Bloodlender, p.17
Bloodlender, page 17
Not the monster who could burn down his house with a single flare of rage.
You’re going to ruin it. You’re going to open your mouth and wreck– My lips parted, but the words died in my throat. His face was moving towards mine, his eyes searching for permission. For a connection I craved and feared all at once. A point of no return. Too many feelings, and that growing warmth in the pit of my stomach, whispering up my veins–
A sharp knock split the silence between us.
The door opened. Gauthier gripped my hand, but I sprang back, cheeks flushed and heart pounding. If Béatrice saw–
‘Oh,’ a female voice said. ‘You’ve got company.’
Not Béatrice. A younger version of her, dressed head to toe in the latest fashion, blonde hair falling in flawless waves. I recognised the young woman instantly from the photographs I’d seen around the house. Before either of us could speak, she crossed the room and kissed Gauthier on the cheek.
‘You could have waited outside,’ he muttered.
‘And you could at least pretend to be happy to see me.’
Mathilde Delville pursed her lips, which made her look even more like her mother. She took in my old jeans and unkempt hair in a split-second evaluation. I braced myself for a sneer, but her expression remained carefully neutral. I couldn’t decide which was worse.
‘You’re the one staying in my room. Sophie, right?’
I nodded.
Mathilde glanced at Gauthier. ‘Glad to see you’re still making friends.’ She stretched the word out in a way that made me squirm.
‘Do you need it back?’ I blurted. ‘Your room?’
Her gaze softened a fraction. ‘No need. I’m only staying for one night.’
‘What about Madeleine?’ Gauthier asked.
Mathilde shook her head and Gauthier’s shoulders sagged. I cleared my throat and climbed off the bed. I’d seen enough Delville family drama to last me a lifetime. The reasons behind Madeleine’s absence were none of my business.
Gauthier’s hand tightened around mine. ‘Don’t go.’
‘But–’
‘Stay,’ Mathilde said. ‘We’ll catch up over dinner. Mum said to tell you it’ll be ready in half an hour.’ She threw us a pointed look. ‘Don’t be late.’
I tried not to stare as she shut the door behind her. A rush of air left my lungs, my cheeks burning like someone had lit a candle inside my skull.
‘That was embarrassing.’
Gauthier snorted. ‘What, Mathilde? She’s harmless.’
‘She’s beautiful.’
‘So are you.’
The flames in my face roared. All over my body, my skin prickled and itched. If Gauthier tried to touch me again... I closed my eyes and counted my breaths. Now was not the time to discover if my blood reacted to more than fear and anger.
‘I’m going to go lay the table,’ I said.
‘We have thirty minutes. Ana Luísa–’
‘–has enough work to do already.’
Gauthier stared at me. ‘But I just got home. I wanted to spend time with you.’
‘Later,’ I mumbled. ‘When you’ve had some rest.’
I thought I’d chosen my words with care, but Gauthier flinched. A shadow passed over his face and he shifted on the bed. ‘You’re right,’ he said before I could apologise. ‘I’m exhausted. See you at dinner.’
When the food was ready, Alain helped Gauthier down the stairs and into the wheelchair the Delvilles had rented. Béatrice fussed over her son’s every movement while Mathilde, Ana Luísa and I watched from the entrance to the dining room. Gauthier scowled the entire time, his gaze fixed on a spot in mid-air. He pretended not to see me when Béatrice wheeled him to the space at the head of the table.
My gut churned like a pit of molten lava. I wanted to reach out and touch his arm, explain I didn’t mean to hurt him, but Mathilde was watching. In her presence, everything became a challenge. Pulling my chair out without scraping the floor. Pouring water into my glass. Making the right amount of small talk – how to seem smart but not overeager. She’s his sister, not his ex! But my nerves refused to listen. If Mariam were here, she’d be laughing her head off.
‘What’s this?’ Gauthier said when he saw the feast laid out in front of him.
Béatrice beamed. ‘With Mathilde home, we thought we’d celebrate your birthday.’
‘My birthday’s not for three weeks.’
‘So? We’re just happy to have you home.’ Béatrice lifted the lid off a large covered dish. ‘I made your favourite, mon cœur. With peas from the garden.’
I wondered if they were the ones I’d picked, but thought it best not to ask. The less I opened my mouth, the better.
Gauthier glared at the vibrant green soup. ‘Don’t lie. Ana Luísa made it.’
Alain’s spoon clattered to the table. ‘Gauthier!’
At the opposite end of the table, Ana Luísa opened her mouth, ready to deny everything, but Gauthier silenced her with a look. ‘Thanks for the soup, Ana Luísa,’ he said, ‘but I’m not hungry tonight.’
He slouched in the wheelchair, arms crossed over his chest. Béatrice stared at her hands. I half expected her to scold Gauthier for his rudeness, but she didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything, I realised, without shattering the illusion of cheerful calm she’d tried so hard to create. I almost felt sorry for her.
‘I’ll have some.’ Mathilde grabbed the dish and helped herself to a generous portion. ‘Sophie?’
‘Oh, n–’ I faltered. Everyone was looking at me. Everyone except Gauthier, whose attention had shifted to the curtains. ‘Okay then.’
Merde. I accepted the dish and poked at the contents with the ladle. Merde, merde, merde. My throat tightened at the sight of the lumpy green liquid. No getting out of this one. Not when Mathilde was smiling so sweetly, as if I’d helped her save a bunch of kittens from certain starvation.
I ladled the smallest amount I could get away with into my bowl and passed the dish on to Alain.
‘How’s Paris?’ he asked Mathilde. ‘Any plans for the summer?’
‘No holidays this year. My internship starts on Thursday.’
‘With the research lab?’
Mathilde nodded. ‘It happened very fast. They were waiting for funding. You know how it goes.’
‘That’s wonderful, ma chérie,’ Béatrice said. ‘They’re lucky to have you.’
‘What are you studying?’ I asked, emboldened by the change in conversation.
‘Molecular biology.’ Mathilde sipped her soup with practised delicacy. ‘I’ll be starting my doctorate in September.’
Of course. I almost wished I hadn’t asked. Was there anything Mathilde Delville couldn’t do? I toyed with my spoon, wondering if she’d noticed I wasn’t eating.
‘Why bother?’ Gauthier interjected. ‘You’ll be too late to save me.’
Mathilde rolled her eyes, but a vein twitched in her temple. ‘What a shame.’
‘That’s enough!’ Alain banged the table with his fist. ‘What is wrong with you two?’
‘He’s being a jerk!’
‘She’s only here because–’
‘STOP!’ Béatrice’s voice echoed around the room. ‘Stop. Please.’ She hid her face in her hands. ‘This wasn’t what I wanted. I–’
‘I’m going to bed.’ Gauthier stood on shaking legs. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he snapped when Alain reached for the wheelchair, ‘and don’t you dare follow me. Any of you.’
That last one was for me, I realised when I looked down and noticed I was halfway out of my chair. I sank back and grabbed my spoon. Ate a mouthful without thinking, just to avoid watching Gauthier’s painful exit.
An explosion of flavour burst across my tongue.
My heart almost stopped. I stared at the soup, barely aware of the angry roar of chatter around the rest of the table. Woah. I took another spoonful and held the liquid in my mouth. How could anyone achieve this kind of depth with a bunch of vegetables? The soup seemed to come alive – there was no other word for it – between the layer of velvety creaminess and the pleasant undertone of mint. A perfect green buzz, singing against my palate.
The pure taste of spring.
‘Sophie, I’m so sorry.’ Alain’s hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my trance. ‘You must be horrified.’
Mathilde glared at him from across the table. ‘What did you expect? Gauthier’s not stupid. He knows why I’m here.’
‘Don’t talk to your father like that,’ Béatrice said, her voice hollow. ‘This might be the last time–’
‘Don’t.’ Mathilde shook her head. ‘Don’t say it.’
Glum silence pervaded the room. Ana Luísa stroked the golden crucifix around her neck and muttered a prayer under her breath. I desperately wanted to get back to my soup – craved another taste of it like I’d never craved anything in my life – but no one was touching their food. I glanced at a serving platter full of steamed carrots and felt my mouth water. Why wasn’t anybody eating?
‘There goes my appetite,’ Béatrice muttered. ‘I think we’d better call it a night. Ana Luísa, will you help me with the leftovers?’
‘Yes, Madame Delville.’
My fingers tightened around the rim of my bowl. Would it be rude to take some food with me? Mathilde would never eat in her room, but I wasn’t Mathilde. I would never be, even if I changed everything about–
A razor-sharp pain sliced through my stomach.
I doubled over and gripped the edge of the table, mouth frozen in a circle. Sweat broke out on my brow and trickled down my temple. The pain lasted only for a few seconds, but I emerged from it feeling like I’d been kicked in the belly with a steel-capped boot.
‘Are you okay, Sophie?’ Mathilde leaned forward in her seat. ‘You look pale.’
‘My stomach hurts.’
Béatrice started to roll her eyes, but stopped when she saw my face. I gasped and bit my lip against a second wave of agony, longer and more powerful than the last. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.
‘Do you want to go upstairs?’ Alain stood and offered me his arm. ‘You really don’t look well.’
I tried to refuse, but I couldn’t break through the pain and make sense of the jumble of thoughts bouncing around my head. Was it the soup? I glanced at Mathilde to see if she was suffering too, but she merely looked concerned.
‘Dad’s right,’ she said. ‘You should go lie down.’
My teeth ground together as Alain escorted me out of the dining room. I vaguely wondered if I should be worried about the blood on my lips, but the pain left no room inside my body for any kind of emotion.
‘Do you want me to call an ambulance?’ he asked when we reached the top of the stairs.
I shook my head and paused to catch my breath. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘If you’re sure...’ He glanced in the direction of Gauthier’s room. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that unpleasantness, earlier. We’re all a bit of a mess.’
‘It’s fine.’
It would be, if I could get to my bed and pass out in peace, but Alain leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry to do this when you’re feeling sick, but I have to ask. Did you use the blood I gave you? Did you fix the watch?’
I gaped at him. Was he serious?
His grip tightened on my arm. ‘But you’re close, aren’t you? There’s still hope?’
Another surge of pain threatened to topple me. Before I knew it, I was nodding to get him to back off.
‘Thank you,’ he said, letting go of me. ‘We’re so grateful, we really are. Make sure you get some rest now, and call us if you need anything.’
Stomach roiling, I stumbled into my room and shut the door behind me. The image of Ana Luísa’s golden crucifix, lit by an internal fire, added itself to the delirium already whirling in my head. If Hell does exist, I managed to think as I ran for the bathroom, you’re going straight there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Poison.
The word pervaded my mind sometime in the early hours of the morning. I lay hunched on the floor, halfway between the bathroom and my bed. I’d stopped throwing up a while ago, but my head spun whenever I moved. My stomach ached as if a giant, invisible hand had squeezed and wrung it out.
If someone tried to poison you, then who?
I considered the options. Angry as he may be, I felt sure Gauthier would never hurt me that way. Neither would Alain – at least not while he thought I might be able to save his son. I swallowed hard, winced at the pain in my throat, and tried to focus. Ana Luísa had made the soup, but she’d never shown any animosity towards me. She sometimes felt like my only ally at Les Rosiers – the one other person who saw through the Delvilles’ veneer and could laugh at their quirks. That left Béatrice and Mathilde. Unless Mathilde was a closet psychopath, only Béatrice had a valid reason to wish me harm.
Payback for the rose.
A thump sounded close by. Someone was knocking. I groaned and pushed myself into an upright position, expecting Ana Luísa with some Buscopan, but it was Mathilde who crept in and shut the door behind her. She took in my prone form, knelt beside me and reached for my burning cheek.
‘You’re alive,’ she whispered.
It hurt to talk, but I had to say something. ‘You seem surprised.’
Mathilde handed me a glass of water. When I didn’t move, she took a small sip. ‘It’s fine, see? Drink.’
‘No thanks.’
‘You’re dehydrated, Sophie. You need your strength back.’
‘What, so one of you can try to kill me again?’
I waited for her to deny it. She did shake her head, but the expression on her dainty face remained sombre. Resigned. Apologetic, almost. Real fear filled my gut. I’d mostly been speculating about the poison because it offered something other than Gauthier’s sudden mood change to obsess over. That, and the watch.
‘I don’t think anyone’s trying to kill you,’ Mathilde said slowly.
Sarcasm bled into my voice. ‘Oh? Well, that’s a relief–’
‘–but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t trying to hurt you.’
We stared at each other. In the pale morning light, Mathilde’s skin looked drained, as if she hadn’t slept any more than I had. Fingers trembling, I raised the glass to my lips and drank.
‘Why would you think that?’ I asked when I was done.
She glanced towards the door. ‘I’ve seen these symptoms before.’
‘Where?’
‘Right here, in this house.’
‘Okay, but–’
‘Let me see your eyes.’ She leaned in close. Her breath didn’t smell too fresh, either, and I felt stupid for letting her looks intimidate me. ‘Your pupils are dilated,’ she muttered. ‘That doesn’t happen with a random stomach bug.’
‘Why would anyone want to hurt me?’
I kept the question neutral. A test, to see if Béatrice had told her about the rose, or if Alain had mentioned the watch. I doubted Mathilde knew anything about Bloodlending – if she did, she hid it well – but the incident in Vernet Forest had made me cautious.
‘They might, if they thought you had something they needed.’
My mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
‘Look,’ she said quickly, ‘I could be wrong. It might be a coincidence, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you to watch your back, just in case.’
A bell rang in the bowels of the house, calling us to breakfast. Eating was the last thing on my mind, but I let Mathilde help me to my feet. If Alain or Béatrice had slipped something into my food, then I needed to show up and act normal. Let them think they couldn’t faze me.
‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I said. ‘I need to talk to Gauthier first.’
‘You care about my brother, don’t you?’
I nodded.
‘He’s a good kid, even if he doesn’t always act like it.’ Mathilde sighed. ‘Under better circumstances, I would tell you to go for it, but now...’ She blinked and rubbed her eyes. ‘My parents tend to go a little crazy where Gauthier’s concerned. I talked to my dad last night. He seems convinced some sort of miracle’s going to happen.’
I gulped. ‘It could, couldn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t count on it. There’s a reason why our sister, Madeleine, won’t come and say goodbye. Not because she’s afraid of losing Gauthier – she’s made her peace with that – but because she can’t bear to watch our parents fall apart again.’
I didn’t know what to say. Whenever I thought about Gauthier dying – the actual reality of him not being there anymore – my mind went into lockdown. A brain glitch of sorts, designed to stop me from spiralling into despair. The same with my mother. The idea of leaving her, when every extra day she spent unconscious made it less likely she would ever wake up, made me nauseous. And yet...
You can’t avoid it forever, my conscience whispered. You can kid yourself that running away and taking the Oath will help them, but you know deep down you’ll never make it back in time. You blew your chance. He’s going to die, Sophie, and he’s going to die because of you.
‘I would leave, if I were you,’ Mathilde said. ‘Before he fades and the situation gets out of hand. It’s just a hunch, but I’m rarely wrong about these things. For whatever it’s worth.’
She gave me a tight smile and walked away before I could decide whether to argue or thank her. I watched her head downstairs, her crown of golden hair catching the light as she passed under Rodolphe’s portrait. Once she was gone, I turned towards Gauthier’s room. My nerves coiled in protest, even as my blood started to hum. Coward. Crossing the short distance should have been easy, but my feet dragged beneath me and my hand shook when I rapped it against the door.
No one answered.
I thought about giving up – maybe the Delvilles hadn’t unlocked the door yet – but something rooted me in place. The need to apologise. A desire to come clean, perhaps, but also a selfish longing for human contact with someone who wanted me for me. Not for my powers. Not for my blood. Just for me.
