Bloodlender, p.9
Bloodlender, page 9
‘She didn’t believe you, did she?’
I whipped around so fast I almost fell. Instinctively, I scanned the playground for the hulking silhouette of the man in the red Toyota. Would he really show himself here, in the middle of a busy neighbourhood in broad daylight? My gaze snagged on a figure standing in the shadows between Mariam’s building and the next. That leather jacket...
My hands curled into fists. ‘What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?’
Jonathan Valvert stepped into the sunlight. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Why?’
I risked a glance at Mariam’s balcony, but Madame Rabbani was gone. The front door stood only a few metres away. I might be able to press the buzzer before he could reach me, but then what? Would Mariam even let me in? With a placating smile, Jonathan settled himself on the low wall bordering the playground and leaned back, hands splayed on the warm concrete.
‘We might be able to help each other,’ he said.
‘What makes you think I need your help?’
He tilted his head and looked at me. My blood snarled back. Setting fire to this nosy journalist would be one way to convince Mariam I was telling the truth.
‘That conversation was private,’ I snapped. ‘You had no right to eavesdrop.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Then what–’
‘I didn’t need to, Sophie. I know what you are.’
My fingers reached for the strap of my bag. I shook my head, wishing I had the courage to take off my long-sleeved jumper, scar be damned. Why did the sun have to be so hot? ‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘Of course, I do,’ Jonathan said. ‘You’re a Bloodlender, like your father.’
There. So casual, like we were talking about my star sign or something. I didn’t even try to hide my shock. My whole body was already shaking beyond control.
His gaze raked over my face. ‘You’ve heard the term before. I wasn’t sure, because of the fire–’
‘Stop.’
‘It’s alright, Sophie–’
‘Stop it!’
He fell silent. I pressed my fingers to my temples and waited for the roaring in my ears to dwindle to a murmur, one eye cracked open so I could watch him.
‘Who are you?’ I asked when my voice returned.
‘A friend.’
‘A Bloodlender?’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘No, but my mother was.’
‘Did she set fire to things too?’
‘No. She knew how to control her powers.’
‘Don’t say that word!’ I folded my arms tight. ‘What I did was an accident. There’s nothing special about me.’
Liar. You always wanted to be different. I willed my mind to shut up, but it carried on regardless. When Papa died, you kept wishing you could disappear into one of your books. You would have given anything for a magic wand to bring him back, remember? I did. I remembered wanting it so much my whole body ached with the injustice. But I wasn’t a child anymore and this... this was no magic wand.
‘Everything is special about you, Sophie,’ Jonathan was saying. ‘But you need someone to guide you.’
‘And I suppose you believe that person is you?’
He shrugged. ‘I thought you might have questions.’
I did. I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start, but this was too weird. Too convenient. ‘Why would you even help me?’
‘I don’t want you to end up hurt.’
‘By hurt, do you mean dead?’
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes.’
A stillness settled over me. A strange relief, to hear the truth offered so bluntly, but also a deep-seated fear that finally dampened the fire in my veins. I couldn’t have looked at Mariam’s building if I’d wanted to. Couldn’t have moved if she’d called to me from her balcony, asking if I needed help.
Jonathan was right. I did need help.
‘There was a man outside my house, the night of the fire,’ I said slowly. ‘I think he’s been following me.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘He didn’t look too friendly.’
‘Was that the first time you saw him?’
‘Yes, but my mum thought there were people watching our house. Some men tried to question her at work. They were asking about me.’
Jonathan pursed his lips. ‘Then it’s worse than I thought. They’ve been keeping tabs on you.’
‘Who?’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you, but not here. Not if you’re being followed. We need to talk somewhere private.’
‘No way.’
‘Sophie–’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you! For all I know, you could be one of them.’
A sudden rumble filled the playground. A couple of boys on skateboards rounded the corner of Mariam’s building, wheels thundering on the concrete. They zigzagged between the swings and climbing frame, passing close enough to make me flinch. One of them glared at Jonathan. He rolled his eyes and pointed to the road. I considered refusing, but then what? I couldn’t stay here indefinitely. As long as we kept within view of the passing cars, I would probably be fine. You could always torch him if you need to.
‘I promise I’m not,’ he said when we reached the pavement. ‘I only want justice. For you and your father.’
‘These people... are they the ones who killed him?’
Jonathan nodded.
‘Then tell me who they are.’
‘You won’t like it.’
I stopped in my tracks and checked the time. ‘You have two minutes until my bus comes to convince me I should even be listening to you. Or were you planning on following me home too?’
‘Of course not.’
I shot him a pointed look. ‘Then tell me. Who are these people and what do they want?’
‘Nothing good.’ Jonathan lowered his voice. ‘The raw power of an unsworn Bloodlender is a rare and dangerous thing. Most kids your age would have learned to control the urges behind their abilities by now.’
I forced a long, steady breath through my nose. ‘Lucky them.’
‘Aside from the fire, have there been any other incidents?’
‘No.’
‘Have you experienced any hallucinations?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Trust me, you’d know. It’s a miracle you made it so far without getting seriously hurt, Sophie, but you’re running out of time.’
A miracle? I thought of Maman, still unconscious in the hospital. What could possibly be worse than that?
‘Okay, but who–’
The approaching bus interrupted my question. When the doors slid open with a hiss, I hesitated. With it being Sunday, there wouldn’t be another bus for at least two hours, and I’d promised the Delvilles I’d be back for lunch. After yesterday’s clandestine visit to the garden, I didn’t want to cause a stir.
‘I’ll be at the Hall des sources every day this week at four o’clock,’ Jonathan said quickly. ‘I’ll wait for one hour. Meet me there when you’re ready to talk.’
I didn’t promise anything. Instead, I got on the bus, found a seat and buried my nose in a book. The words “raw”, “rare” and “dangerous” echoed around my mind. You should go. You should find out what he knows. But what if it was a trap? What if he wanted something I wasn’t prepared to give?
I dug out my phone to text Mariam before I remembered that wasn’t an option. She would tell me I was being naive, letting Jonathan Valvert use Papa’s memory to snare me. She might even say I deserved whatever happened next, for throwing away all common sense and daring to believe there might be magic in my veins.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I stared at the wall of windows and dreary grey panels that made up the façade of Vichy Hospital and readied myself for the familiar smell of disappointment mingled with antiseptic. Tante Adèle had texted to say she was running late. A week ago, I would have waited for her in the car park, but the thought of lingering out in the open made my skin prickle. I was tired of flinching every time a red car drove past.
Instead, I swallowed my fears and took the lift up to the burns unit alone.
The bandages covering most of Maman’s body had been changed recently. Someone had left a cheap pink teddy bear beside her bed, but everything else remained the same since my last visit. The faint rise and fall of my mother’s chest, along with the bleeping of the monitors, were the only signs of life in the room.
‘Oh, Maman,’ I whispered. ‘There’s so much we need to talk about.’
No response. Not even a slight change in her heart rate to show she might be able to hear me. I sat beside her, wishing I could brush the damp hair from her forehead, but the doctors had forbidden us from touching her until her wounds healed.
I leaned in as close as I dared. ‘If you knew what Papa was capable of... what I might be capable of... why didn’t you warn me?’
A pointless question, even if she could speak. Maman hated discussing her decisions. I wondered how long she would have kept avoiding the topic, had those men not followed her to work. If she would ever have cut me at all, or if I would have burst into flames on my own the next time she ended up pushing me too far. It would have happened eventually. You know that. Torturing myself over a different outcome would be pointless.
For the hundredth time, I told her I was sorry. Sorry for what I’d done to her body and to our relationship. Sorry for the danger I would keep putting her in if I didn’t get my act together soon. My thoughts flickered to Jonathan. He should be at the Parc des sources right now, waiting for me. Waiting for nothing.
Coward.
Maman wasn’t the only one I needed to mend things with. I’d tried to talk to Mariam that morning, but she’d barely said hello. Instead of the handful of concise notes she usually took, her pen hadn’t stopped the entire time. She’d left as soon as the bell rang, muttering about chess club.
‘Sorry about that!’
Tante Adèle’s breathless voice dragged me from my thoughts. I stood and kissed her on the cheek.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘No change here.’
My aunt settled into the visitors’ armchair with a grunt. Even with two months to go, she looked ready to pop. ‘I’ll talk to the doctors later. See if there’s any news.’
I nodded, though we both knew there wouldn’t be. We watched Maman’s prone form for all of ten seconds before my patience snapped.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘Did my dad have any enemies?’
Tante Adèle blinked at me. ‘Enemies? Mon Dieu, Sophie! You read too much.’
‘But did he? Any clients who weren’t happy with his work? Anyone who was jealous of what he could do?’
‘What, make nice watches? That’s hardly a reason to hate someone.’
I shot her a look. ‘You think whoever killed him was thinking straight?’
‘Of course not! But the police...’
‘You really believe what they said? About the break-in?’
My aunt’s gaze drifted to the bed. One hand perched on her bump, she reached for Maman with the other, but her fingers stopped short of touching the bandages. ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘I never did. But your mum was in pieces. Discussing murder theories didn’t seem like the best idea.’
‘So who do you think did it?’
‘I don’t know! Can we please not talk about this? You’re stressing me out. It’s bad for the baby.’
‘But–’
‘I’m serious, Sophie. What’s brought this on? You’re supposed to be resting. Are the Delvilles asking questions?’
‘The Delvilles have nothing to do with it.’
Tante Adèle’s expression softened. ‘I’m sorry. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you. It’s normal to be thinking about the past, when she’s...’
We stared at my mother, so still beside the faint movements of her chest.
‘I’m trying to get a better sense of who Papa was,’ I said. ‘If Maman... if she doesn’t wake up...’ I let the words hang between us and hoped I hadn’t doomed my mother by speaking them aloud.
My aunt swallowed hard. ‘I see. What do you want to know?’
‘Everything. Did he ever tell you about his past? Before he married Maman?’
‘Not a lot. You know he was born in Switzerland. Jeanne once told me he’d left in a hurry, but she didn’t say why. He had an accent when I first met him, but it kind of disappeared... or maybe I got used to it.’ She gave her belly an affectionate rub. ‘A watchmaker from Switzerland. He sounds like a real cliché.’
I smiled faintly. ‘When you put it like that...’
‘He showed me a piece his father had made, once. Claimed it was worth more than your house, but I think he was joking.’
What if he wasn’t? I thought about Gauthier’s watch tucked away in my bedside table. I’d felt too shaken by my conversation with Jonathan to look at it properly yesterday.
‘You have a grandmother, you know,’ Tante Adèle added. ‘In Switzerland.’
I looked up, stunned. Papa had rarely talked about his family. On the few occasions he’d mentioned them, I’d got the impression they were all dead. Warmth flared in my chest. Not the angry heat I’d come to recognise and dread, but a small flicker of hope. I might not have to rely on Jonathan for answers after all.
‘She’s still alive?’
‘I think so,’ Tante Adèle said. ‘Your mum wrote to her, after your father died.’
‘What happened?’
‘She wrote back, but Jeanne wouldn’t tell me what was in the letter. She...’
‘What?’
‘She said some stones were better left unturned.’
The warmth vanished. Papa had died six years ago. If my grandmother had something to share with me about Bloodlending, she would have got in touch by now. Either she didn’t know, or she didn’t care.
‘Do you know if Maman kept that letter?’
It was a stretch, but Tante Adèle nodded. ‘I think so. She didn’t want to show you at the time, in case it upset you, but she told me you’d have questions one day. About your father’s family. I don’t know why she said that, but she seemed sure of it.’
‘Well, I’m asking now. Do you know where the letter is?’
My aunt shook her head. ‘It’ll be in her files, but those are a mess. The firemen moved everything they could save to your attic.’ She read the disappointment on my face and reached for my hand. ‘You’ll have to wait. Until the insurance sorts out the paperwork and we can get some workmen in, it’s not safe to go back.’
‘But–’
‘I mean it, Sophie. This grandmother of yours is not worth getting hurt over.’
I pursed my lips.
Tante Adèle gave me a pointed look. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything rash. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into trouble.’
Too late for that, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. After what had happened with Mariam, I couldn’t alienate the only other person who cared what would happen to me if Maman didn’t pull through. I closed my eyes and listened to my mother’s steady breathing. Not for the first time, I wished she were at home, asleep in her own bed.
‘I promise,’ I said to Tante Adèle.
Later that evening, with a belly full of Ana Luísa’s bacalhau, I pulled out Rodolphe’s diary and settled into bed. I needed something to channel my thoughts, and there was always the off-chance the gardener might mention Bloodlending again.
I flicked through more entries on the various flowers and plants Rodolphe had ordered from all over Europe and beyond. A year passed, during which Rosabelle slowly warmed to her new home, even though she missed Paris. I couldn’t blame her. If Rodolphe spent as much time talking about the subtle intricacies of his pet project as he did writing about them, no wonder the poor woman longed for a break. He made no further reference to his powers.
Then, just as I was about to give up, the tone of the entries changed. Descriptions of the garden grew few and far between. Rodolphe’s preoccupations shifted and he seemed to spend more time indoors. Tired of searching, I picked an entry at random.
22 April 1671,
It is fortunate I have come to trust Monsieur Martin almost as much as I did Maître LeNôtre at Versailles. Poor man – I have given him a veritable mountain of tasks to carry out before the spring is fully here. The marble altar has arrived from Carrara at last. I have ordered the construction of an altar of worship, at the heart of my beloved garden. Once the work is completed, I shall seal it myself to protect it from prying eyes and dedicate it to my Masters, lest they resent me for my reduced offerings these past months. More than ever, I find myself in need of their blessings.
I would not normally neglect them so, but Rosabelle’s sudden penchant for fainting spells keeps me constantly by her side. Who would think the age-old burden of pregnancy could cause such turmoil! Had I known, I might not have visited her so fervently at night. I worry she might fall and hurt herself and the babe, and thus have tethered myself to her side.
Anne, her maid, tells me it is not my place to follow my wife around like a fearful pup, but I will not be turned away. Every time I catch sight of the faint swell of Rosa’s belly, I cannot help but smile at the joys to come. She cares not for pregnancy – indeed, she is sick almost every day – but I have heard women often change their mind in the months after birth. I dare hope it will be so, as I would not wish my little son or daughter to want for playmates. The garden I have brought to life over the last year is not meant for a lone child. Gods willing, it shall be overtaken by a horde of boys and girls, so long as they take care not to trample my work. It will be my duty and delight to teach them all about the plants and creatures that dwell there.
I am in equal parts anxious and excited to know whether the little one growing in Rosa’s belly will have anything of my mother’s gift. I have shared my news with my parents, who live still in Saint-Germain, and they are delighted. They will travel to Les Rosiers when the babe is born and spend some weeks with us. My mother informs me we cannot presume my son’s abilities for the Old Ways until he reaches the cusp of adulthood and takes the Oath, but I wish to test him as early as possible. She replied that the poor lamb will scarce know what to do with any flower I present to him, save perhaps eat it, but I am determined to try.
