For centuries, the Chevaliers de Rouen pledged to fight the monsters that inhabit France until their last breath. In the mid 1800s, Michel-Leon Parisee is the last of his line. The whispering memories of the chevaliers who passed before him offer help but have also driven other chevaliers mad with their constant advice, so Michel-Leon is forced to maintain a careful balance. When an ancient hunger threatens Paris, Michel-Leon must gather every tool he has to fight a terrifying threat that has eluded destruction before.

Constantin Severin is fey kissed, a man who walks the line between the fantastical and the mundane. He is determined to kill the magicman, the monster who destroyed his childhood, and rescue its young victims. In doing so, Constantin is in danger of becoming what he hates most. He needs a chevalier, but Michel-Leon is consumed with his own battle. Constantin must set aside old suspicions and his wandering ways if he is going to bargain for the help he needs.

Together, they can find the strength they need to battle their respective demons. They can learn they don’t have to fight alone, but it will take trust. It will take letting down long erected barriers, and it will take love. If they fail, Paris will be destroyed by the creatures that threaten it when the swarm hatches and decimates the city.

The Monster Within
Marguerite Labbe © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Dusk settled over the forested hills and rounded knobs of the mountainside as Michel-Leon Parisee crouched on an overlook and waited as patiently as any other predator waiting for its prey’s nose to peek out of hiding. An early April snowstorm had blown through several days ago, and evidence remained by the snow lingering around gnarled roots and the bite that clung to the air.

“This could go bad before we know it,” Régine Bardin commented as she hunkered down next to him, her gaze intent on the valley below. “The villagers are on edge and grumbling for payback.”

“That’s often the reaction when two worlds collide.” Michel-Leon spared a glance for her. Rumors and whispers had abounded since she was a girl that she was his bastard half-sister. Their coloring was similar, though her hair was more of a true red and his gilded with gold and brown. She had a riot of curls she never could tame, and his tended more toward tousled waves. They both had the same long, lean body and warm smile, and though their temperaments were quite often opposite, they complemented each other.

He thought of her as a sister, and she wished for it for all the wrong reasons.

The stamping of horses and the creak of wagon wheels sounded behind him as the villagers unloaded his requested goods. It broke the silence among the birch and firs. Michel-Leon continued to wait as Régine shifted next to him.

“The tricksters are coming.”

The voices whispered in his head, one warning coming out clear amongst the jumble of messages, as the first pinprick of yellow eyes appeared in the goblin holes that riddled the far hillside. The warning only he could hear—and Régine couldn’t—proved, despite all the rumors and wishing, they didn’t share blood.

“Here we go,” Michel-Leon said as Régine stood and laid her hand on the hilt of her sheathed, long-bladed knife.

Another pair followed the first eyes and then a dozen until the mountain holes were lit like a swarm of fireflies. Michel-Leon straightened and glanced over his shoulder at the small group of men gathered outside the abandoned chapel doors. “Is the tribute ready?” he asked.

A low grumbling answered him as he turned his attention back to the waiting eyes. “Oui. But I don’t see why we ought to give up the food we tilled and toiled for to a mob of troublesome creatures. You’re a chevalier. Blow them out or bury them deep. Isn’t that why we called you here?”

Régine rolled her eyes heavenward. The old ways were being forgotten, and Michel-Leon suppressed a sigh to echo Régine’s sentiment. He pointed at the starry field of blinking eyes. “I could do it your way, but it would end up costing you a lot more than a few barrels of spirits, calves you were going to cull anyway, and some bushels of root vegetables you can afford to give up.”

The other way would be bloody and long, and they’d never be sure they got them all. If even one goblin survived, the stunts it would pull afterward would make the villagers long for the days of kicked over milk pails and holes bored in fences.

The grumbling returned. “What’s to keep them from picking up their pranks and tricks again after you leave? The supplies won’t last long. We don’t figure to keep doing this each month.”

“Don’t worry, if they agree to the terms of the pact, they won’t bother you for a long time.” Michel-Leon patted his pocket to check if his surprise was still there. If this didn’t cause a stir of interest among the creatures, nothing would. He started to walk away and then paused. “I’d wait in the chapel if I were you. Some of the more mischievous among them might see you as friendly targets to play with when they come to collect their booty. Staying out of sight is best. I’ll let you know when it’s over.”

Michel-Leon took off in the gathering dark, one hand resting on his pistol as Régine strode beside him with the same posture. He wasn’t worried they’d have to pull it, but he didn’t want to chance the goblins would find the shiny metal fascinating and attempt to steal it. With his luck, one would blow its damn fool head off, and then negotiations would be over.

“I hope you have more tricks than they do,” Régine muttered. “I’ve never seen an infestation this big.”

“They have fewer places to parlay, and the machines with the iron and the steam, the gutting of the earth, make them uneasy.”

Michel-Leon cocked his head to listen for any other nuggets of wisdom articulating itself in the endless whispers, but nothing stood out. “Times are changing, Régine. Too fast for the little ones to keep up. Science is outstripping magic.”

“You sound regretful.” Régine spared him a glance. “There will always be more monsters.”

“Not everything different is monstrous.” A fact Michel-Leon believed fervently and one that had set him apart from other chevaliers when he was in training.

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Marguerite Labbe loves to spin tales that cross genre lines, where stubborn men build lifelong ties of loyalty, friendship, and family no matter the odds thrown against them, and where love is found in unexpected places. When she’s not working hard on writing new stories, she spends her time reading novels of all genres, enjoying role-playing and tabletop games with her friends, and taking long walks with her dog.

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