The Loup Garou Society, Julie Steimle [reading tree txt] 📗

Then again, looking at all the half-naked to completely naked artwork around him—that seemed to be standard. Classical artists reveled in contorted naked bodies.

He shuddered, shaking it off.

He had walked the length of the Louvre to the end of the Greek ceramics before he got the text from Margarete that she and Genevieve had arrived.

He quickly texted her back to find the Mona Lisa. He wasn’t near there, but he figured he could walk along and scout for wolves who would most likely be following his sisters.

Rick had already figured out what he would do for them, as he was sure Margarete would not want to go to Canada or join him in the US. And though he had said the Loup Garou would probably take away any money he could give them, that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. They barely had any time for negotiation or discussion over their future, but Rick remembered Margarete talking about a French pastry shop. And that meant they needed money.

He passed the huge headless Winged Victory and took a detour away from the main entrances into the gallery and from the large French paintings toward the Italian collection. He could smell the wolves before he could see them. Not just Margarete and Genevieve, but that other wolf from the top of the Eiffel Tower. And there were two other wolf smells. One was familiar, the other he didn’t know. Good thing he had rolled around in the plants with his niece and nephew where they had been picnicking. He now smelled like a combination of soil, chicory, and licorice. There was some anise growing the field.

Stepping to the huge the room containing the Mona Lisa, carefully peering in from the Italian painting corridor, he gauged whether or not they would noticed him if he walked into the crowd. He could see his sisters among the people. There was a crowd at the Mona Lisa, almost a line, as the painting was a lot smaller than he had imagined it to be. Kind of disappointing, actually. Rick had a feeling the other wolves were watching the sisters from inside the room, waiting for a meeting moment also, though he could not make them out. He could tell Margarete and Genevieve were keeping an eye out for him as well as the wolves.

In the shadow, he decided to text her.

 

I’m not far away, but we have company. So… just stroll a bit in the large French paintings after looking at the Mona Lisa.

I need to assess what I am up against.

 

Then he waited, watching.

He could see Margarete read the text, sigh with annoyance then talk with Genevieve.

They casually moved on after a look at the painting, chatting quietly with peeks to search for those following them. They went out the door into the other gallery. They went toward the left. That’s when Rick spotted the wolf from the Eiffel Tower. Then he saw Remy.

Cringing, Rick really wished that one person was not there. He knew Remy was just following orders. And he was trying to believe that Margarete was correct in her description of their brother—but Remy was just too tenacious.

Then he saw another man move. Staring at him, Rick recognized the wolfish gray color of his hair, though this one looked like a male runway model. That one quickly joined Remy’s side, exchanging a word.

This was getting interesting.

He followed those who were following his sisters.

Out among the large French paintings, Genevieve and Margarete paused at different pictures, gazed at the art work, then moved on. They weren’t rushing, but Rick could tell they were tired. He thought it was funny watching local Parisians resenting being turned into tourists for his sake. Too much walking in one day. They probably never even came to the Louvre on their own outside of some class assignment. It was like him living in New York City and not appreciating the Statue of Liberty or the Metropolitan Museum of Art—which he hadn’t when he had lived there. People tended to take the things they had, no matter how amazing, for granted. Those three wolves following his sisters certainly were. They weren’t even looking at the art.

Then again, they were not there for the art. They were after him. And sometimes people on the hunt had tunnel vision.

After following them a good ways, Rick sat on a bench and pulled out his wallet. He had gotten somethings from their family’s gulfstream when Marie and her children boarded, including a change of clothes. This was part of a small emergency package his father always had on hand in case for some reason their access to their main bank account back in the States was blocked or monitored. Long ago, his grandfather had set up various bank accounts around the world under different names, just in case. And he had fed money into them so that they accrued interest. They kept bankcards always up-to-date and activated. Rick had taken out two of them, tucking them into his wallet. Now, feeling them in his hands, he realized that passing them on was the most important thing.

From another pocket, he drew out a small note pad, which his father had insisted he always carry along with a pencil, just in case. He wrote a note on the paper, tore it from the note pad, and folded it around one of the cards and his coatroom ticket. The other card he tucked back into his wallet.

Rising, realizing that he had to do this quickly as he doubted he would be able to outrun three adult wolves in their prime, Rick took a shortcut to catch up with his sisters. They were far ahead.

Passing under amazing ceilings and gigantic pillars among huge paintings, he maneuvered himself through the crowds without being obvious. He made sure Remy and those other two wolves could not see him. Getting head of them on the other side of the wide corridor, Rick then passed his sisters. He could not hear their conversation, but they looked annoyed and tired. Not quite going directly to them, he meandered around, gazing at the artwork admiringly, until he ‘accidentally’ bumped into Genevieve.

“Oh, pardon mois,” he attempted in French.

She rolled her eyes at him then blinked, recognizing him.

He slipped the card with note into Margarete’s open purse. “This is for you. Don’t look at it until I am gone. We are being watched, and that guy Remy is no idiot.”

Margarete sighed, resisting the urge to peek back at the wolves she obviously could smell. But then she sniffed him. “What have you been rolling in?”

“Nature,” he said with a grin. Then he quickly added, “I wish we had more time to talk, but I am sure they are adding things up and will come upon us soon. So, I gotta run. Read my note. Pick up my bag in the coatroom. OK? The ticket is in your bag.”

They nodded. He was about to start off when Genevieve grabbed his arm and said, “Wait! We have something for you.”

He looked beyond them, seeing Remy coming with that fashion model. Remy’s face was fixed with annoyance and triumph. He could smell the other one advancing. “Quickly though.”

She stuffed a coatroom ticket in his hand. It wasn’t his. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to know you better. Maybe later, when we are both out of France.”

Rick smiled. There was hope.

But then he saw Remy ten yards away and decided to run.

Rick broke into a sprint.

And they hurried right after him.

Dodging between patrons, Rick avoided the statues, no matter how big they were and dashed through to the stairs that would take him down so he could go back to the main entrance.

“Hey! Pas de course!” a French guard shouted at him.

Rick waved, slowing down into a long-legged march. “Sorry!” At least until he was out of his sight.

The other wolves followed suit, nodding to the guard also.

Rick hurried across the basement level to the glass pyramid area in the center of the Louvre complex, skidding past the gift shops and rushing to where large bags and coats were stored just as they caught up with him.

The wolf from the Eiffel Tower was on his neck, hand clenching it while growling in his ear, “Found you, pup.”

Rick moaned, rolling his eyes and trying to shake off the wolf’s grip. “Oh for pity’s sake. Kidnapping is illegal in every country, you should know.”

“So is running away,” the fashion model wolf said, panting breathlessly behind him. His accent was beautifully French. He probably grew up on the runway. Maybe even birthed there. Rick could see right into his chest at his six-pack and navel.

Shooting him a dirty look, Rick said, “My dad knows what I am up to.”

Remy was scratching his forehead, looking embarrassed and yet also relieved. Rick shot him a particularly hard look as he said, “Can I at least get my bag?”

Nodding, Remy waved to the runway model to get it for Rick.

The gray-haired wolf snatched up the ticket Genevieve had handed him and held it out for the attendant. She took it and went in. She came back with the sturdy shopping bag Genevieve had left. It had flowers on it.

“That’s your bag?” the fashion model asked, gazing wryly on Rick.

Taking the bag, Rick peered in. “Nope. Genevieve wanted to give me something.”

The wolf from the Eiffel tower snatched it from his fingers, peering in.

“Hey! Grabby. It’s not for you.” Rick yanked it back, slapping his hands.

But the fashion model also took hold of the handle and peered in. Then he snorted. He looked to Remy. “Ce sont les biscuits.”

Remy peeked in then laughed. He gazed back into the Louvre.

“Biscuits?” Rick yanked it from them, then peered in himself. “Oh, cookies.”

“Whatever, Yank,” the Eiffel Tower wolf said, then tried to steer him out toward the doors. “Time to go back to the pack.”

Rick resisted. “May I remind you that I am not a member of your pack? I am a lone wolf, and you are holding my neck way too hard.”

Remy slapped the hand of the Eiffel Tower wolf.

That man-wolf let go but snarled at Remy.

It was interesting, the type of disgust those wolves had towards Remy… especially since Remy was a great deal more dignified and better mannered. Rick had noticed it before at the party, but had not known the reason why until now. They held disdain for the disobedient Deacon blood. And it was sad.

“I’m just making sure I don’t have to chase him again,” that man-wolf said in incomprehensible French.

“He’s not going to outrun us,” the runway model replied, moving to Rick’s other side, his very presence escorting Rick along. For a moment Rick felt like he was standing next to his father at one of those big political social gatherings, like the one where he had met the President. This wolf had that commanding presence.

Rick shuddered, looking up at this wolf-gray haired man. This was probably his other living brother. Henri.

He caught Remy’s eye. Remy nodded.

So, Rick ventured to say as they walked him out of the glass pyramid into the square and steered him to the left toward the Denon Wing, “So… when do I get to meet Louisa?”

The runway model stiffened. He shot a look at Remy who conveniently was keeping his eye on foot traffic so there would not be any trouble. People were staring, especially at how the men were keeping Rick in line.

“I mean, I’ve met three of my sisters now,” Rick casually recalled, forcibly walked across the curving square to the archway which opened to the road that ran along the Seine. Undoubtedly they had a car waiting. “And both my brothers.”

Henri, the runway model, stopped. “Who told?”

Rick shrugged, peering at him. “I guessed. You have Dad’s hair. And I think the Loup Garou likes using my family against me.” He peeked to Remy.

Remy exhaled heavily. They soon reached the road. And sure enough, there was the same car Remy had picked them up