"I'm not much for nightlife," Annja said. "I prefer quiet places and just a few people." She gazed at the crowd scattered along the oceanfront. "Personally, I could do with a more secluded beach."

"I know of several good ones," Roux said. "I'd be happy to take you there sometime."

Annja slipped on her sunglasses and regarded the old man warily. They had talked a little about Roux's murder of Corvin Lesauvage. At best, though, they'd agreed to disagree. Roux had ultimately decided that she didn't have to kill anyone she didn't want to kill, and he didn't have to spare anyone he didn't want to let live. Under the circumstances, and since Roux pointed out that he'd lived in such a manner for centuries, she had shelved the argument.

"Would you?" Annja asked.

"Well," Roux said, "not right away. I'm going to be playing poker soon. I'm not about to give that up." He took a cigar from his jacket and lit up. "Have you given any thought to staying for a while?"

"I have." For the past three days, while waiting anxiously to see how the events that had happened up in the Cévennes would touch her, Annja had slept, read and swam, hardly leaving the spacious hotel suite Roux had arranged for her.

"And?"

"I'll spend some time," Annja said.

"Splendid," Roux enthused.

"A short while."

"Good. Because I don't want you underfoot while I'm playing poker."

"Have you heard from Garin?" she asked.

"No, but I still check for traps routinely." Roux patted the arms of the chair. "And I suddenly realize this isn't really a good place to be if he's hired an assassin."

"Maybe Garin doesn't really want you dead as much as he claims."

"Truthfully," Roux said, "I think the sword being reassembled has him spooked. He probably wants it destroyed more than he wants me dead. At least for now. Until he discovers whether the sword's reemergence is going to have an effect on him. If it does, who else is he going to talk to about it?"

A server passed by and Roux ordered drinks. In short order, they were delivered.

"Thank you," Annja said, lifting her glass.

"My pleasure."

Annja sipped, enjoying the cool, clean taste of the fruit and alcohol. With the wind skating under the umbrella and the sand warm around her, the mountain seemed very far away.

"Did you arrange for an attorney for Avery Moreau?" she asked.

"I did. I understand Inspector Richelieu is about to be temporarily suspended while an investigation into the death of Avery's father is conducted."

"What about Avery?"

Roux shrugged. "I don't know. Even after all these years, I still find that I can't judge people well. They constantly surprise you."

Annja silently agreed with that. Life was full of surprises. She sipped her drink again and smiled. "I've been thinking about Father Roger's confession. The one that he threatened the Vatican with."

"And?"

"I think I know where it is."

Roux shook his head. "I'm quite certain it doesn't exist."

Annja sipped her drink again and remained silent.

After a while, Roux's curiosity got the better of him. "Enough with the mystery. Tell me what you think."

"Are you sure you want to hear? I mean, you do think you're right."

"Of course I do. But I'm willing to entertain a possibility of it being somewhere else."

"It's in Carolyn's grave."

"Where you found the last piece of the sword?" Roux asked.

"No," Annja said. "In the false grave she was given in England. In Sir Richard of Kirkland's holdings. Or whoever has them now. I think he hid the truth in a lie."

Roux smiled. "If he did, that was very clever."

"There's only one way to find out."

"Does it look like there's a bit of grave robbing in your future?"

"No," Annja replied. "I thought maybe you, using some of your money and influence, could arrange for an exhumation of Carolyn's grave in England."

"So you could broadcast it on that tawdry television show you do pieces for?"

"I thought about that, actually. I mean, I could propose a whole new possibility about who and what the Beast of Gévaudan was. It could be a good move."

"Yet you're undecided about doing it," Roux said.

"No, I'm decided. I'm not giving this story to Chasing History's Monsters.Though it is tempting to allow Father Roger his final jab at the Vatican."

"The man did break his faith with God and the church," Roux pointed out. "Not to mention disrupting a marriage."

"I think he was punished enough for that. So was Carolyn."

Roux nodded. "You're probably right." He smoked his cigar for a time and they sat in silence.

Annja sipped her drink and studied the foaming white curlers rushing in from the sea. "What am I supposed to do with the sword?" she asked.

"What do you mean? It's your sword now. You do with it whatever you wish to do with it," Roux stated.

"But shouldn't I do something special with it? Become – I don't know – something?"

Roux looked at her seriously. "Annja Creed, you are someone special. The sword only allows you to act on your natural gifts with more authority. You have a destiny ahead of you that no one in this world has ever had. You've not been given the sword to be another Joan of Arc. She did what she had to do." He paused. "You have to figure out what it is you're supposed to do like everyone else, one day at a time."

Annja looked at him and felt he was telling the truth. Roux had lied about things in the past and would again in the future, but she knew he wasn't lying now.

"Thank you," she said. She moved the umbrella and lay back in the warm sun. She thought about everything she should be doing – all the cataloging of the things in her loft, the certificates of authenticity she had to do, the trip she wanted to take to North Africa, the next story she'd have to pitch to Doug Morrell – and somewhere in there, she dropped off to sleep.

Her destiny stretched out before her. There was no need to rush to meet it. It was waiting for her.