Another young man dressed in wolfs' hides stood in the middle of the narrow, twisting flight of stairs that led down into the bedrock. He held two flaming torches. He passed one to Marcel.

In silence, they marched down the stairs. The wavering torchlight made footing tricky. Several times Avery made a misstep that could have sent him plunging down the stairs. He didn't think anyone waiting down there would have bothered to carry him back up.

The pack waited at the bottom. There were at least thirty of them standing together, each of them with a torch.

The first time Avery had come here, he'd been scared to death. There were caves all throughout the area, but he hadn't expected to walk around in one under a house near the center of town. According to the tales he'd heard, the cave had once served as a smuggler's den for pirate goods hauled up from the southern coast of France and bound for Paris.

Bats hung among the stalactites. Several of the corresponding stalagmites had been removed. Avery thought the cave smelled like death. It also smelled like wet dog and bat guano.

Marcel put a hand against Avery's chest and stopped him. Then Marcel and the other pack member went to join the group.

Avery felt the fear returning. Being set apart from peers had always been a bad thing. Either as punishment or as a reward, getting singled out nearly always resulted in negative consequences. He'd learned that in school. It was one of those lessons that stayed with a person the rest of his life.

"Avery Moreau." The deep voice echoed within the vast cavern.

"Yes." Avery had to try twice to get his voice to work. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light. Even squinting didn't help against the bright torchlight.

"You failed me."

Fear gripped Avery's heart then and he stood – barely – trembling. "I did everything I could. I led you to the woman. I told you where she would be in the mountains."

"Annja Creed escaped, and she took something that belonged to me." Lesauvage, dressed in hides and wearing a helmet that sported huge deer antlers, stepped forward from the pack. His helmet came complete with snarling deer features that were stained muddy scarlet. His light-colored eyes glittered.

"That wasn't my fault," Avery said. "I didn't do it."

"You bear the blame for this," Lesauvage accused. "You brought the outsider to the woman."

What about the other guys? Avery wanted to ask. What about those men dressed in black? It's not my fault they showed up!

"Look," he said desperately, "that wasn't my fault. I'll do anything you want me to."

Lesauvage stepped toward him.

Avery backed away.

"You failed us," Lesauvage said again. "But you can still serve us." He drew a long-bladed knife from the sleeve of the robe he wore under the wolf hides.

At a gesture from their leader, the pack descended upon Avery. Working quickly, as if they'd done this sort of thing countless times, they bound his hands and feet and draped him over a rounded stalagmite in the center of the cave.

One of them brought out a goat, yanking the poor creature savagely. Lesauvage stepped over to the goat and dragged his knife along its throat.

Blood spewed out. One of the pack members held a stainless-steel pot under the flow. But the dying creature fought and kicked, spattering the stone floor with its lifeblood. Finally, it grew still.

Chanting and cheering, two of the pack members seized the goat and heaved the animal into the shadowy crevasse. There was no thump of arrival. No one had ever measured the waiting fall.

Another pack member passed out tin cups and each person took a portion of the blood. Lesauvage passed among them, dropping powder into the steaming liquid. They stirred the brew with their fingers and drank it down.

Howling like madmen, their faces red with goat's blood, the pack danced with savage abandon as the drugs worked into their systems.

Avery had seen a sacrifice only once before. It had been two weeks ago, after his father had been murdered and before the American woman – Annja Creed – had arrived to search for La Bête. It had scared him then. Tied up as he was on the rock, potentially their next sacrifice, he was now even more frightened.

Lesauvage gestured to Avery.

Immediately four members, including Marcel, descended upon him like carrion feeders. They forced open his jaws and poured down a cup of goat's blood and drugs, howling in his ears the whole time.

At first, Avery thought he was going to drown. He tried not to drink, tried to turn his head away, but they held him firmly. He swallowed, gagging as he almost inhaled it. Once he'd drawn a full breath, they filled his mouth again.

Over and over, the salty taste of the blood coated the inside of his mouth. He thought he was going to be sick. I didn't want this! I only wanted justice for my father!

Finally they left him alone and returned to chanting and singing. They whirled and slammed into each other, laughing when they knocked each other down.

And the drugs hit Avery's system like surf smashing across a reef barrier, gliding through in a diffused spray that hit everything. The fear inside him evaporated. Energy filled him.

Lesauvage came and stood over Avery. The knife in the man's hand dripped blood.

"You can still serve us," Lesauvage told him.

Avery thought the way the man's voice echoed and rolled and changed timbres was amusing. So amusing, in fact, that he was laughing out loud before he knew it.

Then Lesauvage leaned in close to Avery. Light exploded all around, glinting from the crimson-streaked edge of the knife.

"Now!" Lesauvage shouted. "Now you will serve us!"

Avery watched as the blade rose and fell. He didn't know whether to laugh or to scream.

Chapter 16

"ARE YOU NERVOUS?" Annja asked as Garin slowly approached the huge house built into the hillside.

"A little." Garin shrugged. "Roux and I never part on good terms. Not since – " He paused. "Not for a very long time."

"The last time I saw him, he walked out on a dinner tab on me." Annja gazed up at the house. She didn't know where they were. Garin had taken a number of turns after they'd left the highway. All she knew was that they were somewhere south of Paris.

"A dinner tab?" Garin chuckled.

"It was nothing to laugh about. My credit card took a serious hit over that."

"The last time I saw Roux," Garin said, "he tried to kill me."

Annja stared at him.

"I attempted to blow up his car first," Garin explained as if it was nothing. "With him in it. So I suppose he was entitled." He shrugged. "He was dazed at the time, or maybe he would have got me. I truly didn't expect him to survive."

"Then why isn't he meeting you at the gate with a rocket launcher?" Annja asked while wondering once again what rabbit hole she had fallen down.

"Because I've got you and he's interested in talking to you. Right now. Perhaps getting out of the house will be more… risky."

"Oh." Annja thought maybe she should have opted for the airport and a chance at escape.

But she would have left behind the mystery and she didn't like unfinished business.

"Maybe Roux has gotten over your attempt to kill him," Annja suggested.

"I doubt it. He can be rather unforgiving."

She thought about Lesauvage and the Brotherhood of the Silent Rain. She didn't feel very forgiving toward them.

Garin eased to a stop at the gatehouse. His gun rested in his lap. He dropped his right hand over it.