Good tales of the supernatural set in medieval times are few and far between so I was sceptical when I noticed The Wolves of Paris on offer from Kindle and claiming to be just that. But it was Free, so I downloaded it – nothing to lose. And almost gave up after the first few pages which – well, let me simply beg you: keep reading! The rest of the book is as good a story of sorcery and werewolves, and the all-powerful Inquisition, as I have ever come across.
It occurs to me that most werewolf/vampire stories I have read – or viewed – recently have had me identifying with the vampires or the werewolves – how can you not in, for instance, Vampire Diaries? – or in A Taste of Blood Wine? – but here, in this novel, the werewolves and the sorcery surrounding them are depicted as irredeemably evil. And the Inquisition is quite as bad, in its own way: Henri Montguillon, Dominican Prior, is a figure out of my worst nightmares.
In Paris lives Lucrezia de l’Isle, born Lucrezia di Lucca, now a widow with a terrible secret.
And approaching Paris are two brothers from Florence, the elder a banker and investor, the younger in disgrace after getting on the wrong side of the Inquisition at home in Italy. Both are in love with the beautiful Lucrezia – have been since before her father married her off to the wealthy French aristocrat – and both dream that now, this time …
But Lucrezia’s husband is not dead. He is a werewolf, one who retains his human mind but can never resume his human shape – thanks to her intervention when the spell that first changed him into a werewolf was cast.
Highly recommended if you feel at home in medieval Paris – and can imagine the Seine frozen solid, enabling packs of starving wolves, and gigantic werewolves, to hunt unhindered within the walls of the city itself.