L'Ange de la Mort (The Art of Revolution #1)

Chapter Forty - 23. March. 1789

Lizabeth

This time, the butcher doesn’t bother arguing. The moment he sees Lizabeth, Jean, and Marguerite enter his shop, he sighs, inclining to the door behind him with a flick of his head.

“I care not why you lot have come back,” he says. “Just be quick about it.”

Lizabeth and Jean exchange a look before they push past the butcher and make their way to the door leading to the back part of the house. It’s only when the two have already crossed the threshold that Lizabeth notices Marguerite isn’t with them. She glances over her shoulder, her eyes landing on her friend, still standing on the other side of the counter with her hand thrown over her mouth.

“Come along now,” Lizabeth says, fixing Marguerite with a look far more threatening than the tone of her voice.

Marguerite shakes her head, eyes locked onto the severed pig head resting on the counter. “I fear I’m going to be sick.”

“You’ll be fine, just take care not to touch any animal bits on your way over here. They’re a tad sticky.”

Marguerite clamps her hand harder against her mouth and sprints out of the shop, the sound of her retching outside coming seconds later.

“That was cruel,” Jean says, though he’s smiling.

Lizabeth shrugs. “If she wishes to come along, she must understand what she’s getting herself into.”

It's strange working together with Jean like this. After all that’s happened to his family, Lizabeth can’t help but regret the way she made judgements about him before. It was easy then, when she thought of him as nothing more than a man too privileged for his own good—a man who cared only about drinking and bedding women. However, looking at him now, it’s clear she was mistaken. 

No one is as they seem upon first glance. Everyone has secret desires and fears; things they spend their lives trying to keep hidden within themselves. A fact that is becoming more startlingly clear to Lizabeth with each passing day.

When they reach Madame du L’Angelier’s room, Lizabeth takes in a breath before she opens the door and steps over the threshold. Sun streams in through the open curtains, the bright, welcoming light a stark contrast to the darkness swirling inside her heart. 

Madame du L’Angelier glances up from her desk as they enter, her graying eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “Now, here are two people I never imagined I would see in the same place.”

Jean is much less hesitant than Lizabeth. The moment he steps into the room, he marches up to Madame du L’Angelier’s desk and points a shaking finger in her direction. “We know you have information you’re not telling us, and this time I will not allow you to avoid our questions.”

“Is that a threat?” Madame du L’Angelier asks dryly.

“Our friend has gone missing,” Lizabeth pipes up before Jean—the imbecile—does more damage. “And we’ve come here to request your help.”

Madame du L’Angelier fights back a smile. “The witch-eyed boy is your friend now? If I'm not mistaken, the last time you were here, you were asking me to aid in his murder.”