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TOWNHOUSE DE VILLIERS

T hey approached the townhouse with a sense of grandeur and foreboding.

The streets on this side of the river were eerily quiet.

It was ever so in the wealthier neighbourhoods of any city, one might say.

But it was more than that.

There was a feeling the buildings were holding their breath, a quiet that was too quiet, a bit like when Henry was about to punch Léon in the face in the Witches’ Tower.

Arriving at the gate, Henry slid off Destroyer and pulled free a loop of keys.

He’d kept them in his luggage all the years he’d been on the run.

He’d had copies made for his sister, then spares made again.

All night he’d kept them in a pocket against his chest, and now he slid one, warm from his skin, into the keyhole.

It turned with a satisfying click.

Henry looked up at Léon with never before seen excitement.

He pressed a hand to the gate, pushed, and with the cracking sound of wood hitting wood, he met impenetrable resistance.

He took a step back, as though the gate had just verbally offended him, then pressed two hands to it and tried again.

It barely budged.

Bracing himself against his back leg, Henry put all his effort into it this time, getting nothing more than a vague squeak back to his, “You fucking piece of shit!” and his, “What kind of a fucking gate are you?” and his, “I’ll make you into firewood, you bastard!”

Léon remained on Azazel, who rubbed her cheek against Destroyer’s as though she were whispering in his ear, probably at Henry’s expense.

But Léon’s mind was on his brother.

“Does that mean they’re in there? Have they barricaded it?”

Trying to quell his anger at the decidedly inanimate object, “I suppose. But why would she do that?”

“There,” said Léon.

He climbed down from the horse and walked to the edge of the gate.

Just breaking through the wood was a row of sharp metal dots—the ends of nails stamped deep.

“Looks like they’ve nailed themselves in.”

“Okay.” Henry passed the tip of his tongue over his lips.

“All right. They must have had their reasons. Probably smart. I guess we’ll just have to rattle the gate until they let us in, but…” He glanced up at Léon, the darkness of their ride through Paris still hanging over them both.

“Come with me.” He turned sharply and made to walk away.

“The horses?” Léon called.

Henry regarded the animals for a moment, as though he were reading their minds, then, “They’ll take care of themselves.”

With a scrunch of his brow, Léon ran a hesitant hand down Azazel’s neck before deciding to chase after Henry.

He’d turned down a narrow passage a few doors up the street.

It was dark and dank, barely more than the width of Henry’s shoulders.

With a sharp tsk, Léon stepped in, then found both hands caught, slapped down on Henry’s waist, and himself pulled, full-body, in for a kiss.

In a panic, he shoved Henry off, casting frantic eyes around for onlookers.

But there was no one.

They were standing in a fortress, surrounded on three sides by blank walls, towering several storeys over them, hidden away from all of Paris.

Taking in his surroundings, or lack thereof, Léon calmed, particularly when he found Henry’s delighted face.

“What are you so pleased about?”

Gingerly, flirtatiously, Henry caught his index finger and pulled him close, finding Léon deliciously yielding.

“I haven't kissed you for hours.”

Hours. Hours since those fingers had sung across the back of his neck, hours since those beautiful lips had been his. Léon let the first kiss fall beneath his ear. “Are you sure we’re safe here?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” Henry closed a hand on his hip, the other curling over the top of his breeches.

Léon kissed Henry, sinking into the giddy thrill of being out in the open, hidden as they were. How it felt like home already, being back in his embrace, leaning against the trail that moved from his lips, up his cheek, where Henry whispered. “How do you want to manage this?”

Léon turned to catch another kiss. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Henry, breathing a little harder, moulding a hand into the small of Léon’s back, “I know you’re not sold on this Paris thing yet.”

“Oh.” Léon’s head tilted down.

But Henry lowered his to keep eye contact. “You can’t walk out on me. Not yet. Not until I’ve shown you everything.”

“I don’t like it here, Henri?—”

“You haven’t seen it here. Not really. Not with me.” Henry slipped a strand of Léon’s hair behind his ear, then kissed his cheek. “Give me a week. One week just to show you. And then, if you hate it, maybe we can make a plan.”

It surprised Léon that his cool heart could leap so violently. Would Henry really consider that? Walking away from Paris? For Léon?

Henry said, “I don't know how your brother would feel about us?—”

“We can’t tell him,” Léon replied sharply.

“Okay,” Henry agreed. “We won’t. But your barmaid?—”

“And not Souveraine, either.” Henry nodded, but as he did, Léon noticed the twitch of his lips. The touch of vulnerability made Léon’s hand shoot out and close around Henry’s cheek. “Not because I don’t want it. That’s not why. I don’t want things to change between us. I need you to know that. If it were up to me…”

Piercing eyes searched his. “If it was just us, and you didn’t have to think of their safety, would you stay?”

“You know I would,” Léon whispered.

Henry’s final kiss was all tenderness. Long, sweet, with hands that held Léon close, that cracked every flinty part of him that tried to defend itself from Henry’s love. “Let’s go back.”

Henry passed across a smile as he led Léon back into the daylight. “Just so you know, Catherine wouldn't mind. I think she knows I like you.”

Léon, astounded, asked, “Really?”

“I think it was a little obvious. Um. She did imply that we should kill you after the pit. But I was very firm that we should let you live.”

“Huh. Way back then.”

“I told you.” He banged at the gate. “If we’d met under better circumstances?—”

“We never would have met under other circumstances,” Léon said softly.

“Perhaps not.” Henry gave the wood a kick, then let out a sigh. He turned side on to look at Léon. “I won’t stop being sorry for what I put you through, but Ange…” Léon’s sad eyes met his. “I’m so happy I found you. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met. If you want to keep us a secret, then I’ll do it. But you should know, that’s your choice. I’m proud you would even look at me, that you would ever consider me worth your time. I would like to tell Catherine, and I would tell all the world. But above all, I’ll respect your wishes.”

A grin spread slowly across Léon’s beautiful face. “Stop it.”

Henry threw back a perfectly cheeky grin. “Am I charming you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you blushing?”

“Yes!”

“Good.” Henry kissed his cheek brazenly. “You’re lovely. And I’m just getting started. I promise you won’t want to leave at the end of this week.”

Henry raised a fist to smash into the gate, but an enormous ripping sound came from the other side, and the entire edifice shook.

“Hands up!” came a shout.

Henry yelled back, “Cathy!”

“Henry?” The gate flung open and she threw herself into Henry’s arms, wrapping two legs around him, almost knocking him over.

He clamped his hold around her just as heartily.

She dropped to the ground with a sway, her long, cream, incredibly fine dress sweeping the ground. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

“Of course I was coming. Léon told you, didn’t he?”

“He did.” She beamed up at him, barely hesitating before hugging Léon almost as tight as she had Henry. She smelled so sweetly, her hair fresh and clean, and she was like an entirely different person to the last time he’d met her. She had a rosy glow, and all the life and energy of youth in her limbs.

He thought of Sophie, of her body rotting in that horrid pit. Of all the other bodies he’d put there. Then Catherine’s hand was on Henry’s cheek, Henry smiling at her with more love than either could express, and Léon, though sick inside, was eternally thankful he’d done that one thing.

“I’m going to nail it shut again. Come inside.” Catherine dragged Henry in, and Léon grabbed the two horses to lead them through. It was like ascending into heaven. They found themselves in the bright and colourful hold of a lush garden. His boots crunched down on paved limestone strewn with old leaves, the first delivery of a too-early autumn, after a too-cold summer. Orange and red trees held their branches towards them, waving between those evergreens that made the air cool and fresh, a shocking sensation of rich pleasure in contrast to the filth outside. High walls hid them on all sides, a stable up the drive to the right, and beyond, the edifice of a gorgeous townhouse.

“We’re safe here, but barely,” said Catherine. “They’re taking all the houses, and we’re in deep shit. You came just in time. I was considering heading back to England.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—” Henry began.

But Léon cut in with, “Is émile inside?”

“Of course. You two go ahead while I fix this.” Planks, nails and a hammer were waiting right there, and Catherine didn’t waste a second getting to work.

Henry took Léon’s hand by instinct, Léon’s fingers closing adoringly around his. It was only Catherine's slightly smug “Ah” that reminded either of them.

“What?” Léon almost stumbled over in his haste to rip the contact apart.

Henry was less cagey, saying softly to Catherine, “Don’t tell the others.”

“There’s nothing to tell them,” Léon insisted stupidly.

Catherine’s smile was unnervingly sly. She set about lining up a nail with the comment, “Don’t let Souveraine see.” Pausing a moment before adding, “Unless I’m there to watch.”

Shaken, Léon refused the hand Henry offered again, striding away from the cackle Catherine threw out behind them.

“Don’t worry about her,” Henry muttered, catching up. “She really doesn’t mind.”

“Let’s just…” Perfectly frazzled, Léon tried, “Let’s go inside?—”

“And act like you’re not my partner?” He said it quietly, but it still drew a hot blush from Léon.

“I’m not.” Then, turning to look into those golden, possessive, provocative eyes, “Am I? I… What… What am I?”

“I don’t know what to call it. You’re more than a lover. More than a fling.”

“Am I?” Léon whispered, desperate in the middle of the enormous mess to hear Henry name it exactly.

“Léon!” The shout came from the other side of closed blue doors. There was a movement to the left and Léon realised with a combination of excitement and worry that émile had seen them through the window. The door smashed wide open, and émile flew down the steps into Léon’s arms.

He picked him up high and peppered his cheeks with kisses, letting émile squeeze him just as violently as he wanted to. The feel and the smell of the boy brought all the worries he’d stifled for the last week to the surface. Even as émile was there in his arms, all the ‘what ifs’ he hadn’t let himself think about rose up in the shaking of his limbs and tears hot in his eyes. émile showed no inclination to be set back on the ground anytime soon, and Léon had even less desire to put him down. In fact, he was so caught up in the reunion, he didn’t even notice Souveraine’s soft approach, wary of Henry, who regarded her with a disconcertingly neutral face.

Her hand swept over Léon’s arm, and recognising the gentle touch, he reached for her, his heart swelling with relief to have the two of them back. “I can’t believe you’re all here,” he murmured, cheek against hers, looking down at émile’s cheery face. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

She pushed his hair back from his eyes, searching over every well-loved feature. “Are you okay?”

“Now I am,” he said, a tear falling onto her hand.

“Léon…” She kissed his cheek.

Henry’s voice came sharply, “Did you want to see the house, Léon?”

Souveraine’s head snapped across, but her ruby lips made no more response than an almost-sneer.

émile’s two hands were on Léon’s cheeks, his nose pushing hard into Léon’s. “I want to show you.”

Léon wiped a tear onto his sleeve, smiling widely. “All right. You show me.”

émile squiggled to the ground, but rather than go straight inside, he dashed to Henry, who caught him up in a bear hug. émile let Henry get one kiss on each cheek before his excitement overcame him and he was back at Léon’s side, clasping his hand. He pulled him fast, while Souveraine took the other hand. Léon threw a happy look back at Henry, who trailed in behind him, a tight smile plastered on his face.

Yes, he was happy, thrilled , to see émile back with Léon. But just where was he supposed to fit into this family reunion?

But Léon’s mind was on the next thing. Nothing could have prepared him for the opulence of Henry’s father’s house. He didn’t know ceilings outside of cathedrals could be so high, and that he only knew from peeking in dark doorways when he walked past, the eyes of bishops scowling him away from the entrance. But none of this design was heavy with the weight of religious reverence. This was all light. Like floating into a room. The scale of space was dreamlike, and it felt… All at once, it felt ludicrously empty, but achingly beautiful. Melancholy. As though something were missing, but also like there was all the space in the world to fill it up with. Space and cleanliness.

Léon felt filthy when he walked in there, physically and mentally. A lifetime of being the killer or the killer’s son came back on him. He sought Henry’s eyes, all of émile’s chatter, a sharp and fragmentary pounding in his head.

Henry wanted to go to him, take his hand and ease him in to what wasn’t really his home either. But those two beloved tokens of Léon’s life before Henry held him tight, and Henry could only say, “What’s mine is yours. I’ll find you some clothes, and anything else you need.” Catherine came in just then, pulling the door closed, locking it up tight, and throwing the room into darkness. “Is that really necessary?” Henry asked, moving for the candelabra.

“Don’t light it,” she said, placing a hand over his. “We’re saving candles. Father’s taken everything of value and we can’t afford to buy more. So yes, very necessary, all of it.” She forced a smile for Léon’s sake. “My father’s bedroom has been kept spare for you, but I’m afraid it’s a little austere. I’ve put Souveraine in mother’s room, and émile has the best guest bedroom, but if you’d prefer a different room, just say the word.”

The whole concept of a ‘bedroom’ was something Léon hadn’t once in his life had to think about. The idea of all these rooms felt like it was sinking him into the floor, making him smaller and smaller as he imagined what must lie above in that strange and hidden townhouse.

“He’ll be next to me.” Henry’s statement was exactly that—not a question or suggestion—it was fact. It provoked a wary flash of Souveraine’s eyes, not due to the content but the tone.

“Come, Léon!” émile strained at his hand so hard Léon was pulled a step forward.

“Just let me…” He didn’t want to walk on the polished floors with his dirty boots. But he didn’t want to take them off and have them all see his ragged socks, not that Henry hadn’t already seen them. But it felt so different now.

Henry scrunched his fingers lest he reach out for Léon. Already they were separated, not the men of the day before, alone and in each other’s arms. The charade had begun, and Henry despised every second of it.

Then Catherine placed a hand on his forearm. “We need to talk.” She turned to the boy. “émile, can you please show Léon around?”

“But I want to show him around,” Henry whined, sounding rather like a child himself. Catherine levelled dark eyes at him, which drew a curt, “Fine,” from taut lips.

Thus, Henry was drawn away to the boarded-up living room for a chat, while Léon was dragged up the stairs to bear witness to the excesses of clan De Villiers.