Maman Poulin cleared her throat. “Father?”
“Do not speak,” the priest said, not looking up as the feather scratched across the paper.
Élisabeth felt a rush of heat race up her spine and wondered if the demon were blowing smoke from its nostrils inside her. She swayed from foot to foot to try to lull the creature to sleep. The priest paused and placed his quill down on the table.
“Men may read the words I am writing today for centuries to come. But I cannot think when a female is dancing around the room before me.”
Élisabeth flushed and crossed her arms over her chest protectively.
“Father, we are sorry to disturb you,” Maman Poulin tried again. “We asked to speak with you today because my young friend has an important question that we know only you can answer, for you are a great man with much knowledge.”
“Yes, yes,” the priest dismissed her flattery crossly. “I remember our appointment.”
“This is Élisabeth Jossard, newly arrived from Normandy,” Maman Poulin said. From his blank stare Élisabeth realized that the priest did not recognize her from the inquisition on the ship. “She is the guardian of a frightful secret, for she met a woman in France who is possessed of a demon. And the matter is so terrifying to her—indeed the description of the turmoil the poor soul faces fillsus all with such horror—that we wanted to ask you about it so that you may soothe our nightmares.”
The priest leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “Normandy, you say?” Élisabeth could only nod. “Were the authorities in your village aware of this demonic possession?”
The widow looked at her expectantly. Élisabeth dropped her eyes to the ground, evading the priest’s gaze. “I… I do not know, Father.”
The priest sat back in his chair, wheezing. “It would hardly matter if they were. The courts in Rouen are struggling to prosecute even the most heinous crimes, now that the king has turned soft. It is left to witch hunters like myself to deal with all the heretics, witches, and demons—no matter how many cases there are. The amount of work to be done is almost insurmountable.”
“You are a champion,” the widow said quickly. “Your reputation is widely known. It’s all the talk of Ville-Marie, how well-versed you are in the fight against witches and demons and the like. We are lucky to have you amongst us.”
Father de Sancy waved his hand to dispel Maman Poulin’s words. “What is it you want to know?”
All the questions Élisabeth had wrestled with since the day she was cursed started to churn inside her. Did the sharp jabs in her womb mean that she was still barren? Or did a demon account for all the strangeness inside her? And if so, could the magic of one witch defeat the curse of another? Might she drink a potion or beg Jeanne Roy for an enchantment, rather than suffer being beaten, pricked, or God knows what other violence in search of a cure?
“She describes a creature so strange and fearful that it does not sound like anything I have heard of in all my life,” Maman Poulin started.
“She feels jabs in her belly,” Élisabeth said.
“It is far worse than that,” the widow interrupted. “She describes a mangled beast from Hell.”
Élisabeth listened as Maman Poulin began to weave a tale of a wolf withhorns, talons, wings, and a serpent’s forked tongue—a nightmare so colourful and intricate they would wear it for the rest of their lives, a garment to be handed down for generations. The longer she spoke, the more Élisabeth could feel such a creature moving inside her.
“What do you think, Father de Sancy? Have you ever heard of such a demon?”
Father de Sancy leaned back in his chair and rubbed his considerable stomach. “Of course I have.”
Élisabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. The priest knew which devil dwelled inside of her! She put her thumb in her mouth and began to chew on her nail as the priest spoke.
“We’ve made great progress in our understanding of Hell’s creatures. I myself assisted with the Greek translation of the works of the inquisitor Michaëlis.”
“And what does this Michael say about getting rid of demons?” Élisabeth asked. She found it hard to look the priest in the eye, only glancing at him when his gaze was not fixed upon her.
“Michael-isss,” the priest hissed. “And while his work was significant, my own treatise is not without acclaim. Though of course I have built upon the work of giants.”
“Giants!”
The priest gave Élisabeth a severe look. “Great thinkers. Men you would never have heard of.”
She put a knuckle into her mouth and continued to gnaw, finding some respite from her fear in the pain. “Are you famous because you helped those nuns?”
“Ah, my reputationdoesprecede me. You are referring to my work on the demonic possessions at Louviers?”
Maman Poulin, astonished, turned to Élisabeth, who managed a meek shrug. “Yes, I mean those nuns. Though I cannot understand why the most pious of women could be possessed,” Élisabeth said.
“Perhaps they were not as pious as they pretended,” the priest replied. “It is well known that the female is a slave to her filthy lusts.”
