Thief's Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) (36 page)

“Indeed. Did you have any particular reason for coming here, in gross disregard of all logic and common sense? Or were you just hoping to startle me into an early grave?”

“Tempting as that may be,” she said, “no, that's not why I came.” She frowned. “Actually, Julien…” The guard's eyebrows rose. Any time she called him by his first name, he felt the irresistible urge to count his money. And perhaps his teeth.

“Yes?” he prompted.

She sighed. “I wanted to find out if you're still determined to pin de Laurent's and Al—um, Delacroix's deaths on me.”

Bouniard frowned. “If I am, you took an awful risk in coming here to ask me.”

Widdershins laughed aloud. “Julien, you've not even the vaguest comprehension of the sorts of places I've been recently. No disrespect to your abilities, or those of your men, but this place holds no real fear for me anymore.”

“What makes you think,” Bouniard asked slowly, his voice deliberately noncommittal, “that we have any reason to suspect—”

“Bouniard, please don't waste my time. We both know you've suspected me since I escaped your stupid prison. We both know that you were looking for me within moments after finding out that William—that is, the archbishop—was dead.” The Guardsman filed that little slip of the tongue away for future study, but chose not to interrupt. “And we also know,” she continued, suddenly angry, “that you've found, or at least should have found, if you're doing your job, enough evidence in Delacroix's house to implicate the real killer! So kindly stop stonewalling me so we can both get on with our respective evenings!”

All gods damn the woman, how did she
know
about these things?! Yes, the Guard had searched Delacroix Manor—gingerly, reluctantly, forced into it by the murders therein. They'd found evidence indeed, and to spare: a hidden shrine, devoted to a worship of Cevora far older and more primal than his modern, Pact-approved incarnation. And they'd found a number of disturbing writings, as well as ritual workings whose purpose Julien couldn't comprehend, but which the Guard priests told him had been banned since the earliest days of the Church.

Was there enough to convict anyone for the murders of Alexandre Delacroix and William de Laurent? No, not really; but there was certainly enough to draw a number of conclusions.

All of which was a moot point. None of this was public information, not when it involved a family as powerful as Delacroix was—or, well, had been.

“I can neither confirm nor deny anything you might have heard, Widdershins,” Bouniard said stiffly. “I can, however,” he continued hastily as she drew breath for another tirade, “assure you that we've no longer any reason to assume it was you. You're free and clear. Of this, anyway.”

The young woman all but deflated in her chair. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then, “How's Maurice?”

“Maurice? Oh, the monk.” Julien shook his head. “Heartbroken. Still, I think some small good may have come of this. Last I heard before he left, he was talking about petitioning his superiors to transfer orders. Planning to become a priest, I understand, follow in de Laurent's footsteps.” The Guardsman shrugged. “I think the Church could do worse.”

Widdershins smiled faintly. “That they could,” she agreed. “Well, I must be off.” She paused yet again. “Unless you're planning to arrest me for breaking gaol?” she asked, only half teasing.

Bouniard's mouth twisted in an odd moue, trying to smile and frown at once. “I should,” he admitted. “But…just maybe I was a bit, ah, overzealous in arresting you in the first place.”

Widdershins's eyes widened, and it was her turn to clutch at her chest melodramatically.

“Don't push it,” he warned. “I'm suddenly wondering where you're off to in such a hurry.”

“Nothing sinister, Bouniard—not that I'd tell you if it was. My tavern's reopening tomorrow night. I want to make sure it's ready.”

“Your tavern?”

Widdershins's face fell. “Genevieve left it to me.”

Bouniard nodded. “I'm sorry,” he told her, and Widdershins was startled to realize that he meant it. “I know you were close.”

“We were.”

“If it helps at all, Widdershins, we've arrested Brock's surviving partner. Fellow named Louvel, part of the break-in at the gaol as well. He'll get whatever justice I can bring down on him, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Feeling an intense need to break through a suddenly awkward moment, Julien said, “If you own a tavern now, does that mean you won't be stealing anymore?”

She grinned, brightening at least a bit. “It might, Bouniard. You never know.”

“I hope so, Widdershins. I don't want to catch you doing anything illegal again, understand?”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she said, gracing the Guardsman with an impish grin. “I promise, you won't catch me.”

Despite himself, Julien couldn't help but laugh. By the time he stopped, the young woman was gone.

It was strange, really. He felt better now, after talking to her, than he had in days. She was definitely a bright spot in the week—which might actually have said less about her and more about the truly awful week, but there it was. Julien took one last look at the paperwork awaiting him and decided it could wait until tomorrow after all. He was going to lock up the office, go home, and get at least one good night's sleep, even if it meant a demerit for coming in late tomorrow.

Now where the hell had he put his keys?

Widdershins shook her head as she slipped through the corridors of the Guard Headquarters. She didn't really need to sneak, now, seeing as she wasn't currently wanted for anything, but old habits and all that. She was glad Bouniard had cleared her of killing poor William and her fath—Alexandre. But she'd hoped…

Widdershins sighed. She still didn't know if Claude had just been a zealous lunatic, or if Cevora had truly guided his hand, but either way, she'd hoped he might have left some solid evidence behind. Maybe even, unlikely as she knew it was, something relating to the tragedy two years ago. She had hoped that the Guard might have cleared not only Widdershins, but Adrienne Satti. For all that had happened, she missed being Adrienne, sometimes.

She didn't even realize when Olgun sent a wave of confidence through her soul, of acceptance, of peace. No, she couldn't be Adrienne Satti anymore, not now, maybe not ever.

But there were worse people to be than Widdershins.

“Let's go home, Olgun,” she said softly, in that tone that only he could hear. “I think it's time we start spreading you around a little bit, wouldn't you agree? I wonder how Robin feels about religion….”

Chattering happily to her patron god, Widdershins idly spun Julien Bouniard's key ring around her finger as she emerged from the Davillon City Guard, stepped into the dancing shadows cast by the flickering streetlights, and was gone.

Ari Marmell is a fantasy and horror writer, with novels and short stories published through Spectra (Random House), Pyr, Wizards of the Coast, and others. He has also worked as an author of role-playing-game materials for games such as Dungeons & Dragons and the World of Darkness line. His earliest novels were written as tie-in fiction for the games Vampire: The Masquerade and Magic: The Gathering. His first original (that is, non-tie-in) published novel was
The Conqueror's Shadow
, followed by a sequel,
The Warlord's Legacy.
Although born in New York, Ari has lived the vast majority of his life in Texas—first Houston, where he earned a bachelor of arts degree in creative writing at the University of Houston, and then Austin. He lives with his wife, George; two cats; and a variety of neuroses.

You can visit Ari online at
http://mouseferatu.com
.