Page 28 of The Executioners Three
Together they laughed, and it was like a hose to a flame: any grief or tension that had just suffused the room was now snuffed out. Both Gellars could pretend it hadn’t happened, that Frank Carter had never been discussed between them and no rule had ever been broken.
“Ahem,” Steve declared, poking his head into the bedroom. “Dinner is served. Tonight’s menu is spaghetti Bolognese, and I hope it pleases you, m’ladies.”
“So what does The Curse of Allard Fortin say?” Mom asked as they all sat at the table. “Oh, can you pass the pepper, Steve?”
“Um, it’s pretty nuts,” Freddie said honestly.
“Like, full-on delusional. Fabre claims that José Allard Fortin had these three servants bound to him by blood that he brought over from France. And they basically killed people for him. Including all the competition of neighboring logging settlements. A rival suitor for his lover’s hand.
A British flank of soldiers. And pretty much anyone else in his way. ”
“Ooooh,” Steve crooned, handing the pepper to Mom. “Are we talking about a certain book that pissed off everyone in town?”
“You know the book?” Freddie asked. “By Edgar Fabre?”
“Of course. Well, sort of. That whole affair was before I was born, but my dad was still angry about it right up until the day he died. That ugly Fabre spewing his lies about our founder! I hope he rots! They ran the guy and his family out of town, you know.”
“Wait, what?” Freddie gaped. “That guy lived here? Edgar Fabre? Is he, by chance, still alive?”
“No, no.” Steve pulled a pained face. “He died pretty young, I think. In the 1960s, maybe? It was unsurprising, given that the book he wrote ruined his entire life. He used all of his family’s money to print it, then the Allard Fortins sued him into oblivion.
Then all of the town where he’d grown up turned on him.
That kind of stress does not lead to a long, fulfilled life. ”
Or maybe, Freddie thought, imagining her dad’s handwriting, Edgar didn’t die.
Except, The Curse of Allard Fortin was also printed fifty years ago… which would make Edgar pretty darn old at this point.
“Why are we talking about this?” Steve asked, pouring way too much salt on his spaghetti—and earning a glare from Mom.
“Because Freddie found what might be the last remaining copy of The Curse of Allard Fortin .”
“Oooh, don’t let the Allard Fortins see,” Steve said with a grin. “They can be quite litigious.”
“From the grave?” Mom glared.
“Well,” Freddie said with a grin like Steve’s, “if Fabre’s book was accurate, then they could use their cursed Executioners to kill me. Supposedly, they never die.”
“Executioners?” Steve said with wide-eyed glee. “This story gets better and better. So where are these supposed undead now?”
“Yeah.” Freddie waggled her eyebrows. “That’s one of the many holes in Fabre’s story. Supposedly the spirits of Allard Fortin’s Executioners can’t die. A hangsman, a headsman, and a disemboweler.”
“A disembowler ?” Steve squawked. “Oh my goodness, we should try to republish this, Patty. I mean, this is some great material. We could probably sell the rights to Hollywood. Can you imagine disemboweling on the big screen? Wait—you do know what disemboweling is, right?”
“I’m a historian, Steve, and fully insulted by this question.”
“Well, I don’t know what it is,” Freddie inserted. “Isn’t it just removing someone’s organs?”
“Oh no.” Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s so much more horrifying.” He leaned onto his elbows, voice dropping to a delighted whisper. “Disemboweling is where they slice open your abdomen and pull out the end of your large intestine. Then they nail it to a tree and make you walk yourself around the tree.”
To display this, Steve stabbed his fork into the spaghetti and slowly twirled. “It’s slow, brutal, and one of the most gruesome ways to die.”
Freddie swallowed.
And Mom sighed a tired Historical Director sigh as she stabbed her own fork into her noodles. “No wonder the Allard Fortins were so annoyed. Blood oaths and spirits aside, José Allard Fortin simply didn’t need an executioner—much less three of them.”
“Does that mean…” Freddie poked at a chunk of sauce. “That you don’t want to read The Curse of Allard Fortin when I’m done? I mean, if it’s all so implausible, I can just burn it.”
Steve choked a laugh. Mom’s glare turned deadly.
And Freddie grinned—although it was, admittedly, a forced thing. Because as fun as this conversation was, her brain was still roiling from the double monsoons, which had only gotten bigger with this new information from Steve.
Edgar Fabre had been ruined and run out of town. If that wasn’t motive for murder, then Freddie didn’t know what was—and Freddie’s instincts knew when they were onto something. Now she just had to figure out where that guy was. Had he died or hadn’t he?
The truth was out there.
“You feeling okay?” Mom asked after several minutes of Freddie staring into nothing.
Freddie shook herself. “Oh yeah, sorry.” She blinked. “I just really need to get my homework done. Do you mind if I eat later?”
“Sure.” Mom bit her lip. There was spaghetti sauce on her nose.
And with another forced smile, Freddie bolted for her room.
It was almost ten o’clock by the time Freddie finished reading all of The Curse of Allard Fortin . It wasn’t a long book, and most of it was just a translation of what the original Fabre had written in his diary.
Which was fully unhinged.
Like, Freddie kind of understood why the Allard Fortins had sued Edgar for printing this—and she had to wonder, honestly, if Original Fabre hadn’t maybe been working with a little too much lead at his forge. Because how else could one explain such delusion?
For example, the diary said that not only did the servants go around killing any enemy of José Allard Fortin, but their blood oath meant their spirits would stay alive for all of eternity—and those spirits could, in turn, be controlled for all of eternity too.
Ropey, Hacky, and Stabby . That was what Freddie had started calling the Executioners in her head, since there were no actual names for these supposedly cursed souls in Fabre’s diary.
There was at least one piece of the book, though, that might be relevant to Freddie’s search for answers, and it came at the very end: allegedly, Allard Fortin’s bell—which he used to summon his Executioners—had broken.
Its clapper was too big and the winters here colder than those back in France.
So he’d hired Original Fabre to make a new bell according to very specific, very strange specifications that had included a tin-to-copper ratio that Original Fabre hadn’t thought was wise.
His thoughts hadn’t mattered, though, since that was what Allard Fortin had wanted.
Fabre’s desire to be paid hadn’t mattered either, since—according to him—once the bell was complete, there was nothing to stop Fortin from commanding his Executioners to kill him.
Obviously, none of this was even remotely real, except for perhaps the commissioning of a new bell in the 1670s and a disgruntled blacksmith who’d wanted his money. People said all sorts of awful things when there were unpaid bills involved.
But whether or not the history was accurate didn’t actually matter. What mattered was that someone in the present day was obviously pulling inspiration from these stories.
So to the internet Freddie turned, hunkering down at her family’s computer in the den.
Edgar Fabre, she typed into Ask Jeeves.
Unfortunately, Jeeves had nothing to offer. So then she tried The Curse of Allard Fortin, which yielded only a message board about how bad parking was at the City-on-the-Berme Village Historique.
Touché.
Freddie was just sticking out her tongue at the monitor when a familiar uh-oh dinged from her ICQ.
Her heart rocketed through her forehead. She frantically clicked open the messenger service.
And right there, before her eyes, was a window claiming the user verybadhumanindeed82 wanted to add her as a contact. Do you accept?
Freddie slammed down the Enter key, and without waiting for Theo to initiate a conversation—and not even caring if she seemed wildly overeager—Freddie typed out:
LanceInMyHeart2000
Did you get ICQ just to talk to me?
A short pause. Then:
verybadhumanindeed82
obviously
Freddie’s throat clenched up.
But then she shook her head like a wet dog—because she wasn’t supposed to care if Theo wanted to talk to her. He was the enemy.
Solemn vow. Solemn vow.
Besides, there was a perfectly logical explanation for his ICQ debut—and it had nothing to do with Theo wanting to talk to her, but everything to do with their earlier agreement.
LanceInMyHeart2000
Did your grandmother wake up?
verybadhumanindeed82
not yet
Freddie’s throat clenched up all over again.
LanceInMyHeart2000
So why are you talking to me?
verybadhumanindeed82
u ask a lot of questions
LanceInMyHeart2000
And that is not an answer.
Freddie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. What could she say that wouldn’t show how excited she was to be talking to him? And that also wouldn’t scare him away?
No, wait— no. She wasn’t excited. These sparklers in her veins were not from him. SOLEMN VOW, GELLAR. SOLEMN VOW. She just needed to stay on task. An opportunity had come her way; she couldn’t squander that.
LanceInMyHeart2000
I need another favor, Mr. Porter.
verybadhumanindeed82
wow. ok.
bold, gellar. bold.
LanceInMyHeart2000
What does that mean?
verybadhumanindeed82
u just came right out this would be straight up helping u
Ungh . And he knew how to use a semicolon! This was really too much for Freddie’s little heart.
verybadhumanindeed82
in case u’ve forgotten, we’re enemies
remember?
Right. Dammit. They were enemies. Right, right, right.
LanceInMyHeart2000
Well, the library isn’t actually part of the prank. So you wouldn’t be aiding and abetting.
Like, the prank squad will be there for mayhem. I just *also* need to find something in your library—and I can’t get in without a key card.
verybadhumanindeed82
what do u need to find?
LanceInMyHeart2000
If you get me a card, I’ll explain.
There was that pause again. And there went Freddie’s heart again, knotting up. Until she finally cracked.
LanceInMyHeart2000
Are you still there?
verybadhumanindeed82
u r so impatient
let a guy think
LanceInMyHeart2000
Think *faster*
verybadhumanindeed82
FINE
i will give u access to the library
Freddie cheered.
verybadhumanindeed82
but in exchange, i want a 2 pg paper on the russian revolution. single spaced. none of that big font bs
Sure. Freddie could do that. Theo hadn’t said it had to be a good paper.
LanceInMyHeart2000
When do you need it by?
verybadhumanindeed82
friday
LanceInMyHeart2000
Okay. I’ll give it to you at rehearsal on Wednesday.
verybadhumanindeed82
deal.
Freddie sucked in sharply.
Deal.
That meant he would be at the next rehearsal. That meant, maybe… maybe they would have to kiss again, and yes, she knew this made her the Very Bad Human Indeed—and YES, her conscience was shrieking at her about best friend betrayals and backstabbing…
“Yarrrgggh,” she groaned at the screen.
“That sounds very serious,” Steve replied.
Freddie lurched around, almost toppling out of the desk chair. How did her parents move so quietly? “Erm, hey, Steve. Whasssupppp ?”
Her stepdad arched an eyebrow. “I have never heard you speak that way. Nor look so guilty.” His lips pursed. “Are you looking at porn?”
Freddie’s whole face turned molten. “STEVE.” She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Of course I’m not—yuck! Gross! ”
“Well, in that case”—Steve grinned—“you won’t mind getting off the computer. I need to make a phone call, and you’re hogging the line.”
“Fine,” Freddie muttered, twisting back to the keyboard.
LanceInMyHeart2000
I have to go. My stepdad needs the phone.
What time can you meet?
verybadhumanindeed82
7:15
by the fortin crypt u ruined
Freddie choked. She had not ruined it—NEVER—and now there was no time to properly reply.
LanceInMyHeart2000
Okay. Cya then.
verybadhumanindeed82
that u will, gellar
looking forward to it