“Oh, they noticed,” Dashiell spoke up. He and Beatrice had been suspiciously quiet through all of this. “The French monarchy realized that people were disappearing around the Luparii again, so they reinstated the office ten years later, hoping to get them back on track. The position exists to this day, I believe, although now it’s called the Wolfcatcher Royal.”
“But it was too late—the Luparii didn’t want to go back to hunting regular wolves,” Kirsten added. “I don’t condone or agree with what they do, but to them, werewolves are a plague. And generation after generation of Gagnons have spent their lifetimes training to destroy that plague.”
Jesse met my eyes, and I thought we both thought of the same thing: a conversation we’d had with Jared Hess, back in the fall. He had been crazy, and he had loathed everything about the Old World . . . but he’d also hinted that he wasn’t the only one. Don’t you think there are a few humans who know what’s going on, who want to put the animals down? “How many werewolves did they kill?” I asked.
“All of them,” Will said flatly. “To this day, there are no werewolves in mainland Europe or the United Kingdom. The Luparii killed most of them, and the few who survived ran for their lives.”
There was a moment of silence. I was awed by the scale of what Will was saying: all of the werewolves in mainland Europe and the United Kingdom? All those different countries, different cultures . . . I couldn’t imagine a clan of witches claiming that big a territory.
“Excuse me,” Jesse said finally, mindful of Will’s anger. “But aren’t you all supposed to be really hard to kill? And aren’t werewolves smart enough to evade those guys?”
“We’re not always as smart in our other form,” Will answered. “But yes, we could avoid the Luparii at first. Then they adapted to us.”
“They began to incorporate their magic,” I guessed. Will and Kirsten both nodded. “How?” I was genuinely curious, apart from our current troubles. Magic doesn’t work very well against itself, which means witches can’t put spells on other Old World creatures. So how would you use magic to kill werewolves?
“That’s the thing,” Kirsten said softly. “I don’t really know.”
Jesse met my eyes, and without discussing it we both turned our heads to look at Beatrice and Dashiell. The cardinal vampire’s arm tightened protectively around his wife, but she sat up straighter, her shoulders back. “Do you know something about them, Bea?” I said softly.
“They . . . my . . .” Beatrice cleared her throat and looked helplessly at Dashiell. I’d never seen her look so unsure of herself.
Dashiell pressed his lips to her head, then looked back up and said with stormy eyes, “The Luparii killed her younger brother.”
Chapter 28
Dashiell looked like he was ready to slaughter the first one of us to ask a question, but luckily Beatrice patted her husband’s arm gently and said, “I will tell them.” Her voice was small and fearful, but strong.
“You don’t have to,” I rushed to say, ignoring the look that Jesse shot me. We needed whatever information we could get. I knew it, but I just didn’t want to make Beatrice relive whatever was causing that expression on her face.
“It’s all right,” Beatrice said, letting out a long breath. “It was a long time ago.”
Back in Spain, she explained, she’d had a little brother she was close to. Esteban had been twelve years younger than her, and their mother had died giving birth to him. Beatrice had more or less raised the boy, and he’d followed his big sister around with worshipful eyes. In 1911, Dashiell had passed through Barcelona and spotted the twenty-five-year-old beauty. He was enchanted, and began to court Beatrice—always at night, of course. They fell in love.
For years, Dashiell pressed her mind to keep her from asking too many question about his strange habits, but eventually he loved her so much, he didn’t want to lie anymore.
“So I told her what I was,” Dashiell broke in. He was human in my presence, and I wondered if he would still have that look of guilt and grief if he weren’t. “As soon as I did, the local cardinal vampire made sure I turned her.”
Beatrice took his hand. “It’s what I wanted too, love.” She looked back at me with tears pooled in her eyes. “We planned to leave town, as is the custom when one is turned. You leave everything behind. Esteban was sixteen, though, and he didn’t want me to go. He followed Dashiell one night, to talk to him, and he . . . realized what we were.” Her voice broke. I winced. The poor kid had probably seen his big sister drinking someone’s blood. And by finding out about the Old World, he’d have to join or be killed.
Dashiell picked up the story so Beatrice wouldn’t have to. “Because of the boy’s age, we decided he should join the werewolf pack, rather than the vampires. Even back then, sixteen was too young to . . .” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Becoming a werewolf would keep him alive, and let him and Beatrice have many long years together . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment. “We contacted a local alpha. The change was successful—”
“And the Luparii came to Barcelona three months later,” Beatrice finished. She took a deep breath. “They killed the whole pack, including Esteban. They took their jaws.”
“You didn’t . . . try to get revenge?” Will asked, as tactfully as possible.