The Lost Letters of Brother Gabriel by Bree Despain Read Free Book Online Page B

worst murderer of them all continues to elude me. I know he hides behind his unholy robes, seeking refuge in monasteries, cowering from the stories of the demon-wolf who seeks to destroy all the men who took part in the slaughtering of the Greek Christians.
    I swear this to thee, Katharine: I will not rest until he pays for what he has done. If I cannot follow my Marie to heaven, then I will drag Father Miguel to hell with me.
    No matter where he runs.

third letter
    Oh, Katharine, what have I done?
    I do not know why I write to thee now. Thou wilt never see this letter. Not unless the angels themselves were to light it to thee on their wings. Alas, no angel would dare to come near a demon as horrible as I.
    Why did I not stay away?
    When I heard Miguel had returned to our village, that he was living like a fatted pig on the hill overlooking the cottage I once shared with Marie, I should never have gone after him there. I should have fled as far from home as possible, stayed away from even the thought of seeing thee.
    I should have known I wasn’t strong enough. I let the wolf force me home to our village. It told me I must finally take my vengeance against Miguel. Alas, I realize now it was not Miguel that the wolf wanted me to find.
    It was thee, little sister.
    When I came to our village, I wanted to go straightaway to destroy Miguel and leave before anyone recognized me. Only, the wolf in my head prodded me to go see thee first. It knew my heart and how badly I longed to be home with thee.
    I thought I could watch thee from a distance so I could know that thou were happy in thy life with Simon Saint Moon. The wolf assured me it was what I must do if I were ever to rest.
    I stood at the edge of the forest and watched thee pick sweet herbs from thy garden. Thou hadst grown so much in the last few years—from a girl into a woman. Thy hands were strong, and thy face was fuller and softer; I realize now from becoming a mother. Seeing thee was not enough. I wanted to embrace thee, and swing thee around in the air like I used to when we were young. I wanted to feel human and loved again.
    Yet it was the love I felt for thee that frightened me. The wolf recognized that feeling and wanted me to kill thee. I could feel it writhing in my heart, under my skin. I fought with its howling cry for thy blood in my head. For every step I took farther back away from you, the wolf prodded me two steps forward. I prayed that thou hadst received my letters and the silver dagger, and that thou would know what I was, and what to do, if thou didst see me.
    At one moment I thought thou didst see me at the edge of the forest, or maybe thou didst only sense the danger near thee. I watched thee straighten up and look into the forest, thy gathering basket clutched in thy hands. Then thou didst call out, “Doni, Doni, go into the house, my boy,” and I saw the toddling child for the first time. I watched his tiny feet as he followed your order and went into thy cottage with a small cloth doll, like the kind Marie happily made in anticipation for our own babe.
    My heart felt like it had been ripped out by anger and grief as I remembered the child that should have been mine before Marie was taken from me. The child I would never have now.
    A flaming pain overtook my body and I fell to the ground. I fought the beast, tried to keep it at bay. Alas, I knew I had lost the battle when a great howl surged through my body and everything went murky inside my mind.
    I imagine thou didst not have enough time to run from thy garden to thy home when thou didst see the giant wolf lunge out of the forest. I seem to remember thy screams for Simon to keep Doni safe.
    I awoke in the forest some time later. Blood painted my arms. Blood that smelled like sweet herbs from thy garden, and knew what I had done.
    I am so sorry, Katharine. Thy love for me was the only possible cure to rid me of the curse of the demon-wolf, and now that thou art gone like Marie—as was the