French vocabulary

 La femme d'Eure et Loir: Journal of Patriotic women

 Pecher contre: sin against

 Il n'y vraiment pas de quio se vanter: There is really nothing to
brag about.
 

 She had returned back to her original form.  Fair skin, red hair,
green eyes, always green eyes. It was the only way Alaric was sure it
was her. <This is it, the last time the bitch dies. > Alaric thought
as he watched Willow leave her house.  He would have stepped out of
the shadows and be done with it, but he stopped as van came up. In it
was a girl who gave an aura of being a witch and a boy whose aura was
also not completely human, a werewolf.
     Last night she was escorted by a vampire. <Does she know? Is
that why she has protectors?> Alaric wondered.  Not that it made a
difference, she would die anyway. This just postponed it by a few
days, he needed time to find out more about her protectors
especially the vampire. The name Angel sounded familiar.
        The girl smiled and got in, and the van drove off, driving
off with his kill. It was fitting that the last time should be the
hardest.  Sometimes she fought, sometimes she didn't; it all depended
on the surroundings, the time as a Slayer had been particularly hard
for him, the scar on his face proved it.  The singer had been easy.
Now being in the Hellmouth she had to have some idea of the
supernatural, perhaps she knew she was being hunted.
 
 
 

 "Willow, are you okay? You've been really quiet." Amy asked as they
entered the school.
        "I was just thinking." Willow said. She was having more
memory flashes about being Savarthri. Everything she remembered
coincided with everything in Arthur's journal.  Not only that, Willow
was strangely sure that she could read Sanskrit and play the sitar.
       "I can here voices from here, they must be having another
fight again." Oz said as they opened the doors.
         "Isn't obvious that * I* am the warrior the prophecy is
talking about. I am the chosen one after all." Buffy said.
         "I'm the chosen one too, B." Faith said.
 "This really isn't a prophecy, it's more like a record.  It states
that a warrior unlike any other will do battle with the minion of
evil and the evil itself. We have to wait till the Council gives us
more information." Giles said.
       "Then what are we doing here if the Council has all the
information?" Cordelia said.
 "We still have the Mayor to deal with." Giles pointed out.
        "Can't we wait till later? I'll miss first period." Xander
said.
 "Like you care about physics, are you even passing that class?"
Faith said.
       "At least I bother to show up." Xander said.  Giles took off
his glasses and rubbed his
 forehead.  It had been like this for weeks.  With the Mayor and this
new evil, the pressure was getting to them all.  Everyone was getting
on everyone else's nerves.
       "What are you guys talking about?" Amy asked.
 "The Council sent us some info on some impending evil that's
supposed to do battle with some kick-ass warrior." Faith said.
      "Which would be me." Buffy said.
 "You're not always the "chosen one" you know." Cordelia said.
        "Yes I am.  I'm the Slayer, by the way I killed sixteen
vampires last night: a personal best." Buffy bragged, if she wasn't
talking about Angel, Buffy
was always talking about herself. Faith made another comment and she
and Buffy started to fight.  Usually Willow would interfere and get
everyone on track,
but today, Willow sat down, feeling a little sleepy. She had spent
all night reading and grading papers for her computer class. <It's
her duty to slay. Il n'y vraiment pas de quio se vanter, wait why did
I just think in French? Oh Goddess I never did the spell to
 end the visions and I'm getting sleepy.>
 
 

 "Are you sure you have not seen him Madame?" Commandant Hersher
asked once again in German, this time his voice a bit rougher. Odette
Dumont simply shrugged her delicate shoulders. They could do nothing
but try to intimidate her, at least that what she told herself.
      "No, I have not seen him." she replied, answering in French.
 They both knew the other's language but it was a matter of pride
when they spoke in their native tongue. Besides, French was such a
beautiful language and with her voice, a voice that had won her fame
a fortune, only French could do justice to it.  Being
 the most famous singer in Paris and perhaps all of France allowed
her some privileges; her house was one of the few that did not house
German soldiers. A person of her status needed privacy.
       Odette held her breath as she saw the Commandant bloodhound
sniff the floorboard near the table. Under that table there were
twenty-seven Jews, sixteen of them were children.  She had been given
a powder last week.  It was supposed to fool the dogs.
        "Is that mongrel really necessary?" she asked sounding highly
annoyed.
 "I am so sorry Madam, but he still could be here without your
knowledge." The Commandant said.
      "I told you. I fired him last month when I found out he was
married to a Jew." Odette said. She had become good at lying by now.
      "I believe you. I know you never, how do the French say? Pecher
contre France and all she now stands for." he said deliberately
mispronouncing the words, and Odette nodded.  <Stupid pig. This is *
not * what stands for. There will come a day when France is free
again. And then you will learn what she really stands for. > Odette
thought, masking her disgust with a dazzling smile.
           Most of the officers were young and were intimidated by
her. She was of course * the * Odette Dumont.  Not only a one of
greatest singers of her age, she was also rumored to have affairs
with several powerful politicians, all at the same time.
      If she had not been appreciated for her voice, then her beauty
would have made her famous.  Slightly above average height with long
flowing blonde hair, fair flawless skin, full pouty lips, long legs
that always caused a scandal when she showed them off, a shapely
figure and her most beautiful features, her eyes.  Green eyes, they
drew people in, men declared that they could stare into them for
hours and often did. Odette was beautiful and knew it. She played up
all her features, every piece of clothing she ever
 wore, every piece of jewelry, everything was preplanned to make her
appear as the goddess everyone expected her to be. She never wore
make up though, a part of being a goddess was that everything come
natural to you, or had to look like it did. At first, all of this was
for vanity, now it served for a greater purpose. The soldiers had
trouble concentrating, seeing her in a ruby red nightgown with a
matching a lace robe over it.
         "Why did you not report him when you found out when that
Jean-Phillpe married one of them?" the Commandant asked.
      "I do not have time for such things. Is it not * your * job to
find these people out and deal with them?" Odette said snobbishly.
      "That is why we are here.  Your former gardener is one of
operatives the Resistance here in Paris."
       "No! And to think I hired that man myself." Odette feigned
surprised.
 "If you see him, you will inform me." Commander Hersher said.
            "Of course, I will." Odette said.
 "I hope to see you again Madame, in more pleasant circumstances."
The Commandant's eyes traced the lines of her body.  It took all of
her control not to slap him.
      "I am very tired. I must rest I have an important event
tomorrow." Odette said, hoping to rush them. They were all reluctant
to leave. The Comandant's nodded and ordered all of his men out.
                Odette let out a sigh of relief. She waited until
they were off the property before
 removing the floorboard.  "It is safe." She said and slowly the
others began to climb out, thankful for the room to move as they all
stretched.
 Jean-Phillpe took Odette aside.
         "You should not do this any more. They already know about
the La femme d'Eure et Loir and all the secret codes it contains as
orders that have been circulating. If you were helping to publish it
and you were also hiding Jews and a Resistance member, they would not
hesitate to kill you." Jean-Phillpe informed.
       "All those idiots can do is speculate.  Besides they would not
dare harm me.  If I died, what would be left to look forward to?"
Odette smiled, hoping her fear could not be heard.  She was scared.
There was not one day she didn't wake up and fear that the knock on
her door was the Commandant coming to take her to a concentration
camp.  Odette knew what was done there, and that's why she had to do
this.  She was more afraid for France.  The country was losing some
of it's best and brightest, she'd seen friends, brilliant artists and
writers dragged away to be killed or worse, all because their
religion was not to the liking of a madman.  If they ever found out
about her..
    "Yes, you are the only thing that makes Paris worth living in."
Jean-Phillpe said.
          "Are sure you will be able to handle this mission? I could
go with you. I do attract a lot of attention you know.  It would be
easier." Odette said.
    "No, you have done enough.  I have found someone who will help
us. I think we can trust him, he was at the club last night." Jean-
Phillpe said.
      "What is his name?" Odette asked.
 "He calls himself Angel." Jean-Phillpe said.
      "What an odd name." Odette commented.
 "We must leave quickly." Jean-Phillpe said, looking at the time.  He
gave his friend a hug before ushering the others out.
     "Send word if you need anything." Odette said, seeing them out
the back door.
         Finally alone, Odette made her way to her bedroom. Sitting
by her dresser, she began to brush her hair. Brushing her hair calmed
her, when she nervous. It was a habit she picked up when she first
started performing; she always brushed her hair before she went out
into a crowd. A crowd, who would always love and adore her, gave her
standing ovations and showered her with complements.  Would a crowd
even be there if they
 knew her mother was Jewish? Even for her? Odette dropped the brush
and stared herself in the mirror. She knew the answer. No, not even
for her, her friends, her admirers, her lovers would all abandon her
if they knew.  They would run away from her like
she carried a disease, or worse, would report her. <Well, they won't
find out. I am Odette Dumont, the greatest singer in Paris and nobody
will believe anything negative about me.> Odette repeated the thought
to herself.
       All her life she denied her Jewish heritage in order to get
ahead in the world.  It had always been her dream to sing, when she
sang she could be anyone she wanted to be; an innocent schoolgirl, or
a seductive siren.  Her mother had always disapproved of her singing,
saying her future was in education. It was her father who encouraged
her to sing. That's why Odette followed his advice to never tell
anyone that about her duo heritage.  Odette's father loved her mother
but was no fool about the how people treated you if you were not like
them. Still it was not that bad. Back then it was different, if you
were a Jew people would turn their nose up at you, they would never
let you sing, even if it was your dream.
 Now it was much worse. If you were a Jew you would be sent to a camp
were you would wait to die. Odette thought of the people tonight.  It
was terrifying to think she could have been one of them if she hadn't
taken full advantage of her father's side and shunned her
 mother's.  Those people didn't have a choice. <They will be free so
if they wish, they can sing. > Odette thought with a small smile.
      There were still so many left and if the Commander had his way,
they would all be sent to death camps. Odette began to brush her hair
again.
      If she had not been looking in the mirror she would not have
seen him. A man partially covered in shadows.  He had dark hair, tall
and lean with cold silver eyes.  Odette would have called him
handsome if not for the horrible scar across the face.
 <Stay calm, probably some overzealous admirer you plenty of those.>
she thought, putting the brush down.
     "I am not receiving visitors right now." Odette said. The man
said nothing he walked a few steps revealing a sword.
 <Alright, not an admirer, a thief then.> Odette thought.
      "I have some jewels in my drawer." Odette said quietly. She
also had a revolver there too.  Odette never had time to reach it.
She wasn't sure where exactly the blade hit, the blood seemed to gush
from everywhere. She immediately hit the floor. Odette looked at her
blood as it spread. It almost matched her nightgown. Odette saw the
man getting closer she tried to crawl away.  <This isn't happening,
I'm Odette Dumont. > The thought gave her no comfort. She knew the
danger of getting involved with the Resistance, what happened to
people who were caught, how they were tortured. She was afraid of it,
pictured it in her mind but never truly believed it would happen to
her.  It was happening to her.  The question of who was he was never
occurred her. All that mattered was the pain of the second stabbing,
it seemed worst that the first going through her body, it hurt so
much she forgot to scream. The man pushed her so she hit the floor.
Odette was forced to face her killer. Looking into his silver eyes
that reflected no light. Watching him watch her die.
 

 "Willow wake up!" Cordelia said almost yanking her out of her chair.
         "Oh no!" Willow whispered when she finally regained
consciousness.
 "Willow you okay? Do you want to go to the nurse?" Xander asked,
concerned.
        "No, thanks. I'm fine. We have to get to class." Willow said,
trying to get up.
 "First period's almost over Red." Faith said.
         "That's not important. This is very unlike you, are you sure
you're alright?" Giles asked.
            "You heard her, she's fine. Now back to what we were
talking about.." Buffy said.
    " I have to go. I'll miss my quiz." Willow said quickly. She was
going to miss her favorite class.
 Not only did she love European History, but also Mrs. Camalri was a
great teacher. She was one of the very few who seemed to care about
the students.  She made it to the door before the bell rang.  <Damn.>
Willow thought as she walked into the classroom. She saw Mrs. Camalri
talking to a girl.
       "Willow, I was wondering where you were." Mrs. Camalari said.
 "I'm so sorry. I've been busy and I-"
     "No need to explain, I know how hectic your schedule is with
finals and teaching class.  Willow, I would like to meet Cassie
Gilford, she's a new student."
 Willow looked at the girl with shoulder length black hair, creamy
skin, pretty blue green eyes; she was tall with delicate features and
had a figure that made even Buffy look like a boy. In short, she was
every boys dream.  There was something else about her, a quality that
made her almost regal.
 "Hi welcome to Sunnydale." Willow said.
               "Hello." Cassandra said shyly. She couldn't believe
her luck, she came right to her! All it took was a spell to age her
back a few years and enroll in the local school.
    "I was wondering if you show her around the school." Mrs Camalri
said.
          "Sure." Willow said.
"I hope you two will become friends." Mrs Camalri said.
     "We will." Cassandra said.
 
 

 "So then why did you not kill her?" the voice asked. It seemed to
vibrate, filling the whole room with a humming noise that
occasionally formed words.
      "She has protector, it is possible she knows." Alaric said.
 "All the more reason to kill her." The voice ordered. Always
ordering, never asking.  Even after centuries of loyal service.
    "I shall, I have never failed you." Alaric reasoned.
 "Don't start now. " the voice faded. The room seemed to darken now,
like Alaric's thoughts.  She would die and what then? His life had
always revolved around killing her and now in the final lifetime what
would happen to him? Did he care? There was nothing to live for - no
one to live for.  Except her, killing her was his duty, his purpose,
his life.
                 <This adds a few days to your life, that's all.>

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