Dark Enchantment

Chapter 1 Paris Winter, 1659 She was a creature of mud and dirt, and though from time to time light glinted in her corner of the alley, she did not see it directly. Sometimes the light would catch the edge of her blade and it would startle her, stirring a faint memory. It would stir something around her heart. But it hurt, this remembering, and she would push it away into a dark part of her mind. Instead, she scrabbled for what food she could take from the rats when she could not find a dropped coin, and tried to avoid notice. Occasionally, she received kicks from passersby if she strayed too far from her corner, but the pain from this was only slight, nothing compared to the pain she felt when she saw pain in others. So she closed her eyes and tried to sleep when she was not searching for food. She did not know what day it was, only that light and darkness passed one after another, and that it was very cold. When it became too cold, she was forced from her corner in the alley to the church, where she could sit in a far corner of the sanctuary and look at the light of the candles when she was sure no one was looking. This was more comfortable than the alley, to be sure, and sometimes she would find a piece of bread that someone must have dropped on their way to confession. And . . . it eased the pain in her heart to be there, and she did not bleed from her hands, and her back did not ache when she slept underneath one of the pews. But a church was not for one such as herself. It was on one such cold morning that she awoke to the sound of the priest yawning and opening the sanctuary. She stayed still underneath the pew until she was sure the priest had passed by, and she crept--she thought--noiselessly out the door. "You, boy, stop!" She looked wildly about her and stared for a moment at the plump, black-frocked priest who had called to her. He looked surprised, then shook his head. "Are you the one who has been sleeping here at night?" Fear clutched her heart, stopping her voice, but she nodded slightly. "I am sorry, ma Pere," she managed to whisper after a while. "I will not do so again." She looked away, fear overcoming her once more, but this time the fear gave her legs motion and she ran. "Wait!" She would not wait. She knew what waiting would do. Waiting led to a place where she had no way to escape except through more pain. She ran to the alley that was her home, her sheathed blade tapping against her hip, hoping that no one had claimed her corner. But just as the street she followed turned into the alley, she stopped abruptly. Tears began to build beneath her eyelids and she drew in a deep, harsh breath as she looked at the scene before her: a young girl sobbed while a man hit her across her face and another man shoved her against the wall and pushed up her skirts. Pain sliced across her back, making her gasp, and her hands prickled with the first flow of blood from them. She pulled out two strips of cloth from her pockets and tied them around her shaking hands. She slowly, carefully pulled out her sword while rage built underneath her ribs, rapidly pulling the air into her lungs. It was the only way. The only way to stop the blood, the pain, and the rage. She ran to the girl and to the men, snarling in her anger and at the almost blinding pain that surged across her back. It was the sound of fury, the sound of a cornered animal. The men turned, and she lashed at them with her sword. "Get away from her." Her voice was a growl. "Get away, or I will kill you." She could feel the cloth at the palms of her hands dampen with blood, and pain grew there, as well. "Stupid boy. Go away--unless you want some, too." One man--short and dark--sneered and the other, taller, man turned back to the girl, leaned down, and thrust his hHarbaugh, Karen is the author of 'Dark Enchantment', published 2003 under ISBN 9780553584219 and ISBN 0553584219.