Interview with a Vouivre

"There we are. Please accept my utmost apologies for my earliest actions but you seemed somehow... stressed out. Are you comfortable enough? Do you need anything?"

"Untying me would be a good start I think."

My mouth is dry and yet I can't refrain from being snarky. The plump, middle aged woman in front of me smiles and pats my knee encouragingly.

"Of course I shall my dear, but not right now. This seemed to be necessary and I apologise for the discomfort but this shouldn't stop me from showing common courtesy, unlike you did. Would you like a drink of water maybe, or some tea?"

Her voice is mellow, educated as she looks at me above her perfectly proper, perfectly clear glasses, the tiniest bit of stress in her inflexions when she mentioned what she calls my lack of courtesy gone as soon as she has evocated it. Part of me knows I will certainly not survive this meeting. Part of me is still screaming at me for having provoked this, and finally, the last part of me, the louder one for now, is giddy, elated, riding the roller coaster of stress and adrenaline as I realise I was right all along, as I realise that this elegant woman in front of me, this gentle looking, seemingly well educated woman is everything but human, everything but what she looks like at first glance.

"If I could have a glass of water I would be in your debt, madam."

She gives a minute, appreciative nod at my polite tone and sentence and leave me there before coming back with, of all things, a sippy cup in brightly coloured plastic, frolicking farm animals dancing along the sides.

"It is astounding what the youngsters will forget here. Don't worry, I washed it carefully first. Here, I will help you."

With an ease talking of habit, she tilts gently the nozzle of the cup toward my lips, letting me drink my fill without spilling a single drop. My tied hands stop me from motioning her to stop when I have had enough but she seems to perceive it and takes the cup back before I even signal her.

"So, young man. Would you tell me what stirred your curiosity about me?"

"Will it change something if I tell you?"

She smiles again that warm smile that makes her the favourite of all the kids and their parents in the neighbourhood, a competent, motherly but not to much, caring and knowing smile. It's fascinating me despites myself because I can feel deep within me that it isn't an act, that she really does care so I decide to be honest with her.

"Mr Lejean. It was ruled out as mugging gone bad but something never ticked with me. So I decided to lead my own investigation and after a while I ended up going through your information and I felt something so I started researching you."

"You are gifted with a very rare talent, young man, for having been able to succeed where the police didn't. I like this."

"Do that mean you will let me go?"

"I haven't yet ruled out what I shall do with you, to be honest. The days of flaming torches and waved pitchforks are far behind us and I don't think you shared your doubts with anyone else."

She looks at me as she says that, politely curious. She is right. Of course she is right and she knows it. What could I have said and to whom? Would could I have gone to say "I think the head librarian is a monster and that she killed a man."? She sees the emotions flicker on my face and nods.

"I thought so. This too is the mark of a great investigator but also of the recklessness of youth. I hope it will be a lesson for later. Now you came for questions, you were pretty insistent in requesting an interview from me so I think I can indulge you in this." She smiles again, a hint of mischief glittering in those mellow brown eyes "But no notes of course, my dear."

"I have a good memory." My voice sounds sullen and childish and I hate it. All that I have learned in books or even more or less good hostage situation movies come back to me in a tumble of clipped sentences and random thoughts. Let them talk. The longer they talk the better are your chances of survival. Be polite. Be smart.  Be respectful. Don't let them see how afraid you are.

She beams again as she sits more comfortably on her chair, a padded one in cherry coloured canvas set in darkish wood. She has settled me in a couch, hands and feet bound in such a way that I can't move in the least without having the blood flow cut. I don't know where we are. There is no light save for a small Tiffany lamp set on a low table between us but the atmosphere of the room has that peculiar feeling I always associated with big spaces. The air is dry, smelling faintly of dust and of something ancient I can't define that mingles with the aromas rising from the teapot on the table, a rich, powerful scent of jasmine. She pours herself a cup, her moves as elegant and practised as in a ritual, lifting the delicate china to her lips for a sip before looking at me again.

"If you wish to start, young man, I am ready."

"What is your name, your real name?"

"The name I was born with you wouldn't be able to pronounce but I have held a lot of names. Jeanne, Sophie, Aglaé, Marie many times, I like that name and its variations, I even had nobility titles for a while, I was the Vicomtesse of Héroncel once but I quickly found that the anonymity of the plain plebeian was a much safer solution. I have been keeping my last name for the last half century now."

I never heard of such a title and the list she has enunciated with so much calm is making me dizzy. I can feel it, the rising tingle of curiosity that dulls the fear at being here and there. My teachers always warned me about this, about what they called my lack of self preservation. So many questions I don't even know where to start.

"How old are you?"

" Besides the fact that usually it is not a question you ask a lady, I couldn't give you a precise age." Again that smile as she takes another sip of her drink, the heat of the tea fogging her glasses for a brief instant. "But I think in those circumstances a small breach in protocol can be allowed. I think I am around six hundred and fifty years old. I remember hearing about the departure of the Piñta, the Santa Maria and the Nina from a man that used to be a friend at the time."

She let me some times to digest the information, her gaze evaluating as she takes in my reaction and this look is enough to spur me in the next question, a heartfelt call that comes out hoarser that I wanted.

"Have you ever said that to anyone?"

She gives a little double take at this, something like sorrow crossing briefly the smoothness of her features.

"I did, yes, once but it was a long time ago." There is a brittle edge to her next smile, one she hides behind her cup before starting to talk again. "I did miss it, having a confident. He wasn't that much younger than you when he seeked me and he was stubborn and determined. He was smart too." She raises a hand to her hair, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Listen to me, rambling away."

"I don't mind. Tell me about him. Tell me about everything."

I lean forward eagerly, my bindings forgotten for an instant and I barely have time to catch myself back, escaping an undignified topple on the carpet that has been spread on a hard stone floor. The amount of knowledge that she can have accumulated over the centuries is making me dizzy with curiosity and greed. In front of me is a being that has seen history been made, that has been witness to the rise and fall of empires.

" Where were you born? What are you exactly? Are there many others like you?"

"So many questions, my dear."

"You said to me you would answer any questions I would have."

"I did, that is true. So you want to hear my tale, young man? Do you think you are ready for it?"

"Yes."


"I was born near the old mountains of the Massif Central, in the depths of a mountain lake. Mother brought me to the surface so I could take my first breath of air and it was so cold it burned my lungs. I wanted nothing but to return inside the gentle embrace of the waters but it was time for me to strive above land. She lived under the guise of a poor working widow and since her home was set near a pilgrimage road, we had a rather good life for the era. She sold her cheeses to the travellers and in the winter would pick a few she will board in exchange for some repairs around the house and if one was to disappear, well, the mountains were cold and treacherous and no one ever suspected a thing.

She had a hidden cache of books and she taught me to read. We had to keep it secret. Erudition was the privilege of church people and a few nobles, it would have been highly suspicious to have two lonely women showing off such skills.

Later on, I went my way. Our kind don't live together easily once we reach adulthood and even if I loved my mother dearly I knew I had to go. It was dangerous travelling alone on the roads at that time, especially for a woman alone so I went with the next group of pilgrims all the way to Avignon. There I found employment in the service of an old merchant. Later on, when he passed away, I moved on. I slowly build myself a solid education in addition to what my mother had given me, travelling across the country and seeking the teachers, the scholars, all those who had made their duty to collect knowledge."

"No one ever suspected anything?"

I had been fascinated by her tale but couldn't restrain my curiosity. My own education on Middle Ages in France had been the one provided in school and nothing more but I knew about the wars, the witch hunts and the epidemics. The next questions that tumble down my lips are pouring at random and she listens to me calmly until the storm abates. When I finally stop she takes back where she was, weaving answers to my interrogations seamlessly in the tale she is unfolding for me.

"I travelled a little in Europe but we are not comfortable too far from our home land. When my mother passed away of old age, for like you we know age and decay even if a century is but a year for us, I went back to our place. The small village had become a bustling city and I settled there. I had wealth, knowledge and I knew how to use it. Yes, some did have doubts, and a few times I had to escape and run for my life, seeking shelter in the heights of mountains or the depths of lake but I always managed to come back."

She talks and talks for hours, detailing to me a life devoted to the accumulations and preservation of knowledge. The names she gives me are among the greatest minds of our world, men and women she has met, helped, provided guidance and encouragements to before disappearing again with the bundle of their newly acquired discoveries and instruction.

"Did anyone ever tried to attack you to gain access to all this?"

The smile she flashes towards me is much different than the ones she showed early, it's cold and calculating, an undisguised threat that makes me shudder despites myself.

"I made sure that those who threatened me paid for their actions."

"Is that why you killed Mr Lejean? Did he found something and threatened you?"

"No. I wasn't his target. The man was a drunkard, a beater, and a paedophile. I did kill him because his children confided in me and because no one would have acted. The children are smart, they have a great future, I couldn't let that man spoil it."

She hasn't flinched when she confessed to murder, making this sounds as fastidious as taking out the trash or cleaning the cat's litter, something annoying and unpleasant but which has to be done. Though if she is right, if that man really did what she accuses him of, I am not sure of what I should feel. My basest instinct makes me want to cheer for her, for taking out predator that had been hidden inside the flock while the varnish of education is making me realise she has killed in cold blood and that it's surely not the first time, killed with enough skill that no one except me suspected a thing.

"What are you exactly? What do you want of us?"

"Me? Want something from you? Ho my dear child, you couldn't be more mistaken but since you ask. I am a Vouivre, child. We have been hunted and tracked for centuries by greedy men, men looking for riches and glory, for material wealth and worldly opulence but this isn't what we are the guardians of."

Her voice has slightly risen, betraying anger for the first time, her elegant features distorted in contempt. Her narrowed eyes seek mine, challenge dancing deep in them. Is it a trick of the light or my own exacerbated emotions but I could have sworn I saw her eyes glow of the deepest red for a brief instant. She rises from her chair and I see her, I see her for the first time as she lets me gaze upon her, all masks, all illusions gone. She is a vision of such beauty it's frightening. She is magnificent and lethal, the jewel nestled between her breasts catching the light of the lamp, casting sparkles of red and gold, a small fiery heart that pulsates and glows.


"What are you the keeper of, then? What is your true treasure?" The fierceness in her words is scalding and I can't hide the awe in my voice, mingled with fear. This is what people must have felt when they discovered the inside of the Great Pyramid, the Lascaux paintings or any of those marvels left to us by the past.

"Knowledge, child. Knowledge. I am the keeper of the men's accomplishments. This is our biggest secret."

She sounds tired suddenly and leans back in her chair, draping again her disguise across her, becoming again this plump middle aged woman I thought she was when I first met her. She casts a brief glance at our surroundings, still lost in the darkness for me.

"We are the keepers of knowledge, we seek and preserve the erudition of men. In our care the light of science and cognition is sheltered."

"Why?"

"Because the darkest ages of men are yet to come, and when those will happen, you will need us. You will need what we have worked so hard to protect to rebuild the world you're so keen on destroying now. It will come soon, child, and I am truly sorry about this but what must happen will happen. I hope you understand."

"I do."

I realise now that I am going to die here and there at the hands of this creature. She won't kill me for pleasure. She won't kill me for any of those petty reasons that make humans slaughter each others since the beginning of ages. She will kill me because she has a goal, because she has a mission. I thought I had one too when I came here. I thought my own mission was to discover the truth, to reveal it to the world, me and only me, for my own small selfish pride and hunger for recognition. Now, long hours after I came to confront her in that empty parking lot, hours after she disarmed me and dragged me here, hours that feel at the same time the longest and the shortest of my existence, I finally understand everything, and I find myself not afraid.

I look at her and I can see she has seen it, this growing realisation of the ineluctable. There is sorrow in her eyes as she steps forward so fast I can barely see her, as I feel her hands on my neck.

"I'm sorry, child."


She has acted fast. One powerful twist and the young man body topples limply asides, eyes wide open and vacant. She looks at him for  a few minutes, tears dripping freely on her cheeks. She mourns this young life so full of promises she has had to take for the greater good of so many others, others that will never know the price that has had to be paid. Then she takes the cooling corpse and drag it outside. She has to act as if nothing happened.

Under the cold glint of stars, she steps back into her library. She is a Vouivre. She knows her duty.