Bloodlender, p.10
Bloodlender, page 10
Until then, I shall devote my daily prayers to Epona and focus my efforts on Rosabelle’s well-being. Her health and the baby’s matter most, and it is my duty to transform myself into the loving and doting mentor my progeny deserves –
I was so engrossed in Rodolphe’s news I didn’t pay attention to the knock on the bedroom door. A second knock, much louder, almost made me drop the diary. I scrambled to hide it under my pillow.
‘Yes?’
The door slid open and Gauthier peered in. ‘See what I did there?’
I blinked at him, conscious of the heat in my face.
‘I knocked!’ He grinned and splayed his arms. ‘Happy?’
I rolled my eyes and pulled the sheets over my body. A pointless gesture – he’d seen my pyjamas before – but it felt like the right thing to do. Perhaps I should go shopping after school one day. Buy something that didn’t have kittens or flowers all over it. Why do you care so much?
‘Well done for mastering the basics of human decency,’ I said. ‘Would you like a trophy for that?’
He ignored me and settled on the end of the bed. My gaze darted to the embroidery on Mathilde Delville’s duvet cover and stayed there. Anything to avoid looking him straight in the eye.
‘How are you feeling today?’ I asked.
‘Not too bad. I think my body’s getting used to the new meds. I’m going to ask Mum if I can go for a walk tomorrow.’
‘What about your allergies?’
‘I don’t care about getting a runny nose. I haven’t been outside in weeks.’
A warning bell chimed deep inside me. ‘But what if it’s not just a runny nose? What if it’s worse than that?’
‘Here I was, hoping you’d be on my side.’
‘I am on your side.’ More than you could know. ‘I just... I don’t want you to get hurt.’
I braced myself for laughter, mockery, anything, but Gauthier stayed silent. When I looked up, I caught him watching me with an expression I’d never seen before. Curiosity, mingled with something else that made my stomach flip. Don’t do this, Sophie. You can’t afford to get attached! I pushed the thought aside. Threatening Alain had seemed easy – a rush of raw determination that left me feeling giddy and daring – but now I wasn’t so sure. With Gauthier sitting inches away from me, I was starting to understand the Delvilles’ predicament. What was better? Truth or kindness?
‘I’ll be fine,’ Gauthier said before I could speak. ‘I beat it before. I can do it again.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Do you know what helped the first time?’
‘One of the dozens of treatments they put me through, I guess? I don’t remember. One day I was sick, and then...’ He frowned. ‘There was a man. He must have been a doctor. I think he helped me, and the next thing we knew, the sickness was gone.’
‘Completely?’
‘Mm.’
He stared into space. My eyes followed the curve of his lips, slightly pursed, and the sharp angle of his jaw. Almost but not quite a man. Would the illness vanish if he made it to adulthood? None of the other sick kids had lasted this long. Then again, none of them had ever recovered and relapsed, either.
‘There must be a way,’ I muttered. ‘To replicate what was done last time.’
‘I’m sure my parents already thought of that.’
I was sure they had too, but this feeling of helplessness was maddening. Like someone had dropped me in my father’s workshop right before his murder without telling me how to stop it.
‘Don’t torture yourself over it,’ Gauthier said. ‘We just have to wait.’
For what? For you to die? I didn’t want to do that. I barely knew him – hardly even liked him most of the time – but this was becoming personal.
‘I meant what I said the other night, by the way,’ he continued. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance when you got here. We all have our problems and I shouldn’t have made fun of yours.’
‘Is this a ploy to get me to talk?’
‘No. But I promise I can keep my mouth shut long enough to listen, if you need to.’
I snorted.
‘I’m serious!’
‘Okay,’ I said, trying not to laugh at the earnestness on his face. ‘I’ll bear that in mind for my next unwanted pregnancy.’
Gauthier’s brows shot up before he saw the smirk on my face and groaned. ‘I was joking about that.’
‘So am I.’
‘So there’s no boyfriend?’
My thoughts flitted to Eric but didn’t linger. ‘No.’
‘Good.’
I did a double-take. What was that supposed to mean? ‘Er–’
‘You’d be wasting your time on those idiots at school,’ Gauthier said lightly.
‘You don’t know them.’
‘No, but I’m willing to bet anything they couldn’t keep up with you if they tried.’
My face flooded with heat. He wasn’t flirting. He couldn’t be. Guys like Gauthier Delville didn’t flirt with girls like me. I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing or competitive heli-skiing or picking the perfect Louis Vuitton handbag. When I risked a glance at him, his expression was serious, but it was impossible to tell with him. And if I did or said the wrong thing, then–
‘I should let you sleep,’ he said before I could ruin the moment. ‘Time to get strapped in for the night. I’ll let you know how my walk goes.’
‘Be careful, okay?’
He nodded and stood, his legs shaking from the effort. I watched him leave, torn between guilt and something else. A strange kind of buoyancy that refused to disappear, no matter how hard I yelled at myself to forget about it. For the first time in weeks, I felt certain the heat in my veins had nothing to do with my temper. I settled under the covers and turned the light off.
Several hours later I was still awake, staring at the shadows on the canopy above.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Sophie!’ Mariam hissed when the bell rang at the end of French. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking notes.’
‘You missed two questions.’
‘Hm.’
Her tongue clicked. ‘Fayol looked ready to explode.’
I followed her gaze to the front of the class, where Monsieur Fayol was packing up for lunch. He caught me looking and scowled. I tensed, waiting for him to call me over, but he shook his head and left. Phew.
‘Why do you care?’ I asked Mariam. ‘I thought you weren’t talking to me.’
She bristled and sighed. ‘No, I... no. Of course, I’m talking to you.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m going to need a bit of time, that’s all.’
I closed the notebook I’d been doodling in and shoved it in my bag. I wanted to ask how much time and whether this meant she was willing to believe me, but I didn’t want to start a fight. School was hard enough on the best of days. I didn’t want to face it without my best friend. Instead, I followed her to the cafeteria in silence. Mariam fiddled with the cap of her water bottle while I unwrapped the cheese sandwich Ana Luísa had made for me.
‘Want some?’ I offered when the tension grew unbearable.
She shook her head. ‘Ramadan doesn’t end until the twenty-fourth. Besides, I don’t know how you can stand to eat right now.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re floundering, Soph. You’ve been back at school for three days and it’s like you’re not even interested in trying. If you don’t start revising–’
‘Woah, calm down, Hermione Granger.’
Mariam glared at me. ‘I’m serious. You can’t let yourself fall apart because of what happened to your mum.’
‘Fall apart?’ I raised a brow. ‘Is that what you think this is?’
‘What else?’ Her gaze shifted to the surface of the table, where dozens of students had scratched a patchwork of names and obscenities. ‘Honestly, Sophie. The stuff you said the other day–’
‘Forget it.’
‘How am I supposed to do that?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Blood magic? Seriously? You have to admit it sounds insane.’
I washed down a bite of sandwich with some Coke. ‘It does. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
Clearly not the answer Mariam wanted, but it was all she was going to get. If she refused to give me the benefit of the doubt, fine. I had other options. I could go see Jonathan today if I wanted. Threaten him with fire if he refused to talk. And if he still didn’t deliver, I could try to find my grandmother. What Tante Adèle didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
‘I promise I’ll pay more attention in class,’ I told Mariam.
‘I hope so. We’ve got–’
‘–one year left until the Bac, I know.’
She looked annoyed for a second, but I forced a grin onto my face. The corner of her mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile. It was painful to watch, knowing neither of us felt like laughing.
‘Library?’ she asked.
‘Where else?’
Her voice filled with relief. ‘Let’s get you started with my notes on Nietzsche for next week’s test. We can also go over Madame Bovary if there’s time–’
I let her drone on all the way to the library. With the nice weather, most of the tables were free. Once my favourite place in the whole school – our sanctuary from taunting comments and condescending looks – the room felt different today. Cold and impersonal, compared to the smaller library at Les Rosiers. As if the Delvilles’ books had managed to retain their souls, whereas these had wandered off somewhere else, banished by the rough handling of countless teenagers. I left Mariam to set up and approached the front desk.
Madame Franklin, the school librarian, looked up from her computer. ‘Sophie! Lovely to have you back. Is there anything I can help you with today?’
Mariam had sent me to retrieve a couple of books on existentialism that were kept in the archives. I gave the titles, but before Madame Franklin could disappear into the back room, I leaned in and lowered my voice.
‘Do you have any books on Celtic mythology?’
The librarian’s eyes brightened. ‘A few. I’ll see what’s in.’
My fingers drummed on the smooth wood of the desk while I waited. After Gauthier’s visit, I’d done a quick search for “Borvo” and “Epona” – both mentioned by Rodolphe – and found a list of Celtic deities revered in ancient Gaul. A dozen names kept reappearing, though certain websites claimed there had been many more, their identities erased by the invasion of the Roman Empire. The best online source listed Borvo as the god of springs and Epona as the goddess of fertility. I recognised the names Toutatis, Belenus and Belisama from my old Astérix comics, but I couldn’t fathom why Rodolphe Delville, a seventeenth-century royal gardener whose king was a devout Catholic, would risk his life and reputation by worshipping a bunch of half-forgotten gods.
Unless he believed those same gods had granted him his powers. In which case he was either madder than I’d feared or there was a whole other dimension to Bloodlending I didn’t know about.
The possibilities made my mind ache.
‘This should be enough to keep you busy,’ Madame Franklin said when she returned, a pile of heavy tomes in her arms. ‘It’s a fascinating subject.’ She touched the book at the top of the pile. ‘This one has a section on Celtic worship in the Auvergne, if I remember correctly. Local history’s one of my hobbies.’
‘Really?’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mariam tap her watch and frown. ‘This might sound random, but do you know anything about the history of the Delville family?’
‘Alain Delville? The banker?’
I nodded.
‘Not a lot.’ Madame Franklin shot me a quizzical look. ‘I know their house was built at the start of the seventeenth century, but the family didn’t acquire it until the 1670s. Why the sudden interest?’
‘I’m staying with them for a while. Les Rosiers seems like the kind of place people would write about.’
The librarian’s smile faltered. ‘Madame Galliani told us what happened with your mother.’
I stifled a sigh. How many times would I have to go through this?
‘I’m glad you’ve found yourself a project,’ Madame Franklin added quickly. ‘Though I doubt we have anything about the Delvilles here. I do know they’ve had their fair share of hardships, over the years.’
‘Oh?’ Alain had given me the impression the children’s deaths weren’t common knowledge.
‘Financially speaking,’ the librarian said. ‘The estate’s been up for sale for as long as I can remember, but they don’t seem to have found a buyer for it. Shame, but I expect they’re asking too much. The costs of the upkeep alone must be enormous.’
Interesting. None of the Delvilles had mentioned anything about selling. ‘I guess,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your help.’
Armed with the pile of books, I returned to the table where Mariam had immersed herself in the day’s homework, half a page already covered in her familiar scrawl.
She raised her head. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Just chatting.’ I opened the first book on Celtic mythology, Religious Rites and Rituals in Ancient Gaul.
Mariam frowned at the title. ‘That’s not on the reading list for History. We’re doing the Spanish Inquisition, remember?’
‘I know. I only need five minutes.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Don’t come crying to me if you f–’
‘Mar!’
‘-ail. I’m just saying.’
Ignoring her, I skimmed the introduction. Celtic folklore was something I’d always associated with Brittany and Ireland, but according to the text, Druids had practised their art all over the continent, some well beyond the advent of Christianity. Nowadays, worshippers were often mistakenly categorised under the New Age movement because of their close ties with nature.
Conscious our lunch break was almost over and Mariam’s patience was wearing thin, I turned to the index at the back of the book, where I found several entries listed under “blood”. Another quick search for “Auvergne”, “Allier” and “Vichy” turned up two coinciding matches. I turned to the first.
While there are no official records of sacrifices such as the threefold death being performed in the Auvergne, some surviving sources mention blood ceremonies carried out by local Druids to seek favour with the gods. As in other parts of Ancient Gaul, Druids would dedicate themselves to the gods in exchange for “blood gifts”. They believed these gifts would grant them supernatural abilities and even immortality, rendering them powerful enough to resist the invasion of the Roman Empire.
Rodolphe didn’t seem to believe himself immortal, but the ability to control nature would come in handy against an attacker. I found the second match in a section about worship in the Vichy region.
Several archaeological digs have unearthed evidence that tribes living along the Flumen Elaver (River Allier) worshipped Borvo, the god of springs, long before Roman troupes settled there in 52 BC to found what would eventually become Vippiacus (Vichy). Pagan rites are rumoured to have continued in the region long after the Roman invasion, some as late as the twelfth century. A seventh-century map (see image) denotes one such place of worship at the heart of what is now known to locals as Vernet Forest. In the mid-1990s, fragments from several sacrificial blades were discovered in the forest by a group of amateur metal prospectors. Further examination revealed traces of human blood on at least three of the pieces.
The book went on to describe the ensuing battle between local archaeologists and city officials for a permit to dig further. I flipped to the front and noted the date of publication: 2003. Not that I needed the confirmation. Vernet Forest had never been dug up.
How many times had Papa and I walked those narrow paths when I was little? Vernet Forest was one of his favourite places to wander after a week of hard work. He would point out the different species of trees to me until I grew bored and skipped ahead. The forest was never deserted – we crossed paths with families and couples walking their dogs all the time – yet I remembered feeling utterly at one with nature, as if I’d found a corner of the world to call my own.
My mother never joined us on those walks. When I’d suggested visiting the forest after Papa’s death, she’d dismissed the idea and forbidden me from going on my own. I didn’t question her decision. We were both drowning in pain. A few odd rules to follow seemed like a reasonable request, given the situation.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Mariam muttered, dragging me from my thoughts. ‘Can’t he see we’re busy?’
I looked up. Eric stood by the English section, a copy of the complete works of William Shakespeare in his hand. The moment our eyes met, he headed towards me.
‘Smooth,’ Mariam scoffed. ‘He’s been moping over you for weeks, by the way.’
‘What?’
‘He freaked out when Madame Galliani told us about the fire. He kept trying to talk to me while you were off school.’
‘He never texted me.’
‘That’s because I told him not to.’
‘Mar! What–’
My mouth clamped shut as Eric approached. A tangle of confusion knotted my stomach. His concern should have filled me with joy, but when I pictured myself holding his hand or kissing him in a darkened cinema, all I could hear was Gauthier’s voice, telling me how the boys at school would never be able to keep up.
‘Hey, Sophie,’ Eric said lightly. ‘What’s up? I was wondering–’
‘She can’t,’ Mariam cut in. ‘She’s got homework.’
He blinked at her. ‘Sorry, but I wasn’t asking you.’
‘Final exams start next week. From what I’ve heard, you could use the extra study time.’
