The conclusion has me dipping a nod of fresh respect. The pair has done some thinking. We will not be the only party seeking refuge at Versailles’ Court of Honor. The wardrobe stands out as a better gift for Louis than a mere vase or statuette.
“You are not going to the palais either.”
Kavia’s tone has me stopping. Never have I heard her sound so serious. Not even when I came home with salamanders in both pockets. “Then what is this all about? Kavia?”
“Just get in, Bastien.” There is a wobble beneath her words now. Tears that refuse to stay at bay. “And obey every word I say.”
“She knows what she is about, boy.” Carl’s assertion is easier to focus on, like a verbal light in the sudden darkness around me. Even the slim crack between the closed cabinet doors lends me illumination. My senses pick up on movement, but not the comforting sort. Not the rolls of the wagon or even a jingling of reins and harnesses, indicating we are about to get out of here. “Listen to her, Bastien!”
I grit my teeth to avoid snapping back at him. In the blackness of my strange new prison, I vacillate between desolation and frustration. Being addressed as if I’m twelve again is not a huge assuagement.
The moment I prepare to remind them that I am a man over twice that age, Kavia speaks again.
“Take a deep breath, Bastien. After that, take another.”
Once more, her voice is something I have never heard before. Something that sneaks across all my pores and into the pulse of my blood. It happens between one blink and the next…one breath and the next. Though I’ve needed her first direction, it is impossible to pull in the second breath. For that matter, any air at all.
“Kavia?” I blurt. “Carl? What the absolute hell?”
“Ssshhh,” Kavia charges. “You are going to be fine, Bastien. Just fine.”
“This is not fine, damn it.”
I raise both hands to shove the doors open again but encounter a small hitch. All right, not so small. My hands refuse to move. So do the lengths of both arms.
“Kavia! This is not fine at all!”
“Bastien!” Carl this time. “Calm yourself or this will not go well!”
“This…what?” I bellow, beyond caring if the horde on the avenue hears. It might be best if they do. These two people, the ones who sometimes saw me more in a day than Mother or Father, have now put me in the most horrific of cages. My legs have joined with my arms, shackled beneath invisible weights. I cannot move!
“Please, my sweet boy.” Kavia nearly sings it despite her fervent underline. Once more, it is nothing I have ever heard from her. What kind of creature has taken over the kitchen maid I love so much? “Please, Bastien. You must at least try for me.”
“Do I have a fucking choice?” I still fight for strength, demanding my muscles hearken the screams from my mind. The effort is useless. Completely futile.
“Of course you do.” Kavia’s croon is still too gentle. And beyond strange. “You always have a choice, my little warrior.”
“Mierde.” The woman has not forgotten any of her emotional weapons, including the use of the nickname I loved throughout boyhood. But it accomplishes her purpose. I surrender to utter stillness now. Resign myself to hearing her.
“Now close your eyes,” she instructs as soon as I fill my lungs with my second breath. “And in your mind and your heart and your soul, envision her as completely as you can.”
I huff. “Envision who?”
“You already know the answer to that, Bastien Eneas Jacques De Leon. The only one you can see, if you set your soul free and let your heart fly. Your true love, mon petit guerrier. The only one who is going to get you through this.”
I shake my head—thankfully, I’m not numb from the neck up—with fresh ferocity. “Is this a joke? Why are you doing this to me?”
A low hum emerges from Kavia. I know it is her because there is still a tiny wobble in her eruption. But she does not stop. Now her drone nearly is a song—but not a tune I recognize. I would have remembered this melody. It’s haunting but ethereal. Frightening but fascinating.
At least until she speaks again.
“Bastien. You are not reaching for the vision!”
I hiss with low vitriol. “Nor will I.”
Because I want no part of remembering Magique as I last saw her. Because even with that resolve in my spirit, my conscience disagrees—disgustingly so. As soon as Kavia instructed it to activate my imagination, she is all I can see. Memories of all our laughter and lovemaking are mixed in with my last sight of her. The spreading blood on the floor. The loll of her head against the bedpost, and then in my arms. The pallor of her skin. The death in her eyes.
Fresh rage ignites in my spirit. The edges of my stare turn red again, even in this stifling gloom.
No.
That is not the case.
I am no longer encased in complete shadows.
Now, there are flames here too.
“What the hell?”
I wish I could be more facetious about it but am denied by raw facts. Actual flames invade the compartment now, clawing at my ankles, shins, knees, and higher. Instinct has me flinching again and again, and yet I do not feel a single thing. I am peering at pure fire, garish and bright and close to blinding, but every flame is like nothing but a blast of warm wind, buffeting my body and heating my face.
Curiosity takes over. Why not? The amber and orange layers bring more memories of my perfect magie, this time in those shades. The brilliant hue of her hair in the sun. The flecks of gold that spark in her eyes when she wants me inside her. The gleam of her tawny body beneath candlelight as I appease her need.
My mind’s eye brings it all to me, and then some. The memories collide, heartbreaking and intense, until my mind nearly bursts from the glory—and the grief.
I can fully move my limbs again but no longer wish to. I pray to stay in my cage, seared forever by the memories of my precious girl. If the blaze consumes and kills me, so be it. I will be by her side that much sooner. Wrapped around her and inside her for all time.
Beyond the crackle of the invisible kindling at my feet, I hear myself growl in determination. The last answer I expect is Kavia’s new exclamation, as impassioned as the conflagration itself.
“Yes! Oh yesss, Bastien!” Her voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at once, a mixture of fire and darkness. “You see her now. I know it. I can feel it. Perfect. That is perfect, my boy!”
“None too soon either,” Carl joins in. “Woman, these shadows will only protect us for so long. Depechez-vous. Hurry!”
Hurry…how? About what? But the demands are naught but fearful grunts at my lips, hitting a solid wall of trepidation in my mind.
Carl and Kavia do not sound like they want to smuggle me out of here. That leaves me with some dismal options. They mean to kill me or trade me.
“No, Bastien.” Kavia has never scolded me so brutally, even when I swore by three saints in a row after church one Sunday. “Do not let her go! Not for one second! She will guide you. Do. Not. Let. Her. Go!”
She pounds on both wardrobe doors. I lurch and battle an urge to punch back. My self-control is a dismal standby for what truly helps. The flood of Magique back to my mind’s eye. Calm returns, along with my maid’s praising croon.