Mathieu (21 page)

“Ouch.” Dwayne cracked open a fortune cookie and read the slip inside. “Liar,” he muttered to himself as he balled up the paper slip and flicked it in Mathieu’s general direction.

“This was followed by a few months of ghastly murders, beastly rapes by what the victims swore was the devil himself, lights in the woods, screams in the night and general terror. The populace was frightened and people flocked to the churches to pray for deliverance. Some wrote back to England for help from the king.”

“
No doubt.” Jenn shifted her chair to sit closer to Marcus and laid her head on his shoulder. “So what then?”

“Well, then everything goes quiet. And Eddie found out why.” Susan nodded over to him.

Eddie straightened his papers and looked down the table, making eye contact with each and every one of them. “I know you’re wondering why I called you all here today.”

“Eddie. You say that every time. It’s OLD. Get to it.” Jenn half-sighed and half-laughed as she spoke.

“Fair enough. The house was built by a merchant up from New England. Who he was isn’t important. Ownership transferred in 1794 by sale to John Bradstreet Schuyler. After Schuyler died, ownership transferred again to…”

“William Ludlow.” Mathieu said quietly but clearly. “And who was he?”

Eddie pouted for a moment and then continued. “William Ludlow. Son of Bartholomew Ludlow. Who was the son of Henry Ludlow of the London branch of the Ludlow family. Anyone remember who they were? Anyone? Bueller?”

“One of the founding families of the Foundation.” Carol said. “The British branch, to be exact.” She paused and then continued. “So what you’re saying is the Foundation took ownership of this house by proxy over two hundred years ago.”

“Yep.” Eddie popped the ‘p’ in the word. “The title transferred sixty years later to a company that we all know and love.”

“United Consolidated International Holdings?” Marcus asked with a sigh.

“Yep.” Eddie popped again.

“And that is?” Mathieu asked, thinking he knew at least part of the answer.

“One of the Foundation’s oldest front companies.” Carol answered. “On the surface they’re importers but they also hold the oldest as well as the more dangerous and controversial assets. I don’t think
anyone
even knows exactly what they own or why they own it anymore.”

“Who owns the house now?” Dwayne asked with a sidelong glance to Mathieu.

“I already told you. The Foundation through one of their front companies.” Eddie pushed forward a copy of the deed to the middle of the table. “They’ve done the usual shifting of ownership from one front to another every fifty years or so to cover their tracks, but they still own it.”

“So Amanda’s father didn’t buy this house for her?” Jenn sounded bewildered as she leaned forward to peer at the document.

“Nope.” Eddie pointed at the paper again. “No.” He repeated as he tapped a name and date on the form that far predated Amanda’s birth, much less her period of residence.

“But he told me. He told me they searched together and found this place for her.” She sounded lost. “He lied to my face, didn’t he?”

Marcus put an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t think you’re the only one, if that makes it any better.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t. Not in the least.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked miserable. “He lied to me.”

“And that leads us into asking what you three found today.” Susan tapped a fingernail on the table sharply.

Marcus shrugged clumsily, trying not to dislodge his wife. “A scary powerful spell on the property line with another scary powerful spell on the house to keep something trapped here. That one was broken when Manders did her little thing down in the basement. All of the above spells were cast by one William Ludlow.”

“Define ‘scary powerful’.” Eddie sat back and crossed his arms.

“The one that’s left is capable of erasing the Demon and this house from existence along with part of another dimension. Hence the technical term ‘scary powerful’.”

“Okay. I’d say that’s a valid use of the term.” Eddie shook his head.

“
Mathieu,” Marcus said. “Any theories about what happened?”

Mathieu spoke quietly. “I would draw the same conclusions you would. Schuyler came here to summon something to cause harm to his enemies. He brought his daughter as payment. He lost control and the creature took out its anger at being summoned on him, took the daughter anyway and then rampaged the countryside. Your predecessors sent Mr. Ludlow in to control what was happening and he captured the creature, bound it to this house and then built a second line of defense around it in case it ever escaped.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to check your own records for that. I wasn’t here at the time.”

Carol leaned forward and placed her hands on the table. Mathieu could see she was trying to keep them from trembling. “Why would Amanda’s father put her in this house, knowing full well what was here? And why would he send us here to get her back but lie to us about how this happened and what we’re dealing with?”

“I don’t know.” Mathieu shook his head. “I really don’t know the answer to that question.”

“And,” Marcus spoke quietly, “Why does he want you here, Mathieu? What do you add to the mix?”

“If I knew that, I would never have agreed to come with you.” Mathieu had a grim expression. “I suspect that whatever his reason, it doesn’t involve anything pleasant for me.”

“So…” Jenn looked over to her husband. “What does this mean?”

“It means that we need to ask Hugh Devalle a whole lot of extremely pointed questions when he gets here.” Marcus’ scowl made Mathieu shiver in fear.

C
hapter Thirty - One

It rained that afternoon, the clouds coming across the mountains and down over the hills, blocking the sun and making the meadow a dark, gloomy place.

Mathieu stood on the screened porch and listened as the rain hissed against the roof. He watched as the water flooded the yard, his eyes never straying from a single white stone near the woods.

“My mother used to say that rain was caused by the angels crying over the evil that men do to each other.” Jenn stepped onto the porch and stood next to Mathieu.

“By that logic if they stopped crying, then everything would die for lack of rain.” Mathieu said quietly, his eyes never leaving the white stone. “The same if man stopped doing evil”

“I didn’t say it made sense. It’s just what my mother told me.” Jenn answered. “A lot of things mothers say don’t mean anything.”

Mathieu turned to look at her. “My mother used to tell me if I didn’t say my prayers, the Devil would come and spirit me away to Hell.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I have no problem admitting I was not as devout as I should have been and look what happened to me.”

“I think that’s an extreme example. You’re hardly playing fair with that one.” Jenn smiled back.

“
There is no such thing as fairness in this world.” Mathieu turned back to the field. “I can assure you that rain is simply rain. There are no angels. And even if there were angels to weep, man would never stop doing evil. It’s too much in his nature to do otherwise.”

“I don’t know which one is more disturbing: your lack of faith in angels or in mankind.” Jenn flopped into a rocking chair. “After all, most people would say Demons don’t exist, but you of all people know the truth of that one. Why not angels? Why not the inherent goodness of mankind?”

Mathieu shifted from one foot to the other and then turned to lean against the other chair. He looked at Jenn with impossibly old eyes. “I have seen death dealt in every way possible. I have seen massacres of the helpless, women, children, and the aged. I have seen babes ripped from their mother’s wombs. I have seen entire cities wiped out in a night, and entire peoples that simply ceased to be in even less. Entire civilizations have fallen before my eyes, every survivor hacked to death to the sound of their pleas for mercy. I have seen more than I can ever tell you and more than I ever want to remember. All done by mankind.”

He paused and then continued. “I never once saw an angel. I never once saw anything come down from on high or from on low or from anywhere to help any of those people. And I prayed. I prayed so hard and so loud and so long that I thought my lungs would burst and my throat would bleed. I begged God to send something—anything at all—down to help them or to help me help them or help me. Or to just make it all stop.”

Jenn was still, barely breathing, eyes wide. “I don’t …”

“You can draw your own conclusions. I did long ago.” Mathieu straightened and turned back to the rain. “But there are no angels. Maybe one time long ago there were, but there are none now. At times I am almost quite sure that there is no God either.”

“If you think that, then why the little church on the mountain? Why all of the work and care and devotion to something that glorifies a God you don’t think exists?”

Mathieu
crossed his arms and held himself. “Because I want to believe. Even if I’m not worthy of being in His sight because of what I am now, I still want to believe in Him. If there were no God, then all the things that I’ve seen and all the things that bastard did to me were for no reason. So maybe there is no God, but maybe there is and maybe, just maybe, He had some reason for all of this to happen that means something in some way that I can’t understand. Maybe He’ll show me that reason one day, and maybe show me the way to be worthy of His sight again.” He shrugged and looked back over at Jenn. “It’s a lot of maybes, I know. But maybes are all I have right now.”

“Isn’t life a lot of maybes?” Jenn leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to talk about the rain. You know, small talk.”

“You were never one for small talk. Things always got complicated when you tried.” Mathieu’s lips curved in a small, sad smile.

Jenn blinked. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s a little disconcerting.” She leaned forward and ran a hand through her hair. “I know you think you know me, but you really don’t.”

Mathieu shook his head. “I apologize. I forget sometimes that my memories are not yours.” He turned back to the rain.

“Great. Now I’ve offended you.” Jenn sighed and then shook her head. “Listen, I know it’s awkward. I’m sorry. I just don’t like thinking about how you seem to know things about me that I don’t even know.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about. It simply is what it is.” Mathieu walked over and sat in the other chair. “Neither of us is who we were before. Sometimes I forget that. That is no fault of yours.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them, lost in thought.

Jenn swallowed down a lump in her throat. “Did you love me?”

Mathieu looked up from his hands and into her eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. “Passionately. With every fiber of my body. To the very depths of my soul from the first moment I saw you.”

“Do you still love me?”

His
smile slowly faded as he studied her face. The sound of the rain changed, the hissing turning to a popping, crackling sound, the sound of tires on wet gravel. He tilted his head towards the noise. “Someone’s here.” He made to stand up.

“Wait.” She reached out, her hands stopping a few inches from his arm as she remembered not to touch him. “Aren’t you going to answer my question?”

He paused for a long moment before reaching over to stroke the back of her hand. His fingertips barely ghosted over her skin and she could feel warmth in his touch, but no pain. “No, I’m not. I told you that I would never hurt you.” He stood and walked to the door into the house, speaking without looking back. “I am not what I was, Jenn. None of us are.”

She watched his back as he stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind him. After staring at her hand for a long moment, she stood and followed him inside.

C
hapter Thirty - Two

Hugh Devalle dashed for the front door, avoiding puddles and the muddy patches of grass between the driveway and the porch.

Taking the steps two at a time, he opened the front door and ducked in out of the rain.

He turned automatically to hang his coat on the tree next to the sidelight and then turned back to find Marcus standing in front of him. “Marcus. Good. I need to know…” He was unable to finish his sentence because a fist—Marcus’s to be exact—came up and punched him squarely in the face. He fell backwards against the door frame and slid to the floor.

“You son of a bitch. You did this on purpose, you stinking son of a bitch.” Marcus ranted as he stood over the silver haired man, fists balled.

“God, they said you were temperamental, but this is ridiculous.” Hugh touched his jaw gingerly and made to stand up.

Marcus reached down and grabbed the man by his shirt, hauling to his feet and dragging him into the library. “You have no clue how temperamental I can be. You’d be shocked at the depths of my fucking
temperamentality
when I’m really good and pissed off.” He threw Hugh down into a wingback chair and stood over him.

Carol and Dwayne sat calmly on an antique camelback sofa, leafing through an old book. Dwayne looked up and nodded at Marcus before returning his attention to the script that Carol was reading aloud in a low voice.

Eddie drifted into the room and stood behind Marcus, arms folded. He raised an eyebrow at Hugh but remained silent. Susan silently glided over to stand behind the sofa, one hand on Dwayne’s shoulder.

“Now you’re going to tell us exactly what we’re dealing with and why you did this to your own daughter.” Marcus swung around to point at Mathieu who had just walked into the room. “And you. You’re not going to have any kind of reaction or anything to what’s going on in here. Not a peep.”

Mathieu stopped short and looked at Hugh who was now leaning back in the chair, rubbing his chin and glaring up at Marcus. “All right. Are you going to hit him again?”

“Probably. Do you have a problem with that?” Marcus put his hands on his hips.

“Him? Not particularly.” Mathieu half shrugged. “Just aim for the nose next time. I don’t want to feel your pain when you break your hand on his jaw.”