for a while, his body
keeping her up against the door, until the worst of her hysterics
abated. Weak from her emotional outburst, she leaned back against
him. Josselin placed one arm under her knees and the other around
her back, picking her up and carrying her to the kitchen table.
Instead of lowering her into the chair, he sat down and pulled her
into his lap. When he cradled her head against his chest, she
fought him, but only meekly.

He cupped her head and kept her close. Clelia
could hear his heart beat. It was a strong and erratic rhythm, but
strangely calming.

“Shhh, witch.” He kept her like that for
another moment before he took her chin and tilted her head to look
at her. “You’re having a delayed reaction to the shock. Take a deep
breath.”

She tried, but her breath only
spluttered.

“Come on, Cle, breathe in and out.” His hand
stroked over her hair. “The tranquilizer works on your nervous
system. It affects not only your body, but also your mind. This
afternoon when you woke up, you were placid and lethargic, but now
that the drug has worked itself out of your system and your mind is
more acute again, you’re having a delayed reaction to the last few
hours’ events. It’s normal to have a breakdown.”