Chapter Text
Provence, France - November 29, 1847
The cool serene night was falling on the cool grass of the forest. The darkness being tainted by the pale glow of the moon behind the clouds. The black sky was coated with a cloudy layer, almost like a veil, omitting the presence of the stars.
Beneath all the blackened calm of the moonlight, the small village was bustling. People came out of their homes to follow yet another execution in the name of God. Shouts of insults, curses, and mutterings vibrated in the icy night air, spreading the cacophony beyond the forest of tall trees, where nocturnal animals like owls and bats wandered away from the noise.
- Kill her! - someone shouted.
- Burn the witch! She killed our children! - a woman's voice cried.
- She will burn in hell for eternity! - shouted another furious one.
The density of the dark was tinged yellowish orange by the light of torches and lanterns. People circled around two tall men in armor, who held a woman in chains. Her black hair was dirty and tangled, her pale quartz skin stained with blood from a forehead wound. Her simple green cloth dress showed dirt and mud stuck to the hem.
The small population threw rotten fruit, empty glass bottles, and rocks at her, who was superficially protected from attack by the restraints of the guards and the chains on her wrists. Her mouth was not gagged, yet the woman did not say a word.
- Silence! - shouted another man. This one was shorter, pudgy, and had thick eyebrows furrowed in disgust. He wore light-colored, softly woven clothes. The silk he was wearing was adorned with silver and gold necklaces, a huge polished iron cross hanging from his neck.
The people fell silent at the same instant.
- Listen up everyone who is here today, to witness the defeat of the demon that has haunted our village for months! - he pointed to the woman as he said in a clear, harsh tone. - Where this woman, this witch, will burn in the name of our God!
The audience let out loud sounds of approval and admiration. The priest turned to face the girl hanging by the guards.
- Look at her, the face of the devil hidden behind a young and beautiful face. But we, the faithful and devout, would never let Satan win. So," he emphasized, looking at the witch and the people at the same time, "today I say... Burn the witch!
Shouts, applause, insults and praises sounded in the place at the same time, repeating the phrase "burn the witch" like a mantra. Following the orders, the guards tied the woman to a huge wooden pole, where underneath there was a pile of dry straw. They tied her with her arms behind her back to the pole. She offered no resistance, keeping her head down at all times.
For long minutes the people were silent.
- What are your last words, witch? Do you repent for your crimes against God and our people? - the priest asked, barely disguised mockery dripping from his words.
Slow, dragging seconds passed in silence. The wind suddenly seemed colder, and the moon slowly seemed to come out from behind the clouds. Very slowly, the woman raised her head to look at the crowd. Her eyes were not frightened, she showed no regret. On the contrary. There was a wicked smile on her face. She looked and spoke dangerously innocent to the well-dressed gentleman.
- Oh, Father... do you really want me to repent? Your mercy is truly touching," she smiled sweetly. Suddenly her expression changed, a menacing look adorning her cheerful smile. People shrank fearfully, she smiled even more. - Meanwhile...
She began to laugh, very softly. Like a puffy, timid chuckle, which slowly turned into a nasty, cruel, horrifying laugh.
When she finished, her voice sounded cold, sensual, and strong. She looked at the people around her with scorn.
- Pathetic, all of you. Burn me, tear off my limbs, feed me to the dogs. No matter what you do. The fate of this city, of the world, is sealed. I will come back, ladies and gentlemen. Stronger, and not alone. And when I do... - her voice sounded dangerously low, the predatory smile emphasizing the words. Her dark eyes glittered with evil. - Pray. Pray to your God, because I will show no mercy.
The bonfire was lit and the people went wild, screaming even more angrily. However, the woman fixed her gaze on a specific point in the middle of the crowd. She did not look away until the fire reached her, spreading rapidly through her clothes and body. Soon it was possible to hear her screams of agony overpowering the crowd.
And so, the witch of Sainte Cécile was executed in the public square. Burned alive in the name of God and his faithful.
~×~
Provence, France - November 24, 2022
Damian sighed for the ninetieth time in that half hour and Tim almost threw him out of the car. He just didn't do it because, one: it wasn't his car and he wasn't driving, so he would have been uncomfortable asking the driver to stop suddenly because of his stress. And two: he would hear Dick complaining for weeks about how "they should be brothers and brothers don't try to destroy each other every seven seconds.
Well, tell that to the demon brat.
When he opened his mouth to sigh for the tenth time, Tim lost his patience.
- Would you shut up, please? - he turned to him with a forced little smile.
Damian frowned.
- I didn't even say anything, Drake," he replied logically.
- Then sigh more quietly. I've been out of coffee for over ten hours, Damian. I'm in no mood for your tantrums," Tim turned to his cell phone.
- First of all, you are an addicted idiot. Secondly, it's not my fault if I'm not happy with you dragging me to this end of the world because of your paranoia," he complained, also turning his face away, but to look at the landscape outside.
- Stop being dramatic, brat. And it's not paranoia, I think I'll get something. If not the whole case, at least a clue.
Tim really wasn't worried about talking openly about information from, ahn... well, the night side. For besides them talking in English, and the driver having said earlier that he couldn't speak English, the glass that separated the passengers from the driver is closed. If the man could hear, he wouldn't understand much.
- I don't understand how such a small town in the far reaches of France can help with the case of children disappearing all over the world. People disappear all the time, even with our efforts. What's the point? - Damian questioned with that same frown that Bruce had. That he always did when he didn't understand something.
Tim went back through the notes he had made about the case on his cell phone. Little notes that helped him remember where he left off and how he started. It was more detailed on his computer.
The point of this, is that: finding a connection was pure luck. Tim can't even brag about having intentionally discovered the discrete pattern. It was just too much of a coincidence that he was looking at the files of some missing children in the last few months and noticed this. Even though the rate was higher than normal, it was strange to think of a connection between cases that happened around the world.
Tim turned his cell phone to Damian, showing him some images. He turned it back to himself and started playing the images again.
- Most of the children who have gone missing in the last four months, the rate of which is worrying, had exhibited strange behavior before disappearing. These particular ones, the parents reported insomnia, hallucinations, talking to themselves and whispering into nothing and hearing things. - Tim explained. - But... they all saw the same thing in their nightmares and hallucinations. They all saw a picture of a girl dressed in red, holding a sword in one hand and a Bible in the other. It looks like some kind of saint's picture, if not for the frame that they said was black, like coal.
Tim opened a picture on his cell phone, turning it over and showing it to Damian. The boy looked at it and narrowed his eyes.
- I looked in many places, it doesn't seem to be a famous work. But of all the places I looked, the museum here matches the description of the image the best," he explained, looking proud of his search.
- And what do you think it might be?
- I still don't know exactly. Maybe meta-humans. One with psychedelic power and another with space-time distorting power, teleportation? It would explain some things, but I can't draw any conclusions yet. If I'm right about the clue, at least it will be something in my poor information folder," he shrugged.
Damian rested his face on his chin, bored.
- I still think this is very unlikely. Anyway, this is ridiculous, why did I have to come? - he crossed his arms.
Tim held all his good will not to strangle him. Damian was actually quite calm in the plane, apart from a few bits and pieces, flying for over nine hours with him by his side wasn't so terrible, it was just bad.
- Dad is on a mission with the League, off-world. Dick is with Young Justice on a mission in Atlantis. Cass is in Hon Kong. And you are the only one available who can speak fluent French," he answered calmly without taking his eyes off his cell phone.
- Todd is also fluent in French! - he argued.
- Yes, but he didn't want to come. And he is with Steph and Barbara taking care of Gotham.
- I could be taking care of Gotham too," he pouted, although he would never admit that he pouted when he was upset. It was almost cute. Almost, because Tim didn't think he was cute.
- Yes, but Alfred is taking time off with his family. So you couldn't stay at the mansion alone.
- Okay, that's ridiculous!
- Yes, but you don't have a choice. Neither do I, so I think you'd better stay put, since we still have an hour's drive to the place.
Damian clicked his tongue, giving his classic "tt". But, to Tim's joy and preservation of sanity, he stopped mumbling like the child he would never admit to being.
~×~
Damian blinked three times to ward off sleep when Tim nudged his shoulder. He didn't even notice when he dozed off. With a discreet yawn and a glance out the car window, he saw the wooden sign hanging from an arch, written in French in letters half erased by time and nature, "Welcome to Sainte Cécile, population: 5,452." He wondered when was the last time they updated the population density of the place. It was hard to even find it on Google maps.
The car drove a little further and stopped in front of an inn, he and Tim got out of the vehicle and thanked the driver when he helped them get their bags out of the car. When the taxi driver drove away, Damian and Tim were able to take a closer look at the facade.
Damian cocked his head a little to the side, trying to share his opinion of the place. It wasn't ugly, like a dump, but it was quite rustic, so to speak. There were four windows on the floor above, where you could see some moss and vines adorning the dark brown brick walls. It was nice, just quite different from what they were used to. It reminded Damian of those period structures, like in the movies he had watched with Grayson. The brief observation he had been able to make so far of the city, actually harkened back to something older, like the middle ages. It would be easy to think you were back in time if it weren't for the lampposts, electric wires, and the few cars stopped on the street.
Tim also seemed to be analyzing like him, and said.
- It was the most expensive here, but don't expect so much - he warned.
- How much was the daily rate? - he asked.
- Eighteen euros and some change.
Damian nodded in understanding at the warning. He grabbed the strap of his suitcase and followed Timothy inside, which he secretly was grateful for, the car had a heater on, so maybe that was why he felt colder when he got out.
As soon as they stepped inside, Damian smelled very good fresh bread that made his stomach rumble. He didn't even realize he was that hungry. Judging by Tim's face, he was too.
It was a self-service restaurant downstairs, but the smell of bread was probably coming from the kitchen. Trying to keep the saliva from forming in his mouth, Damian followed Tim to the counter, which had a girl following him with her eyes from the moment they arrived, although she tried to disguise it with the newspaper in her hand. As they approached, she immediately dropped the paper and stood up, with a beaming smile.
Tim said in perfect French.
- Good morning ma'am, my name is Timothy Drake. I made the schedule over the phone last week - politely.
- Yes! Yes, of course. Just a minute... - she looked down at a little notebook, as if searching for his name, although Damian raised his eyes a little when she lowered it, frowning when he saw that there was only Drake's name on the list - I found it! I'll get your keys, any room preferences?
- If possible, one with the best view of the city, please. - Tim smiled that ridiculous smile he learned from Grayson. Whenever Damian tried to do it, it looked as if he had sucked on a particularly sour lemon.
The young woman looked even more delighted.
- Of course! I have a great one for you," she said, looking in a small drawer for the keys, and once she had found them, she handed them to Timothy. - I'll show you around and tell you a little about the town, shall I?
Tim nodded, and she stepped out from behind the counter. Only now did she seem to notice Damian. Her dark red hair was tied back in a loose bun, and she had black eyes that stared at him for a few seconds before smiling brightly again.
- Oh, I didn't see the little one! - she crouched down, Damian felt embarrassed. - What's your name, cutie?
Damian's cheeks weren't red, it was just the cold.
- My name is Damian," was all he answered, doing his best not to shrink in embarrassment. Even after years out of the league, it was strange to receive affectionate treatment from strangers like this. He never knew how to react.
- What a beautiful name, you are adorable Damian. My name is Lindsay, I'll be there if you need me," she smiled at him, and the freckles on her face moved with the movement.
He was thankful that she didn't mess up his hair or squeeze his cheek, because he felt she wanted to.
Lindsay stood up and looked at Tim again, who Damian noticed was smiling smugly at him, and made a mental note to use his toothbrush to clean the bathroom. The thought made him smile.
They walked down the small hallway where there were doors with numbers on them. The hallway was adorned with plants, some stools, pictures, and the yellowish light gave it a warm, cozy tone. Lindsey stopped at door number 22.
- The restaurant is open from eight in the morning until eleven thirty at night, and you can eat as much as you want, because food was also included in the package. So feel free to go down whenever you want. The shower is thermal and there is seven minutes for each shower, you are allowed two showers a day, you can't combine the two and make it fourteen minutes," she explained, gesturing slightly and smiling.
- Thank you very much, Lindsey, for your welcome. Now my brother and I are tired from the trip, so let's rest a bit and then come down, okay? - he said like a gallant to her. God, he was hanging out with Grayson a lot.
She smiled with flushed cheeks and left in complete joy. When Tim closed the door, Damian automatically grimaced and Tim grimaced back.
- Is this really necessary? - Damian asked.
- What's necessary, brat? - he asked sleepily and slightly irritated.
- You and your I'm-suited-to-you-but-I-have-a-boyfriend face. Besides, what's the point of throwing a couple fight tantrum if he can't see you doing it? - he crossed his arms.
- First of all: my love life is none of your business! Secondly, I wasn't seducing her, I was just being polite, something you should practice once in a while.
- But I am polite, I'm just not to you," he smiled victoriously at Tim's frown. Damian yawned falsely and said very solemnly in defiance - I'm going to take a shower, why don't you do something useful in the next seven minutes?
He saw Tim take a deep breath and turn to open his suitcase and grab his computer. Damian did the same, only taking his clothes and a towel from the inn's two-door closet.
The bathroom wasn't very large, but it was adequate. There was a mirror above the sink and a cabinet underneath. Damian undressed leisurely, shivering a little when he felt the cold air on his skin. God, was it that cold? He turned to the mirror, staring at himself.
His eyes met the green reflection of his irises. Bright green.
Like Lazarus...
What? No, he had never dived into the Lazarus...
But his mother and grandfather had.
Cursed .
Damian frowned. That wasn't true, why was he thinking about this? His green eyes seemed to glow even brighter in the mirror, like his mother's, like Ra's.
But he was not like his grandfather! Not anymore. He had changed. Grayson knew, Jason knew, his father knew...didn't he? Even Tim. They knew...
Right?
Damian shook his head and pushed those intruding thoughts aside. Why was he wandering on this subject? He stepped into the shower stall in too much of a hurry and turned on the shower. The hot water made him relax considerably, the chill running off his skin.
He was not like his grandfather. And he would never be the same as Ra' Al Ghu again.
Tim was sitting on his bed, with his back against the hard headboard and his notebook in his lap. All right, the mamata was over, and now it was time to get to work. His notes on the computer were protected by passwords and codes that only he knew, so he smiled when he opened the folder. Being a programming genius was a beauty in itself.
There wasn't much about the city on the Internet, so he would need to capture the information in clear cut, that is, directly. Which was bad, considering the history of small towns with visitors. Certainly, small towns like Salem in the United States attract tourists, and in France certainly others do as well for their history and atmosphere, but this one here was a completely different picture.
Sainte Cécile was a town almost erased from the map, there was almost nothing about the place on the Internet. Tim had to drive around a lot to find out more about it. And what else he found was travelers' blogs commenting about short-term stays, and he only found that painting because a girl shared the photo on Orkut in 2004. Creepy.
But the important thing was that he was here now, and this was a really challenging case, Tim would never abandon a case, even more one like this.
The first child to go missing with this pattern was a nine-year-old British girl named Lina Evans, who lived in London with her mothers. One day, one of the girl's mothers went to her room and she was simply not there. No sign of a break-in, struggle, theft, or any prime suspect. The women were not rich, they did not owe anyone, they were simply girls living a mundane and completely normal life.
That is until their daughter started acting strange. In the report, Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Jones said that the girl was spontaneous, cheerful and outgoing. Then suddenly she began to become more closed off, frightened, seeing and hearing things before disappearing.
The same pattern then repeated itself at various other points around the world, with little or no change. The families had no connection, the children had no connection, not even a physiological resemblance. It was a random event. Although Tim knew it wasn't , his intuition didn't lie, there was no way it could be coincidence.
That was it, he needed information about the town and residents, and to go to the museum to see that painting in person.
When he saw the bathroom door opening, Tim gathered his clothes and went inside to have seven minutes away from the mess that was his life.