The Lost Girl of Avignon

"I can't," I said. "I love this, but even I've had enough now."

"Oh thank God," Sophie whispered. She groaned and leaned back. "I've been pretending for the last thirty minutes at least."

She grinned at me.

"You would make a terrible card player," I said. I glanced away for safety; she had a smile that shone from deep inside her and it was far too easy to lose myself in it.

"How busy are you really, right now?" she said.

"Why?"

"Because I'd kill for a coffee, and... well, there's a nice place just outside the gates. Can I... offer you a coffee, Miss Devereux?"

"You really should just call me Annemarie, Sophie."

"Well... if you insist," she said, eyes twinkling.

I flushed again. She was so profoundly unsettling.

"I... insist."

And she smiled that smile again.

I sighed and gathered my things. I squinted up at the windows. The sun was low enough that I could risk a brief exposure...

So I walked down the stairs with her at my side and put the little "The Librarian is OUT" sign on my table.

She kept close beside me on our way to the gates. Her arm bumped mine several times; neither of us made any attempt to move any further away. Our gaits synchronized, and my breathing slowed to match hers. I shot her a curious glance or two, and was pretty sure I caught her doing the same.

The wind had freshened; as we rounded a corner a gust caught us. I squawked, turned my back, and captured my hair with my scarf.

"You are so stylish," she said, grinning at me as I struggled to knot the fabric under my chin. "And you have the most wonderful hair," she added.

"It is impossible," I sighed. "Yours is just so much more practical. But... I would just look like a convict. Not like you; you have such sculpted features..."

I flushed again, tripped over my words.

She smiled gently.

"My mother had a heart attack the first time I cut it like this," she said.

Her smile became more wistful.

"But why? Was it... too much? Too different?"

"More like the... final nail on the coffin of her hopes on any grandchildren from me. My brothers will have to step up. "

"Oh? Oh. Oh..."

She laughed softly. "Yes. That was a... fun conversation."

I caught myself staring up at her. Her divine eyes, her small, neat nose...

Oh to have a woman like her...

Then I forced myself to look away.

"And you?" she said, softly.

"And me?" I said, pretending ignorance.

"Do you have someone? A man, perhaps? Or is it men?" she added, eyes dancing.

"No men," I said, vehemently.

"A woman then?"

"No women either," I insisted, flushing.

"That is a shame. You're very pretty. You could have either, both if you wished."

"I am... fine by myself. It's... better that way."

"Mm." she said, clearly unconvinced. "That's almost never true. Here," she added. "This is the place."

I stared open-mouthed at the jet-black plunge back evening gown that clung to the petite mannequin in the window.

"This is a coffee shop?" I managed, at last.

"No," she laughed. "It's my Aunt's shop. But she has an amazing coffee machine. Come in, Annemarie."

Bells tinkled; Sophie smiled at the assistant behind the till who smiled back and went back to his device. "Come on," she breathed. She reached out, took my hand and towed me over the threshold and into the warmly-lit interior.

I held my breath as I stepped slowly deeper into the Dressmaker's shop, staring around, open-mouthed at fabric and feathers and glory, like a girl taking her first steps into Fairyland.

I could see at least three items... no four... that I would gladly spend a year's wages on, had I anywhere to wear them and anyone to wear them for...

"Oh mon dieu, these are beautiful," I whispered, reaching out hesitantly to touch a delicate lace work skirt. "I've never been in here, it... it's way beyond my station."

"She has a captive market," Sophie said with a wry snort. I knew what she meant, Ulcaster attracted a wealthy student body.

She raised her voice. "Tanti Alina!"

"Yes, Yes, Sofia," came the call from above somewhere. "Make me a cup too, precious girl."

"Yes, Tanti! Come on," she said, tugging at my arm. "This way."

She sat me down at a small table in a tiny nook and went to work on a complicated machine. "It's Italian," she said, "so as much as I'd love to I can't make you a traditional one. Espresso?"

"No... just... normal, please," I said, still feeling badly off balance. I stared around, eyeing the picture frames that decorated almost every inch of wall.

"We're a big family," she said, noting my interest. "Both here and... back in the Old country. Which is why I'm up at the Library."

She put my coffee down for me, and found some fresh milk in the tiny bar fridge. Then she brewed a small cup of fluid darkness. "I'll be right back," she said. "My aunt gets testy, this keeps her docile."

She was back soon enough, grinning, and she brewed a third cup for herself, lighter this time.

Then she sat opposite me, knee pressed to my knee under the tiny table, and I found myself quite unable to think of anything to say.

She stared at me, with this strange little smile, eyes darting over my face as if she were marking down my features on some internal canvas.

I shifted, glanced away.

"Sorry," she said, softly. "I was being rude."

"You are not rude," I whispered.

She flushed and sipped her coffee.

"Thank you for helping me so much," she said. "I... hope you don't regret it."

"There is nothing to regret," I said, meeting her eyes again. "It has been... nice. It is... nice to talk to you. I enjoy it."

"I enjoy it too," she whispered, and my heart turned over in my chest.

I was the first to look away.

It was nearly an hour later when she finally walked me to the front door and waved me off into the gathering gloom.

And I'd be hard-pressed to describe what we talked about.

She had a wonderful voice, and an infectious laugh.

And I'd caught myself more than once going into a demi-trance, just watching her speak; the soft, almost unnoticeable lilt of her own accent was the most exquisite thing.

She was incredibly perilous and so, so perfect in all my favourite ways.

And I'd spent quite a bit of time helplessly wondering what she would be like to kiss.

I went back to the Library, and did Sarah's admin work with a half-hearted determination made all the harder by the constant intrusive thoughts of Sophie.

I finally abandoned the battle, locked up, and stalked off home.

I gave the spa a longing glance before sighing and deciding that I couldn't torture myself with a second helping of her in a day.

I am only so strong.

So I slunk upstairs to my silent, lonely flat.

And went through my silent, lonely rituals of preparation for the next day.

And ate my silent, lonely supper.

And, finally, lay awake for hours in my silent, lonely bed.

☽●☾

A phone call from an irate admin clerk woke me from my Friday lie-in - it was half-past-eight and the Library was still shut. I spat out a mouthful of hair, grumbled, gave him the contact number for one of the backup key-holders, and stumbled out of bed and through an abridged morning routine.

I hurried in to work and found Sarah to be clearly missing in action.

Vexed, I phoned Sarah, but only got her voicemail. I left her a catty "Call me the moment you get this" and ran through the morning checks that I'd not had to do in months.

Sophie arrived mid-morning; I was frazzled but managed a smile for her.

"Another half an hour and I am your woman," I told her without thinking.

And she smiled distractedly and made her way upstairs while I mentally kicked myself for my stupid tongue.

Eventually I was able to join her and we sunk ourselves back into the dim and distant past.

At lunchtime she offered me some of her packed lunch; I suffered through a sandwich to be polite.

I made her a cup of coffee in return.

And I tried very, very hard to be at least partly professional.

But it took a monumental effort of will to focus on our work when she was in such close proximity; her scent battered at me like a siren's song.

She was wearing small, gold Byzantine crosses in her ears; I caught myself admiring the craftsmanship more than once.

To be blunt, I was completely captivated; thrashing like a fish in a net.

But I managed, somehow, to suppress it, and she didn't seem to notice how flustered I was.

How... distracted.

It was mid-afternoon when we found the beginnings of a line of enquiry.

"Look here," she said. "This looks like it could be something..."

"Hmm."

I leaned over her shoulder and peered down at the text. It was so hard to focus on it; the sound of her breathing was loud in my ear.

I gritted my teeth and concentrated.

"Oh. Oui. That confirms what we found in Grimaldi."

"So that puts the tribes we've been following at least in the general area."

"True."

"It's... it feels like it's slowly coming together. Doesn't it?"

"Yes. I think your grandmother's people were there in the fourteenth century."

"She'll be thrilled that it's not just folklore. I just wish this author would stop referencing the supernatural so much. Vampire this, Werewolf that. They had vivid imaginations, I'll give them that."

"Times were dark back then," I said, softly. "No scientific method to help make sense of the world, so everything was monsters or gods or demons. Of course... some of it actually was those things..."

I bit my lip and she gave me an odd look. Then she seemed to dismiss my comment.

"Any word from Sarah?"

"No."

I'd left a number of voice-mails which ran the entire spectrum from incandescent rage to indifference to profound worry.

"That's... strange."

"It's unlike her."

"I'm sure she's fine."

"I sure she is. Let us see if we can tease one or two more threads out of this tangle..."

The antique telephone on my desk began to ring; even from our distant part of the stacks upstairs I knew the sound of the bell.

A cold sense of dread settled on me.

"No," I breathed.

"What? What is it?" said Sophie, still focussed on the book.

The library phone grew silent; but then my cellphone began blaring Verdi's "Dies Irae".

Sophie jumped.

"Fuck!", I cursed, fumbling for it to try to mute it.

"Jesus Christ, that's your ringtone?" she said, laughing shakily.

It was the Chancellor's office; I knew the number.

I stabbed at the green button. "Allo?"

"Miss Devereux?" said an elderly voice.

"Er... yes?"

"It's Chancellor Aldeney's assistant. We have two members of the Constabulary here who need to chat to you. Is it alright if I send them down to the Library?"

I felt strangely cold.

"Er... I suppose so, Monsieur, yes?"

"They will be there presently."

"Pardon.... what is this about?"

"They haven't told me," he said, clearly vexed. "Just... be helpful, will you, and see them on their way as quickly as possible?"

"Oui... er... yes, Sir," I answered.

The line went dead, I lowered my phone.

I felt... numb.

"Something is wrong," I said.

"What?"

"The police are here."

"What?" she repeated, surprised this time.

I stood, arranged my papers. "I need to go and meet them."

"Oh..." she said. "Um..."

I composed myself.

"Wait here; I will be back once I am done."

I heard her sigh and I could feel her watching me as I turned and made for the stairs.

I'd reached the third step from the bottom when a large, jacket-wearing man pushed through the doors, held them open for a thin, immaculate blonde woman, and followed her as she stalked gracefully forwards across the echoing stones.

Something wicked this way comes...

I cursed my brain for its unhelpful and completely untimely segue into Macbeth.

I paused, took a breath, calmed myself...

"Good afternoon," I greeted them.

"For some, I suppose," the woman answered. "You are?"

"Annemarie-Jean Devereux, the Librarian."

"I'm Detective Inspector Cole, and this," she said, nodding to her colleague, "is Detective Sergeant Bligh."

DS Bligh nodded coolly, then turned to stare around the Library.

"Is there somewhere we can talk, Miss Devereux?" said DI Cole. She glanced around pointedly at the various groups of interested students.

I noted the strange visiting professor among them. He seemed... amused, somehow...

"Miss Devereux?" the woman said, again.

I came back to myself with a start.

"The catalogue room. It is not used now - we digitised the archives. This way, please."

I ushered them into the smaller space and closed the door behind us.

"What is the matter?" I said.

"We're in the middle of an investigation," said the woman. "We're trying to work out a timeline of... the events. You're here every day, is that correct?"

"Every week day and some weekends," I said.

"And your assistant?"

"The same... well. She has not been in today, which is unlike her..."

"When last did you see Sarah Feverfew?"

"Yesterday, here. Just before she left at three in the afternoon."

The man pulled out a plain black notebook and scribbled something down.

"I see. And... how was she?"

I glanced from one to the other. "She seemed... normal? Happy, even - she was with a man on Tuesday night and it had clearly gone... well? She was off to see him again yesterday evening. So she was... on a high, if you understand?"

"What do you mean?" said the woman.

"Um... she was... well, she had clearly had fun. Lots of fun."

The two shared a look.

"What?" I said. "Look, what is going on? She has not answered her phone this morning. Is... is she okay?"

"Perhaps you should sit down," said the woman.

I felt the shadows rear up around me.

"Oh... oh mon Dieu, no. No."

Not Sarah.

Please, anyone but Sarah.

I shook my head helplessly; this had to be a black dream...

DI Cole continued, gently but inexorably.

"We were called to Miss Feverfew's residence this morning by a concerned neighbour. The front door was ajar, and water was visible running down the stairs. When the attending Constables entered... well, they found her. "

I groped blindly for the corner of a table and gripped it.

"Dead." I whispered.

"I'm so very sorry," said the woman.

"How..."

"We're making inquiries," said DS Bligh. He glanced up at me, considered me briefly as if I were a specimen on a table, then returned to his notebook.

"Would you happen to know the name of the man she was seeing?" the woman asked.

"She called him Steve..." I whispered, lips cold and face strangely numb. "So... so... it wasn't... natural causes. Was it?"

"It's about as unnatural as..." began DS Bligh.

"DS Bligh."

The woman's tone was soft. He snapped his jaw closed and grunted.

"It... wasn't natural causes," she continued.

The pain in my heart was indescribable.

Lovely, gentle Sarah.

Here a breath or two, then gone.

I let out an agonized sob.

"Where... where is she? Where is my friend?" I gasped.

"She's been taken to Our Lady of Sorrows. She'll be kept there until she's released to her family."

And then she stepped forward and touched my arm.

"I really am so sorry," she said. "Were you close?"

"Like... sisters," I managed to whisper.

"Ah," she sighed. "I will do everything I can to find out what happened. Here is my card. That's my personal number. Call me if you think of anything, no matter how silly or trivial it might sound. Anything could be the key to this."

I nodded, clasping the small piece of ivory paper between my fingers, not trusting myself to speak.

"Bligh?" she said. "Do you have what you need?"

"For now, Mam," he answered.

"Is there anyone..." she began to ask me.

"No. There isn't. Not any more."

She sighed again.

The man opened the door for her, and waited.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mademoiselle," she said.

She turned and stalked off; he followed at her heels like an obedient hound.

I folded slowly in on myself, throat on fire, nails digging into my scalp, not even really conscious of anything but the agony.

Sarah was gone.

Taken from me by murder.

She'd never complain at me again. Never laugh at my awful jokes. Never bring me tea with that blue-eyed, girlish smile.

I hiccoughed and began to wail, corner of the table grinding into me as I slid slowly down along it...

And then arms were around me and I was lifted to my feet.

Sophie's scent enveloped me.

"I've got you, Annemarie," she breathed. "I've got you. "

I curled in against her and gave in to the jagged, bitter tears.

And she held me and didn't let go.

☽●☾

I stared down at the twisted mass of handkerchief that was clasped in between my pale white fingers and listened as Sophie fought a furious skirmish with the kettle.

"Fucking thing," she cursed, at last. "Aha! Got you!"

I sniffed.

"It took her forever to work that out," I said, softly.

She glanced back at me, sympathy writ large.

"I'm so sorry..."

I shrugged, sniffed again.

"Did she have family?"

"Nobody she ever mentioned."

Sophie pondered that for a moment. "Then either she was very private..."

"Or she had nobody." I whispered.

"She had you."

Her words were gentle; she meant no harm with them. But I still clenched my hands to fists and pushed them hard against my mouth to stifle the scream.

And she was holding me again as I rocked back and forth, helpless.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"She was my friend. She was my only friend."

I felt rather than heard the sigh as she tightened her grip on me.

"They'll find whoever did it."

She sounded so certain. So naive.

So young.

Like I'd been, once.

"Most murderers get away with it," I hissed. "I know that for a fact."

"What do you mean?"

Old pain; old blood - the taste of smoke and the reek of burning hair.

I shuddered, gasped, grappled with the ancient rage.

"My parents. My baby brother. Long ago."

"Oh no. Oh, Annemarie..."

"They never would have caught him. I did though. Oh, I caught him. I finished him."

She went still as stone.

"Do you want to know the story about how I got the scar on my back?" I whispered, as the long-banked coals roared to life.

I felt her swallow.

"No. Not now, not here. Later, maybe. Right now... right now, I just want to be sure you're okay."

"I will never be okay."

I broke her grip on me without effort.

She went white and backed away, staring wide-eyed at me.

"Oh fuck me, you're strong," she quavered.

"I look weak. I am not."

"Annemarie. Sit. Please. You're... scaring me."

"I can not. I will not. She is dead. Dead! Nothing will ever, ever be okay again. Do you understand? She was all I had! She was the only one who cared about me! About funny little fucked-up Annemarie and her stupid fucking obsessive ways and her inability to just be normal..."

She reached out and took my hand and simply held it in hers, her warm skin to my cool.

The incandescent rage in my heart flickered and died.

I gulped back the tears that threatened to drown the horrible emptiness it left behind.

"Who will make me tea now?" I whispered. "Who will laugh with me? Who will listen when I just need someone to just... be there."

"I will," she answered as she gently squeezed my hand in hers. "I'm not her, but I will be here for you."

I couldn't bear to look at her.

"Don't," I whispered. "Don't get involved. I'm... different. I'm bad news. Stay away."

"It's too late for that warning, I suspect," she said, matter of fact. "So... now. We need to discuss some of the cold necessities. How much longer do you need to stay here in this... here?"

The Library was deserted - news of Sarah's murder had spread like wildfire and people had left the... the mausoleum... with haunted, furtive expressions and a desire to be clear of Death's grasping shadow.