Page 2 of Unveiled

Connor stood outside a stone bungalow with closed curtains, a small grassed front garden featuring what were now water-sodden mauve and yellow rosebushes, and a sundial. It looked homely and lived-in, and he looked up. A thin tendril of smoke wafted from the stone chimney into the sky.

Someone was home.

The other houses were quiet, with no sign of life. Even the church, a small, quaint building of Romanesque architecture, seemed deserted. The bell tower stood proud, and the arched windows stared emptily out onto the countryside.

Adrian narrowed his eyes at the trickling smoke from the chimney. “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” He grinned at Connor’s scowl. “What, you’re not a fan of The Wizard of Oz? I should’ve guessed. Too frivolous.”

Connor ignored him. “I’m going to go knock, see who’s home. The rest of you stay here. It reeks of something supernatural, and the only thing that should reek of that is us. Fraser, keep an eye on our guests. Make sure they stay back.”

Adrian rolled his eyes. “Aye, aye, mon capitaine. We will remain here while you superhero it to the front door.”

Connor growled and stormed forward. Anything to be rid of the annoying man called Adrian Gauthier.

***

Adrian

Adrian watched Connor with narrowed eyes, enjoying the play of his muscles and his long-legged strides. Max poked him in the ribs and Adrian yowled. His friend had large fingers and was not particularly gentle. “What’s that for?”

“Not a good idea,” Max muttered. “Focus, sir. That man is not one to trifle with. I can feel it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian said. “I was simply admiring the floral scenery.”

Beside him, Fraser chuckled. “Oy. Connor’s going to have his hands full with you, Mr Gauthier. He’s not used to someone making fun of him. Apart from me, of course.”

Adrian smiled. “Please, call me Adrian, and I’m sure Max won’t mind you using his first name. It seems pretentious to be so formal.”

Now Fraser laughed. “Fine with me. I’d like to see you call that man over there ‘Connor’ in your next conversation. He won’t know what to do with himself.”

They watched as Connor knocked on the door, then waited. There was no response. After ten impatient seconds, Connor banged again, harder.

“Please open up,” he shouted. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Considering it was almost four in the morning, Adrian thought the occupant was being prudent. Seeing four men outside their home, especially Connor with his stern visage and intimidating form, would be enough to put anyone off.

Perhaps a woman lived there alone and was feeling threatened.

He walked down the path to join Connor on the doorstep, ignoring Connor’s muttered, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t stay back there like a good puppy.”

“Good morning, monsieur ou madame,” Adrian called. “I assure you we mean no harm. We wish to talk to you and find out a little more about your lovely village. Please, would you open the door so we can chat?”

“As if that sweet talk is going to make them more susceptible to meeting us,” Connor grumbled.

“Have you ever heard the saying you catch more flies with honey than sour wine?” Adrian stared at him haughtily. “You, Connor, are a classic Alsace Burgundy.”

“It’s more flies with honey than vinegar, smart-arse. Not wine.” Connor’s fierce scowl indicated his feelings about the use of his first name.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong,” Adrian said confidently. “In France, it is always about the wine.”

The door opened, and both Connor and Adrian took a step back. A woman stood framed in the doorway, her face pale but determined. She looked to be in her twenties and had a yellow bandana wound around a shock of almost purple-black hair. Her wrists were adorned with bangles, and strange symbols were tattooed on her forearms and wrists. Connor didn’t spend too much time taking it all in. He was too worried about the shotgun aimed right at them.

“Merdre, this is not what I expected.” Adrian reached out a calming hand. “Mademoiselle, I swear to you on my late brother’s grave, we mean you no harm. Please, could you point that gun away from us?”

She wavered. “I don’t know you.” Her voice was lyrical, with an Eastern European lilt to it, Adrian thought.

“Tell me where I am. This is not my world.”

Chapter Two