Wolfsangel by Liza Perrat Read Free Book Online Page A

you won’t let Maman find out, will you? Just as nobody, besides Patrick and Olivier of course, can know what you’re doing. Not even your closest friends like Ghislaine and Miette.’
    I pulled my hands from hers and leaned back in the chair. ‘You really think I can do it?’
    ‘I wouldn’t have suggested it, Céleste, if I wasn’t certain.’
    ‘Well, if it could help the boys’ group; keep them out of danger, I suppose I could try.’
    ‘Good,’ she said. ‘But at the slightest sign of danger you must walk away from this man and never see him again. Don’t do anything to compromise yourself, and keep in touch with me by telephone, the one in Au Cochon Tué. And only come to the convent in an emergency. If this German thinks you know about a Resistance group, he might follow you here.’
    My sister stood, and I trailed after her, back down the shadowy, cheerless corridor. As we reached the oak door, Félicité kissed me on both cheeks.
    ‘Keep your eyes and ears wide open, Céleste. And take great care.’

7
    The heat intensified with every step as I climbed the attic ladder with a bag of sandwiches –– the sultry air the attic snared and confined, so that the Wolfs must have felt they were living in an oven.
    I heard the soft tap-tap of Sabine’s steps across the parquet, and Max humming his usual tune to accompany his wife’s dancing. As I stepped up into the attic Sabine stopped mid-step and spun around, an arc of dark hair sweeping her pale face.
    ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ I placed the sandwich bag on top of an old trunk. ‘Please, don’t stop. I love watching you dance.’
    Talia started clapping. ‘Maman’s the best ballerina in the world, isn’t she Papa?’
    ‘The best,’ Max said, smiling at his daughter and his wife.
    Jacob skittered to his mother’s side and clung to her legs. As usual, the little boy was clutching the toy soldier with the red coat.
    Sabine sank down onto the straw mattress on which the family slept –– the only sign of their presence, which we could shove behind the panel if necessary. She hoisted Jacob onto her lap, kissed his forehead, and opened Les Fables de Jean de la Fontaine , a favourite childhood book I’d lent her.
    ‘I might have found a better place for you,’ I said. ‘Somewhere you can walk around, and where Talia and Jacob can play in a garden.’
    ‘Please don’t put yourself and your family in any more danger for our sakes,’ Max said. ‘You’ve done so much already.’
    ‘It’s my pleasure,’ I said, ruffling Jacob’s hair.
    ‘Aren’t we going home soon?’ Talia said. ‘Your attic is nice, Céleste, but I miss Cendres. And he must be missing me.’
    ‘I’m sure we’ll be going home soon, Talia,’ her mother said. ‘And we can give Céleste and her maman their attic back.’
    ‘Did you get the paints for Papa?’ she said.
    ‘Talia!’ her father said. ‘Céleste can’t magically get things like that, especially in wartime.’
    ‘I’m trying,’ I said, an image of Martin Diehl rippling through my mind.
    ‘Story, Maman, story.’ Jacob jabbed a stumpy finger at the book.
    ‘I’ll be back up later,’ I said, moving towards the ladder. ‘To see if you need anything else.’
    ***
    I’d almost reached the bottom of the ladder when I heard muffled sounds coming from behind my mother’s closed bedroom door. I crept across the landing and pressed an eye to the keyhole.
    Maman was shaving soapflakes from the block she made with plant oils and caustic soda, into a dish of boiled water. A girl, pale as the sheet on which she lay, stared at the ceiling, her tongue darting over her lips in needle-like movements. I didn’t know her, but that wasn’t unusual. Most of the girls who came to L’Auberge for Maman’s services were strangers, travelling as far as possible from their own village.
    My mother followed her usual ritual, filling the tube with water, threading it between the girl’s spread legs and