Pyromancist (10 page)

How much did he know exactly? If she told
them it was her they were after, confessed her possible sins, would
they give up their search for Erwan? Would they stop chasing her
grandfather? Erwan didn’t deserve any of this.

“Maybe it’s me you’re after,” she said, fear
for the consequences of her confession tightening her throat.
“Maybe I’m the one you want, not Erwan.”

He clicked his tongue. “I knew you’d take
that approach, and it’s very saintly, but I know it wasn’t you.
I’ve tasted your blood. I could tell.”

His words confused her. All that mattered was
Erwan.

“Please,” she said, grabbing hold of the
lapels of his coat, “leave Erwan alone.”

He stilled. He looked at where her hands
rested on his chest, and just when she thought he was going to tell
her to get her hands off him in some rude manner, he cupped her
hands and gently moved them back to her sides.

“Better not touch me if you don’t like
getting burned.”

“I’m sorry my touch offends you so,” she bit
out.

His eyes flashed. “Offend is the wrong choice
of words. I’ll rephrase it for you. Don’t play with fire.”

Even more confused now, Clelia simply stared
at him. She wasn’t sure what he meant. All she wanted was to get
Erwan off the hook somehow. None of this was his fault. He
shouldn’t have to run, or hide. She could confess her past, her own
fire starting, her fear that she was to blame for the fires. If she
told the truth, what would he do with her?

“What happens when you catch your criminals?”
she asked cautiously.

“It depends. Each case is unique. There is no
given set of laws that applies to all cases. Each one has to be
evaluated considering all facts involved. Our job is to solve the
crime, not to make judgment. That’s reserved for people with better
morals than me.”

A shiver ran up and down her spine.

“You need to get warm, and dry,” he said.
“How are your eyes? Are they still sensitive, or can I switch on
the light?”

“They’re fine.”

He flicked on a bedside light. In the yellow
glow that washed over him, she could see the darkness under the
very light gray of his eyes, broad swatches like the strokes of a
brush, underlining his tiredness. She thought of the night before,
of his despair, and of their kiss, and her heart squeezed. She
thought about what Erwan had said about Josselin’s new woman. Did
it mean that Erwan was wrong? That Josselin came here only to solve
a mystery and not to bring home a new wife?

“So Maya and Lann are the other team
members?”

“Forget their names.”

“Why did you come back?”

He sighed. “For someone who’s just been
through a hell of a traumatic morning, you talk too much.”

“Did you come back only to investigate the
fires, or also to ... come home?”

His look shifted. Instinctively she moved
back.

“Why would you ask that?” he said.

“Maya.”

“What about Maya?”

“People say...”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What do people
say?”

“That you’re together.”

“Maya?” He chuckled. “And you would
care?”

Clelia felt her cheeks flush. “Of course not.
I’m trying to figure out how the puzzle fits together.”

“Of course not,” he said, repeating her
words, and then his face and his expression closed, making it
impossible for her to read him.

“Is she your lover?”

He frowned. “I see this village hasn’t
changed.”

“No, some things don’t change,” she said,
feeling sad for the truth of the words. She hugged herself. His
eyes followed the movement.

“I’ve removed your boots,” he said. He moved
slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He ran a broad hand
over the bridge of her foot and lifted it.

“Where did these come from?” He fingered one
of the cuts from the thorns that had dug into her skin.

She pulled her leg self-consciously to free
herself from his grip and he allowed her toes to slip through his
fingers, but he wasn’t letting the question go so easily.

“Why are you cut up?” he said gravely.

Clelia moved all the way to the headboard of
the bed. “I didn’t wear the right shoes when I walked through a
field,” she said.

“You should take better care of yourself. Are
you still roaming the woods alone?”

When she didn’t answer, he scowled. “You’re
still damp and probably bruised from our unfortunate adventure. You
need a warm bath.”

He got up and opened the door to an adjoining
bathroom. Soon she heard water running. When he came back, she was
trying to stand up, but failing miserably.

“Your strength will return. The weakness is
temporary,” he said. “I’m sorry I had to do this to you. It was for
your own protection.”

He crossed the floor, picked her up and
carried her to the bathroom. Clelia tried hard not to squirm in his
arms. His proximity was disconcerting.

“If Maya were here she could have assisted
you, but I’m afraid I’m all you’ve got.” He lowered her to her feet
but kept his hands around her waist, testing to make sure that she
wasn’t going to fall. “Will you manage, or shall I help you?”

Clelia was sure her face was as red as it was
hot. For a second she saw an amused look drift across his harsh
features.

“You have been naked with a man before,
haven’t you?”

Clelia felt her cheeks inflame even further,
infuriated by his question and the fun he was clearly making of her
now.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I see,” he said, looking both fascinated and
surprised. “Well, do you need my help?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

He appeared uncertain, but then nodded
solemnly, closed the tap, tested the water and turned for the
door.

“Josselin,” she said, waiting until he faced
her, “I would like to know what’s going to happen. For how long are
you going to keep me here?”

“For as long as it takes,” he said, sounding
uncompromising. “We’ll talk later.” He motioned at the bath. “Take
your time. First, get warm, unless you want to catch your
death.”

Clelia stared at his very big and very solid
back as he closed the door behind him.

Unsteady on her feet, she battled to undress.
Her fingers were numb and her coordination lacking, but she managed
to shed the shorts, T-shirt and her underwear. She folded
everything neatly on a bench before she stepped into the bath and
lowered herself into the warm water. She was, in fact, cold, and
the heat was welcome.

In the low light of the lamp, she couldn’t
make out much of the bedroom, but the bathroom was brightly lit. It
was clean but neglected. Some of the black and white tiles on the
floor were cracked and a yellowed mirror on the wall was split in
two. The antique enamel clawfoot bathtub would once have been
pretty, but now it looked sad with rusted metal showing like raw
wounds through the chipped surface. A white plastic curtain
extended from a curtain rail to shelter the bath and a wide shower
nozzle was fixed to the wall above the taps. The broad basin was
broken too, and the square that was supposed to be the window was
shuttered from the outside, although she could see slivers of light
slipping through, which meant that it was day.

As she soaked in the water her nerves
slightly calmed, and the shivering and shaking stopped. Slowly, her
body started feeling normal again. She bent her legs and arms,
testing her joints. All that was left to do was to get her mind
working too, so that she could think up an escape plan. Still
contemplating what her next move should be, she jumped when the
door suddenly opened without warning. With a soft yelp, she jerked
the plastic curtain closed.

“I brought you dry clothes,” Josselin said,
either oblivious of his unorthodox entry or not caring. “Will you
manage to get into them yourself, or do you want me to dress
you?”

Clelia swallowed, cursing the blood that
surged to various parts of her body.

“Please,” she said, “just leave them here.
You didn’t have to...”

She heard him chuckle and the door closed
again. For good measure, she sat very still and counted to ten.
Only when the silence prevailed did she dare to pull the curtain
aside. Once more, she was alone. She found a towel, a sweatshirt,
and tracksuit pants on the bench. She dried herself and dressed in
the oversized clothes, combing her hair through with her fingers.
Her image looked strangely distorted in the mirror, as if she had a
twin double, but each of them was missing a piece of her face.

This time Josselin knocked. He entered with a
brush and a hairdryer in his hands. She watched him in the mirror
as he walked to her. As he looked at the baggy clothes drowning her
body, a strange expression crossed his face.

“I had to give you some of my stuff. It may
be a bit...”

“Too big?”

“Uncomfortable.” He managed a crooked smile
at her broken reflection in the mirror.

“My backpack...” she said, suddenly
remembering that she had left it in the house where they had been
attacked. She gave a silent sigh of relief for having thrown
Josselin’s revolver into the sea. If he had discovered it, he would
have wanted to know how it got there, and she would have died of
embarrassment to hear him admit that he couldn’t recall the way in
which he had kissed her, or the way his hands had rested on her
breasts. She felt herself flush again, and it wasn’t just her face
that was heating.

“Maya’s got it.”

“Thoroughly searched by now, no doubt,” she
said bitterly.

He shrugged. “Of course. As were you.”

Her eyes widened and her tummy somersaulted
at the thought of Josselin body-searching her.

He sighed. “Don’t worry, little witch. Maya
patted you down in the van.” He touched her wet hair. “Let me,” he
said, and without waiting for permission, he started drying her
hair.

When he was satisfied that her hair was
thoroughly dry, he made her sit on the toilet, pushed up her pants
and inspected her knees and feet.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here,” he said,
sounding annoyed again, “but I’ll give those some attention
later.”

She bit her lip. “It’s nothing. Just a few
scratches.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but he
didn’t say anything as he rolled the pants back down, took her hand
and led her back to the room.

This time a bare overhead light cast a hollow
shine with long shadows over everything. Clelia looked around. It
was a small round room with a bed and a bedside table pushed
against the wall, a dresser with drawers and a desk and chair
facing it. The walls were bare and marked. The furniture seemed
old, but the mattress appeared new.

“It’s not very nice, but it’s clean,”
Josselin said, and when she looked up, she noticed him studying
her. He pointed at a shopping bag on the chair. “There are new
sheets in there. Will you manage to make the bed?”

She glanced at him quickly. “You want me to
make the bed?”

“Yes,” he simply said.

It wasn’t as if they were a couple on holiday
together and the guy just asked his girlfriend if she could make
their bed. She was a prisoner, a hostage. Between Josselin and a
bed, a clean bed with new sheets, her thoughts drifted someplace
they shouldn’t, and that scared her more than the fact that she was
trapped between four walls–actually, in a circle of bricks–as the
room was round.

“Why?” she said, feeling more intimidated by
him than ever before.

A flicker of a smile twisted his lips and
made her feel stupid. “Because I don’t want you to have to lie on a
bare mattress.”

She twisted her fingers together, looking at
the bag with the Super-U logo. “What if I refuse?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll do it.”

She frowned, trying to imagine big, strong
Josselin making a bed. He lifted the bag and handed it to her. She
reached out slowly and took it, extracting a yellow fitted sheet,
flat sheet, pillowcase and comforter. It smelled freshly laundered.
There were no price tags or plastic wrappings.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I washed
and dried it while you were knocked out.”

The act seemed oddly out of character for
Josselin. She didn’t say anything as he opened another bag and
handed her a new pillow. While she moved around the bed to pull the
sheets straight, she was aware of him watching her with his arms
crossed, his expression unreadable. Only when she had finished did
he step forward and look down at her.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, lie down.”

“I need to go home,” Clelia said.

“You know better than to ask that of me. We
don’t know each other. Yet. But when you get to know me, you’ll
know that I don’t take no for an answer. Sit down.”

His body was almost flush against hers now,
and more in an effort to put some distance between them than obey
him, Clelia carefully balanced herself on the edge of the bed.

“We have to talk,” he said, “but there are
some things that need taking care of first.”

He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her
down. When she was flat on her back, he glided his hands over her
arms, all the way to her hands, fleetingly intertwining their
fingers before he lifted her arms above her head, smoothing his
palms down over the sensitive inner flesh and back up. He leaned
over her, his hair brushing her face, his eyes capturing hers,
holding both of her wrists together with one hand while the other
took something from his jacket and lifted it to her hands. Before
Clelia knew what was happening, she felt something unwelcome and
cold encircling her wrists, and then she heard a clicking sound.
Her eyes widened as she realized that he had just handcuffed her to
the bed. A hard pluck of her arms confirmed the knowledge. The
metal pushed relentlessly against her skin.

“Don’t pull,” he said, frowning. “You’ll take
off your skin.”