Wolf Omega: The Lykanos Chronicles 2

Chapter Forty-One

Days of rest went by quietly inside the little house. Maximo and I slept together in the upstairs bedroom. Jaques and Hélène never questioned the details of how we'd arrived, our missing luggage, or our departure date. They were so grateful to have us there that I couldn't decide who might benefit more from our stay.

Maximo spent his days discussing life with Jacques: business and ventures; politics and the state of the nation; simple joys and lingering sorrows. With Hélène, I mostly listened, playing the role of confessor, which she'd needed. She was beyond happy to have me there, and the stories she told me were those any mother might share with her grown child.

"But you must tell me again how the boys are doing in their classes," she eventually shifted. "And the girls—what is your husband's plan for them?"

Hélène had learned the children's names and personalities solely from a decade of written correspondence. I added minor details here or there to elaborate on her grandchildren's progress, but nothing likely untrue. All of it visibly added to her joy, as did my assurances that we would come to Val d'Isère as a family in summer if we could. It made little sense, but it comforted her.

"I have not seen your father smile in months," she said with undisguised relief.

We stared together at the men while they plowed fresh snow from the garden path.

"He never got to know Max before you both moved away," she added. "To look at him now, I'd swear he has a son again."

I hugged her tightly, offering the love she too desperately needed.

"Tell me you won't leave for home too quickly."

"We would like to stay awhile if it's possible," I answered. "The heavy snow made our journey long and difficult. Perhaps a couple of weeks? Leaving in April should make the return considerably easier."

Hélène received the request with sheer ecstasy. Of course, we could stay. Having us there was a dream come true.

"Will you walk with me to church? I've not been in weeks. I haven't wanted to leave your father alone for too long. Afterward, we can go to the store for groceries. We can cook his favorite coq au vin if there are onions in stock. He won't know what to do with himself."

She was too excited by the prospect, and as much as I wished to stay out of sight, I couldn't think of a reason to decline fast enough.

By three o'clock, we had strolled arm in arm through the village, occasionally stopping for Hélène to say hello to someone and point out that I was home to visit. Most didn't remember enough of Veronique's face to question my identity. I extended my powers to adjust the memory of the one woman who did know me until she smiled with gleeful satisfaction to see me again after so many years.

Eglise Saint Bernard de Menthon, the Catholic church that stood at the center of the village, was a robust building, with the octagonal spire of its bell tower rising above all. The simple masoned structure, built with rough gray mountain stone, was designed to survive the elements of the French alps rather than attempt the beauty of the fine temples with which I was more familiar.

The building was empty but blessedly warm within. Hélène led me down to the first pew, where we kneeled together to pray in silence.

Just left of the front altar was a dark alcove where the Madonna's statue stood atop a small table. At her feet were the traditional candles, lit by parishioners hoping to receive the Mother's loving help.

I rose from our pew and quietly moved to her.

When I'd lit a candle in the Como cathedral on my last and tumultuous night in town, the ritual had allowed me to gather my thoughts. The warmth of the light had calmed me well enough to see the treachery hiding behind the paralyzing shock of Apollonia's murder. I felt the Virgin had saved me that night, just as much as Maximo had. But I knew the notion was folly.