Little Red Riding Hood: Werewolf Slayer (Merlin's Hoods Book 1) Read online

She gave him a long, narrow-eyed look, as if she didn’t entirely trust him. “Tell me, Merlin, how did you come to arrive in France so quickly? I had thought you were still hunting the instigators of the Third Crusade. Had you returned to France already when the hood changed hands?”

  “I was in England,” he corrected. “I used the Forbidden Pathway.”

  She gasped and backed up a step. “I didn’t think you used it.”

  “I’ve avoided it for over two decades—and have been forced to use it twice in as many months.” He gave her another keen look, and I could sense information passing between them. The Forbidden Pathway—what was that? Had my mother known about it? Would it have saved her?

  What was it that Grandmère and Merlin weren’t telling me?

  Without another word, Merlin turned to me. “I believe you have something to tell your grandmother, girl. Now is the time. She deserves to know.”

  I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. I wasn’t sure what good it would do to Grandmère to know how her daughter had died, but Merlin was right: she deserved to know. Particularly if Alison planned to come after her as well, as I feared she might.

  I took my grandmother by the hand, leading her slowly into the kitchen. Although her eyes questioned my actions, I could see that she trusted me. Perhaps she had stopped thinking of me as a child and begun thinking of me as the Red Hood. Someone with weight on her shoulders and a depth to her words.

  Perhaps the fact that I was there with her and taking on my destined mantle would help her deal with what I had to tell her.

  “Grandmère,” I said slowly, my voice trembling, “there’s something I must tell you. Mama … she wasn’t killed by the werewolf that was chasing me. She was killed in a fight. With a woman.” Gathering my nerve, I looked up into her eyes. “She was killed by Alison, who came to our house to try to steal Mama’s hood.”

  I watched the emotions flitter across her face—shock, then anger, and then utmost grief—and I reached out to her. But she pushed my hand gently to the side.

  “Go, child. I knew this day would come. But you need not see an old woman’s grief. Go with Merlin now, and let him train you. If Alison has made her move for the hood, it will only be a matter of time before she comes back. And you must be ready to defend yourself.”

  I turned and ran from the kitchen, my heart breaking and her words ringing in my ears.

  2

  I lay in the featherbed in the spare room at Grandmère’s, trying not to think too hard about how different my life was now than it had been just two days before, and listening to the others moving around downstairs. I hoped desperately that my grandmother was making something to eat, as I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had real food. At home? No … in the woods, I realized. At the campfire, where I’d encountered the bandits. And beat them.

  I smiled faintly at the thought that I’d actually beaten three grown men, but the smile didn’t last. The only reason I’d beaten them was the hood, and the only reason I had it was because of my mother’s death. I still couldn’t believe it: Mama, dead. I’d never again hear her lecture me about how I was holding a battle axe or how slow my footwork was when we did sword training. I’d never hear her congratulate me on hitting a target with the longbow.

  Never feel her hand brush against my cheek when she thought I was asleep.

  I dashed a tear from my eye, determined not to lose myself to grief. She was gone, but she wouldn’t want me to lie around wallowing in my sorrow. And she’d left me some very big shoes to fill. She’d expect me to fill them and do my part for our heritage.

  I had a king to defend and woods to watch over. I had innocent people to protect. And my grandmother, I remembered, had said something … something about the hood feeding off of my own strength. That my strength shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did. I was special, for some reason, and the hood had somehow acknowledged that.

  Perhaps it would all be okay, in the end. With the hood as my ally, perhaps I’d find my way in this new role. On that thought, and with the smell of stew boiling on the fire, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off to sleep.

  * * *

  A loud bang woke me, and I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart racing. How long had I been asleep? It felt like only seconds, but what if something had happened? What if there were more werewolves after us? What if they’d already found us and done something to what remained of my family while I slept?

  I jumped out of bed, my thoughts on Grandmère and Théodore alone downstairs—only to come to an abrupt halt. There in my doorway stood Merlin, his brown cloak and hood billowing around him in a wind that I couldn’t feel.

  “M-Merlin,” I stuttered, my tongue numb and clumsy with sleep and surprise. “What are you doing in here? Has something happened?”

  “You cannot sleep away your problems,” he rebuked, though his voice was gentle. “Your mother is gone from this Earth, but that doesn’t mean we will forget her. And we must see her soul on its way.”

  “What do you mean?” I gasped, suddenly terrified that I was going to find out about some new and terrible rite of passage.

  “We won’t leave her body to be devoured by the beasts of the forest, child. We will give her a decent burial and set her soul at rest so that it may journey to Heaven, to join with her ancestors. First, however, I must find her.”

  A funeral. He was just talking about a funeral. And burying my mother. I trembled at the last thought, but relief coursed through my veins at the idea that we were going to find her and lay her to rest. I hadn’t wanted to leave her there. Now I wouldn’t have to.

  “When do we leave?” I asked, straightening my shoulders. My bones strained at the clothing that had fit the day before, and I wondered suddenly at how strong I felt. No sign of the bruises I should have had, and my ankle—which I’d sprained badly in the fight with the werewolf—felt as good as new.

  Was this why my mother had always radiated her sinewy power? Not only a result of her training, but also this connection with the hood? No wonder I’d never been able to beat her in our competitions!

  “I’ll leave in the morning. Your mother deserves a proper resting place, and I owe her that much, at least. I’ll have to search the remains of your home.”

  “Just you?” I asked in a small voice. Shouldn’t I be the one to search for her? She’d been my mother, my teacher, my primary source of comfort for my entire life. Surely he understood how important it was for me to accompany him.

  But Merlin shook his head. “I will find her on my own, little Red Hood. You should not see your mother in this way. She wouldn’t have wanted it. You’ll stay here with your grandmother and continue your recovery. When I have done what needs to be done, I’ll return for you. And then we’ll train.”

  He ducked back out the door, closing it and leaving me to ponder his words.

  Train? Did that mean what I thought it meant? Would I finally be learning the things that my mother had refused to teach me? About the werewolves, and what it meant to be the Red Hood? According to Grandmère, my mother had sheltered me; she had failed to tell me things I might need to know when I became the Red Hood.

  To protect you, that voice in my head whispered, and I closed my eyes in grief. It was my mother’s voice, and she was right. She’d done it not out of spite or a wish to keep me vulnerable. It had been to protect me. The moment I became aware that there was more to the world than just bandits and kings, I would have lost my innocence. I would have spent my days scanning the forest for enemies, scenting the wind for the flavor of wild animals and dog fur, watching my back for hidden enemies. I wouldn’t have trained as I needed to, learned the things my mother had tried to teach me, or even believed that my training could save me. How could I, knowing that I was a small girl who was expected to fight and defeat werewolves all by myself?

  I would have insisted more strongly that she take me with her when she went hunting. And if she had, I would almost inevitably have perished. Or dis
tracted my mother to the point where she would have died trying to protect me.

  Instead, she’d kept me in the dark about what was out there and what being the Red Hood really meant. In that way she had protected me, allowing me to have a somewhat normal childhood. I’d played with Théo and learned the different herbs of the forest. I’d taken time to plant flowers, and I became a decent cook. I’d played at my grandmother’s knee and dedicated myself to my studies.

  My mother had been a harsh taskmaster, but she’d done what she had to do to make sure that I was ready when my own time came.

  And now she was dead. My heart broke into a thousand pieces, and I flung myself back onto the bed, unable to contain my sobs. My mother, my protector and best friend, the source of home and comfort … gone forever. How was I to get along without her? Who would tell me that I had to change my stance for the long bow, or move my feet more quickly when I was fighting with the axe? Who would rap my knuckles to get my attention, and hold me when I wept with frustration and failure?

  Who would protect me, and the world around me, from the werewolves I now knew existed?

  You will, the voice told me firmly. At that, I sat up and stared out the window into the darkness. Yes, it was my turn now. My turn, and my job. I had become the Red Hood, and with that label—and the hood itself—came certain responsibilities. I would have to take them on and grow with them to honor my mother’s memory.

  And I already knew what I’d do first.

  “Revenge,” I breathed quietly to myself. “The first thing I’ll do is avenge my mother’s death on those that brought it.”

  “And I will help you,” Théodore said from the doorway.

  I turned to him with a slight smile, realizing that I’d already known he was there. I had smelled the wood-smoke and oil on him when he’d stepped into the room. He, in turn, gave me a slight smile and moved to my side to take my hand.

  “Giselle, I don’t understand what’s happening, and I don’t know what you’re supposed to do about it. But I can promise you one thing: Wherever you go, I’ll go with you. And whatever you need, I’ll supply.”

  I blew out a quiet breath and nodded, pleased.

  I didn’t know where we were going. Yet. But when we got there, I would need allies. And I’d rather have Théodore by my side than any other soul on the Earth. Together, we would avenge my mother and bring war to those who had killed her.

  3

  Théodore stood gazing out the window at the forest. How long had he lived here? How long had he been stuck in this very cabin, looking out the window at the exact same scenery, day after day?

  Yes, it changed with the seasons. Today the leaves were yellow, red, and golden brown, still clinging stubbornly to their branches in a halo of bright colors. But tomorrow, or the next day, they would fall to the ground and slowly die away. The winter would come, and with it the storms and snows. Then spring, with its greenery … But they would still be the same trees, he thought, frustrated. It would still be the same forest, and this the same cottage, and the people around him the same people.

  The forest might change its clothing, but it would remain, and Théodore with it. Until he did something about it.

  Abruptly he whirled around and went back to his packing. His hands flew to the few contents of his trunk. He quickly picked through his clean tunics and pants for things he thought would be appropriate for the journey. Two pairs of trousers, yes, and both made of leather so they would last. Three tunics at least, and the nicest of them, so that he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb.

  He paused, then dug deeper down, underneath the clothing, and pulled out one last item: the knife that he’d been hiding since he was a boy. He’d found it one morning when he was very young, on what must have been his first trip into the forest on his own. His father had sent him out to cut wood with an axe nearly as big as he was. And there had been the knife—lying on the ground beneath the first tree he came to, almost as if it had been waiting for him. Shining brighter than any knife he’d ever seen, and complete with a bright ruby buried in the golden hilt. He’d snatched it up, surprised to find that it was heavier than his own rough hunting knife and that it conformed almost perfectly to his hand.

  He’d been sent out for firewood and come home with something much more important.

  He still didn’t know where it had come from, or who its former owner had been. No one had ever come seeking it, and so he had made it his own. As he grew, the knife seemed to grow with him, so that the hilt still fit his hand perfectly, the balance absolute. Now it would go with him on this journey—the journey to Adela’s funeral. And from there, he thought, the world.

  Grinning wryly to himself at the half-formed plan, he turned and pulled the edges of his bag together, praying that his father wouldn’t ask too many questions. After all that had happened over the last week, he was unprepared for an interrogation and wasn’t in the mood to make up any explanations.

  But he’d barely managed to tie the lacings on the bag when the very man he didn’t want to see cleared his throat in the doorway.

  “And just where do you think you’re going, young man?” his father asked roughly.

  Théodore froze at the question, his mind racing with possible answers. Then he frowned. Why should he lie about going to the funeral? Adela and her daughter had been their friends since Théodore and Giselle were children. Surely his father wouldn’t forbid his attendance at her funeral.

  And he didn’t have to know about any plans beyond that.

  “Today is Lady Adela’s funeral, Father,” he said softly. “The woman was always kind to me. I must go, for Giselle’s sake if nothing else.”

  A deep harrumph sounded from the doorway, and Théodore stiffened. “You’ll not go anywhere near that funeral, boy. I know very well that you were close to Adela and grew too attached to that daughter of hers. But that family is trouble, mark my words. They’ve meddled in things that were best left alone, and now they’ve paid the price for it. I don’t want you associated with them.”

  At that, Théodore’s heart stopped, then began pounding furiously. He whirled around to face his father. “What do you mean, trouble?” he gasped. “How can you say such things, when the woman has barely been dead a week and left behind a grieving family?”

  “She should never have tried to rise so high!” his father retorted. “Went and got herself killed, didn’t she? Nearly got her own mother killed, as well, and her daughter, from what I hear. Got you messed up in it. I won’t have you going near them, I tell you. Your place is here with me, learning your trade. Living a quiet life.” He paused for a moment to give Théodore a long, considering look. “Living a safe life. That family—and their hood—are best left alone. I don’t want you spending any more time with them. And no delusions of going to rescue the fair maiden, either.”

  With that, he turned and stalked away, eliminating the possibility of argument. Théodore watched him go, with his heart in his throat and his mouth shut.

  He hadn’t told his father anything about those tragic events. He hadn’t even said that he’d been at Giselle’s grandmother’s house that day. He had only reported an attack at Adela’s house, and a fire, and that Adela herself had been killed, though Giselle got away.

  How had his father known that Giselle and her grandmother had been at risk? Was it possible that he knew even more than that? There had always been something strange about that red hood of Adela’s and the way Giselle had worn it, the things she’d said and done …

  Was it possible that his father was right? Had they brought it on themselves by choosing to live their lives the way they did? Had Adela’s actions actually put her own daughter in harm’s way?

  He shook his head sharply at the thought. “That’s madness, Théodore, and well you know it,” he muttered to himself. Adela had been nothing but kind to him and had always taken good care of Giselle. She’d taught her the ways of the forest, made sure that she was well educated, and even taught her
how to defend herself. As a result, Giselle was better with the long bow, the crossbow, and even the sword than Théodore was. She’d reminded him of that—through play fights—often enough.

  “But why?” he murmured, suddenly wondering. Why had Adela insisted on so many different weapons? What use did a girl Giselle’s size have for a fighting staff, or a war axe? Why would Adela insist on having at least two knives hidden on her person at all times?

  And who had been the man that came to collect Giselle at her grandmother’s house? The old woman had let him lead Giselle away without a word, as if he were a friend of the family. But Théodore had never seen him before.

  And now he wondered who that man was. He also questioned what Adela might have been hiding. What the family itself might be doing out here in the woods, with their mysterious weaponry and the cloak of the Red Hood’s reputation. He’d promised Giselle that he would go to Adela’s funeral and that he would help her seek vengeance for her mother’s death. And to that promise he would hold. He’d never gone back on his word with her before.

  But she had some questions to answer, and he meant to push her until she did. He needed to know the truth if he was going to lay his life on the line, and that was all there was to it.

  He picked up the bag—which his father, thank the stars, hadn’t asked about—and slung it over his shoulder as he stalked out of the room, his mind spinning with possibilities.

  4

  When I came back to myself I was standing next to my grandmother, grasping her hand for support. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten back to what had been my home, or who had come with me. I didn’t know how long I’d been here or even what I’d said, or to whom.

  But one glance at the people gathered around told me exactly what was going on. We were surrounded by a group of morose faces, everyone dressed in their Sunday best, the dresses, tunics, and even trousers clean of dirt and blood. In front of me was a mound of freshly dug soil, accompanied by a rough brown sack that was only vaguely human-shaped. Just beyond the group stood what remained of the house I’d shared with my mother. Now it was little more than a burnt and blackened frame, though I could still see the outlines of the rooms upstairs, and the wall that had once stood between our kitchen and the front room of the house.