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When I judged it safe, I held out my hand and helped Jacques to his feet. “What happened?” I asked, leading him to an armchair. “Isabel seemed upset.”
Jacques was pale, shaking. It had been a long time since I’d seen him as bad as this. “It happened again,” he said miserably.
“One of your attacks?” I asked, surprised. Jacques hadn’t had a panic attack in at least a year, not since —
“Just like before. With the last girl,” Jacques confirmed.
A memory came to me: Bridget, wild-eyed and deathly pale. “He’s crazy,” she’d said. “And you all are crazy for staying here with him. I won’t stay here another minute.”
None of our pleading could change her mind, and Jacques had refused to even be in the same room as her, much less apologize. “Let her go,” he’d said. “We don’t need her.”
He’d been ashamed, I knew. It was difficult for him, not being in control, and harder still to allow anyone else to see him weakened. Bridget had caught a glimpse behind his hard exterior, and so she had to go.
And now it was happening again, only worse, somehow, because Isabel was different. She saw us, in a way Bridget had never been able to. I could only hope that maybe she’d be able to see Jacques for who he really was, too.
I laid a calming hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened,” I said.
Jacques closed his eyes. “She was asking me questions about my past,” he said. “I didn’t want to answer, but she kept asking. I felt the attack coming, and I was — scared.”
I was shocked. I’d never known Jacques to admit to being scared, though we all knew it was fear that kept him confined here in his castle.
“I didn’t want her to see me like that. And — I was afraid I might hurt her. I can’t control myself when it happens.”
I nodded. “I know you think you can’t, but you realize you only ever hurt yourself during your episodes?”
Jacques glanced down at his hands, and I saw that his palms were streaked with blood. Vincent kept first aid kits stored discreetly in most rooms of the castle, anticipating moments like this, and I quickly retrieved one. We sat in silence as I dabbed an antibiotic ointment into his cuts. I waited until I was done to speak.
“I think you need to explain to Isabel,” I said finally. “You scared her; she probably thinks she did something wrong. She deserves to know.”
Jacques stared blankly into the fire, the dying embers reflected in his eyes. “She’ll know that I’m weak,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.
I clasped his shoulder. “No, my friend,” I said. “You’re not weak. It takes a strong man to endure what you have and keep going. Isabel will see that.”
Jacques nodded slowly, still gazing into the fire, and I wondered if he had heard a word that I’d said. “She’s a good woman,” I continued. “Kind. She’ll understand. But you need to trust her, or I’m afraid she’ll just leave.”
“Maybe she should,” Jacques said. “Maybe that would be better.”
Anger flared within me, and I fought to tamp it down. “Better for whom?” I asked. “For you? Certainly not for the rest of us. Have you even bothered to look around you lately? I haven’t seen the men this happy in years, and that’s because she’s here.”
Jacques was silent, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll speak to her,” he said finally. “I’ll explain...everything.”
“Good,” I said.
Jacques stood and made to leave, but hesitated in the doorway. “Étienne?” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He was gone before I could answer. I sat for a moment, lost in thought, before beginning to gather up the first aid kit. It was clear that at least part of my plan was working: Jacques, who had been stagnant for so many years, was changing. Whether that was for better or worse was yet to be seen.
18
Isabel
Back in my room, thoroughly sated after my session with Vincent, Raphael, Isiah, and Alexandre, I felt a bit calmer, more myself. I wasn’t going to give up just yet. I could break through to Jacques, I knew that I could. I just needed to figure out how.
While I thought, I drew a hot bath, using all of the fancy bath oils and salts that someone — Vincent, probably — had stocked my bathroom with. Pleasurable tingles ran over my skin at the prospect of soaking my aching muscles in the warm, sweetly scented water.
The tub was an enormous, clawfoot antique, and it took a long time to fill. I slipped into a fluffy bathrobe as I waited, pondering the challenge ahead of me.
Jacques was a secretive man, and proud. I knew that it would take a great deal to convince him to trust me. As far as I could tell, there were only six people he trusted in the world, and they all lived here, in this castle.
