Free Dante Rising: the Birth of a Venator (A Dark Brethren short story) by Tracey O'Hara Page A

chest tightened at the thought. Antoinette hugged Dolly closer.
    The man was tall—much taller than Papa. His hair hung in a pale wet mess, hiding his face.
    “You’re so kind.” He stopped looking around the room and turned to her mother. “ Mademoiselle is it?”
    Something about him was not right. He didn’t look in her direction, but Antoinette felt a chill sweep over her.
    “ Madame , actually,” her mother replied. “ Madame Petrescu.”
    “Petrescu? That’s not a French name is it?” The man talked funny, but she knew English. Mama had taught her since she was little. Her Grandfather came from England.
    “ Non, Monsieur . My husband...he is Romanian. You are American, oui ?” Mama waved him further into the room.
    “I guess you could say that. I’m on my way to Paris, or at least I was until my car broke down.”
    A shiver ran up Antoinette’s spine. He lied. He made her want to run and hide. She shrank further into the shadows.
    “It is not a good night to be caught out in the weather, Monsieur . The rain may be light, but it still carries the touch of winter,” Mama said as she handed him a towel.
    He nodded and dried his wet hair. For the first time Antoinette could see his face which was not bad to look at, but there was something about his eyes that reminded her of the crazy fox Papa shot last summer because it had something called rabies .
    “I don’t want to intrude any longer than I have to, Madam. If you’ll just show me to your telephone I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
    For a brief second, Antoinette felt his cold grey eyes settle on her then move on. She must’ve imagined it — he couldn’t possibly have seen her — not up here in the dark. But she couldn’t shake the feeling he had known she was there from the moment he walked in the door.
    Antoinette moved as far back into the concealing shadows as she could while her mother showed him to the phone.
    “Can I offer you something to drink, Monsieur ?” her mother asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
    “That would be divine,” he said. His voice sounded...different and a strange smile tilted his mouth on an odd angle. A puzzled expression flickered across Mama’s face, and it was gone before Antoinette could be sure. But for a brief second Mama had looked scared. Fear was not something Antoinette was used to seeing on her mother’s face.
    “Well...um...I will get you something.” Mama’s voice shook. “’ot chocolat per’aps?”
    Monsieur ran his tongue over his lips and looked at Mama the way the barn cat looked at a mouse — just before he pounced. “That would be... lovely.”
    Mama left the room as Monsieur picked up the phone and dialed. “It’s me. I’m here...no, it shouldn’t take too long...okay, I’ll meet you in Paris when I’m done.”
    Mama came back into the room with a tray.
    “Yes, that’s right, I’m at the nearby farmhouse...” The man’s voice rose slightly. “Thank you.” He hung up the phone and smiled at Mama.
    “I will get some more sugar — perhaps you like it sweet?” Mama said, her eyes darting around the room.
    “No need–” the stranger’s hand shot out and grabbed her mother by the wrist, “you look sweet enough.”
    The tray fell to the floor with a shattering crash, sending the scalding liquid over the man’s leg though he didn’t even flinch.
    “What are you doing Monsieur ? Please, my husband will be ‘ome very soon.” Mama’s voice cracked. “No — please Monsieur no — non, s’il vous plaît .”
    He didn’t seem to hear her mother’s pleas and began humming a vaguely familiar tune. This seemed to frighten Mama even more. And then he started to dance, dragging Mama with him. Slowly he twirled around the room, humming and dancing, dancing and humming. Mama hung on his arm like one of Antoinette’s rag dolls.
    When he bent her into a low dip, he loosened the pins holding her mother’s bun in place. Antoinette watched as Mama’s pale