The Lost Girl of Avignon

"I... don't have anywhere else to go."

"No? Nowhere? Of course you have somewhere. Come with me," she answered. "Come to my parents home and be with us tonight. They will welcome you. There will be light and sound. We'll... we'll drink to Sarah's memory, if you'll let us..."

"It is impossible...I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Come. Get your things. There's... there's nothing here that won't keep until tomorrow, Annemarie."

I almost hated her for the way that I knew that she was right about that.

But I also knew that I couldn't be alone tonight.

"Okay," I surrendered, at last.

Her fingers tightened on mine, then she let my hand go.

"Come. Let's go somewhere alive," she said.

She shouldered her bag, and then shouldered mine despite my protestations. She waited as I fumbled at and finally managed to lock the Library.

"Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" I asked her. I brushed at my eyes again.

"The Old quarter. My father's workshop is there. We live above it."

"His workshop?"

"Dad's a goldsmith," she said.

"You're Sophie Albescu," I said, as I finally joined the dots.

"Yeah."

"And that means your father made those beautiful crosses that you are wearing..."

She reached up to caress one.

"He made these in spite of me begging him not to. The old man hates feeling obligations."

"Obligations?"

"His eyesight is going. I... do what I can to look after him."

"Oh. That's hard. Especially for someone that works on fine details."

"Yes."

We walked on in silence for some time, crossing the lazy eddies of the river Ul via its ancient stone bridge.

"So... I guess there's something you should know about Nana," she said. "It's only fair to warn you, I suppose."

"Your... Grandmother?"

"Yes. She's... eccentric. She's going to pounce on you the moment we get there. She always interrogates any newcomers. So..."

"How eccentric is eccentric?" I said, softly. I had little strength left.

"She..."

And she sighed and clenched her jaw for a while.

"You know how some people are... good at things? Uncannily so?"

"Oui."

"She's uncannily good at... folk medicine."

"She is a witch," I said, careful not to let any fear bleed my statement. "Sorry, a... Sibyl. A wise woman."

"Some people in the old country think she is. Some people here, too. She has a knack."

"So do you," I said, softly.

Sophie snorted and shook her head.

"I studied a bit of anatomy and I have strong arms. She's... different. You'll see."

I took several silent steps and tried very hard not to think about Sarah. I brushed at my eyes again, sniffed.

"She can set bones without tools," Sophie continued, working to fill the silence. "She heals people. Cures diseases. I don't understand how."

"Suggestion and Compulsion," I whispered. "They are stronger than modern people know."

"You sound like one of her believers," Sophie said.

"I have... seen things I couldn't explain."

"Oh? Like?"

"Like things I am not going to talk about outside the sanctum of a Church, today of all days," I whispered.

She shot me a glance, then hesitantly put her arm around me for a moment. I leaned gratefully in against her warmth.

"You have such similar ways to my Nana," she said. "It's... weird."

"She sounds wise."

"Wiser than most. Weirder, too."

"Old age does that."

"Mm. What's your excuse, then?" she said, softly.

She released my shoulder and took my hand; I sighed out a shaky breath as she slipped her fingers in between mine.

"I've got you," she said, half to herself, and I found myself flushing.

We walked on in silence, the faint pad of our footfalls lost in the gathering gloom.

We reached a square; lamps were flickering into life around us. We crossed when we could. She led me down a side street and paused outside a shuttered shop.

"Here," she said, as she unlocked a gate and held it for me. "Up the stairs and I'll let us in."

"Is that an invitation?" I said.

"Don't be silly. Come in."

I crossed the threshold, and sighed out the breath I'd been holding. It was stupid superstition but I'd never been able to shake it.

"Come," Sophie said, as she took my hand. "It will be dinner soon. Come and be my guest this evening. Friday nights are always busy."

She opened the front door and ushered me into an Old-world scene; woven wall-hangings, thick carpets, dark, aged furniture that looked older than me...

And a whirlwind of noise and people - brothers, cousins, aunts, all calling greetings to Sophie, embracing her, smiling at her and watching me with clear, clever eyes as she introduced me as "Annemarie Devereux from the Library".

I heard quiet comments being passed in a strange language, but her family smiled at me and around me and welcomed me into their home and to their table.

All but one.

The Matriarch.

She watched me, golden eyes glittering behind the grey curls of her mane, as Sophie related news of her search into the family's past.

And I watched her back, awed and terrified.

I've felt power before.

I've felt malice.

But I've never felt the single-minded concentration of an Apex predator focussing all its intent on...

Prey.

I did what I could; accepted wine and bread and little salted delicacies, forced myself to make conversation.

But I could feel her evaluating me, considering me...

Stalking me.

And in the end I simply turned and walked to her, tired of postponing the inevitable.

She beckoned, turned and limped into the kitchen. She said something, and the small group who were gathered there moved elsewhere.

She turned back to me and leaned against the wooden counter top by the sink.

Fine, intricate gold-chain earrings hung from her ears and an opal shimmered in a tarnished ring on her finger.

I stood alone and waited as she scrutinized me over the lip of her silver goblet.

"So... what are you, girl?" she mused.

I took breath to answer, then found I couldn't. Some strange compulsion held me fast under the unblinking stare of her golden eyes.

"I see the darkness," she continued. "I see what you should be. Yet... something is different."

Her eyes seemed to glow; I felt the urge to cower away from her.

But I remained rooted to the spot.

"Vampire... what do you drink?"

Her words had a strange intonation now, something older, some ancient lilt.

"Beetroot juice and cow's blood."

The answer came from my throat, but not at my bidding.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Vampire... when last did you kill?"

"One hundred and fifty-seven years ago."

Her finger tapped nervously on the rim of her glass.

"I have only one more truth I can demand," she said, softly. "So... to the heart of the matter."

She stared at me.

"Vampire... where is your master - the one who controls you?"

"Dead and burned by my hand."

She exhaled, and suddenly I felt as if I could breathe.

"You could have just asked," I said, when I could.

"And of course you would answer truthfully."

Her tone was cold.

"Given the choice... yes."

"Hah," she snorted.

"Nana - is everything alright? Annemarie?" Sophie said as she stepped up to my side and touched my arm.

I smiled brightly up at her, trying to hide my discomfort. But I somehow found myself fiddling with her collar, a stupid, nervous response.

Sophie blushed.

Her Nana's eyes narrowed as she watched us.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just..."

"We are introducing ourselves," said her Nana.

"Oh."

The old woman handed Sophie her goblet.

"Sofia, would you be a good girl and fetch me more wine?"

"Of course Nana. Be right back," she added with a quick smile for my benefit.

The old woman waited until we were alone again.

"What do you want with my grand daughter, devil?"

"My name," I said, "is Annemarie..."

"I don't care. What is your intention with my grand daughter?"

"I have no intentions..."

"You lie," she said, softly. "You like so naturally you think you speak the truth."

"I help her with research..."

"And..."

"And we... talk... and..."

"And..." she said again, leaning forward.

"And... she is my most recent masseuse..."

Even as I said it I tasted the wrongness of the label.

Sophie was already much more than that.

But her grandmother seemed amused.

"Masseuse to a nightwalker. That is a new one. My foolish little granddaughter has a lot to learn about the dark side of the veil."

"I'm not a devil or... or whatever you want to label me..."

"You're not human either."

The barb dug deep; even she seemed to feel slightly ashamed of the wanton cruelty.

I took a slow breath, fought the hurt down.

"That's.... unfair. I didn't really get to choose that. I was... young and stupid. I didn't know what the cost would be."

"And what are you now?"

"Older and... still stupid."

She snorted. Then she stepped closer and reached out to tap me once, forcefully, over my heart.

"I am Eleri Albescu. I watch the borders of the world for things from beyond. Tell me, girl, why I should let you live," she said, matter of fact. Her eyes, though, seemed almost... sad.

I had no doubt she could kill me should she so choose. Power lapped off her like flames; she'd ensnared me in her Truthsaying without my even being aware of it.

But a tiny spark of defiance kindled within me.

"No," I whispered.

She cocked her head to the left and considered me. She clearly hadn't expected my quiet little refusal.

"No?" she echoed.

"My friend was murdered yesterday. Murdered. I am too tired and... frankly, too... sick of... of it all to care. Merde. I don't have to explain myself to you. I don't have to care what you think. I don't even have to talk to you any more now that you have exhausted your Geäs of Three. Va au Diable. I'll see you there soon, probably sooner rather than later now. I have lost the only person I still loved in this bag-of-bones world, and I am certain that I have endured worse than even you could do to me. Do what you must. I don't have the strength to care any more."

"You are a strange and complex girl," she said, after a pause. "I think I like you."

I stared at her.

It was not at all the reaction that I'd expected.

She coughed once, brushed at her lips with the back of her hand, muttering an imprecation.

"I have met one other like you," she said. "I hope for your sake your end is... different."

"One other... Vampire?" I said, voice dropping on the final word.

"Vampire? Pfaugh. No," she said. She sighed. "A refuser. A... a plant-eater. He ate beans. Beans! Like you, though, he needed to... fortify it. He was a lovely old man, Melchior. So many books and stories in his head! A shame what happened."

"What... happened?"

"He got lazy. Complacent. He stopped preparing. The hunger took him."

"Did you..."

"Me? No. Others did."

"I'm... sorry."

"You will make a mistake some day," she said, almost sadly. "Perhaps you will survive it. In the meantime - know this; I will be watching. I will keep your secret - for now - but I will not let you harm her or any of my people. You understand me?"

"Oui," I breathed.

"Good. Then by bread and wine and salt I bind you. Do us no harm, girl."

"I would never," I whispered. "How could I? You... welcomed me to your home. Nobody else would," I added, eyes blurring.

She nodded sadly.

"Then on those terms I, Eleri Albescu, name you as our guest."

Sophie returned with two wineglasses and her Nana's silver goblet. She slipped one of the glasses into my unresisting hand.

Nana Eleri gave me one more glance, then turned to address her family.

"Now we will drink," she said. "We will drink to life, and love, and the stories that remind us of who we are."

The words seemed practised, but the smile she gave her granddaughter was not.

I noticed the silence around us; found others watching Nana, Sophie...

And me.

"Drink," said Nana Eleri, softly. "You are our guest. You must be the first. It is our tradition. It is... important to us."

So I did.

To excess.

It was nearly early when I finally took my unsteady leave of the Albescus.

Sophie tottered down the stairs behind me, her hand on my shoulder as she used me as a support.

"How are you still walking straight?" she complained as she fumbled with the latch on the gate.

"Years of practice," I grumbled.

She glared at me. "Not fair. I'm going to feel like a dog's arsehole tomorrow."

"I did not pour wine down your throat," I said, waspishly.

I didn't really approve of her drunk, and I didn't approve of myself for disapproving because I had no right to disapprove, and it was all horribly tangled and muddled in my mind...

"True. True."

I stepped out beyond her gate and turned back to face her, staring up at her through my dark, disordered curls.

"Sophie..." I managed, forming her name carefully through my numbed lips.

"Yeah?" she slurred, smiling down at me.

I peered beyond her to the little porch at the top of the staircase; several of her relatives were taking the air and keeping an eye on us.

"Just... be so careful, please," I said, as I fussed with the collar of her coat once more. "Just... listen to your little voice for the next little while and be safe, okay? I would hate for something to... to happen to you as well."

She stared down at me and took a breath, then sighed it out as she abandoned whatever she had been about to say.

"I'm sorry," she said, softly. "About Sarah. Please... call me if you need anything at all, okay? Whatever and whenever. Call me."

"I will."

"Are you sure my brothers can't walk you home?"

"I'll be fine. It's... No. I'll be fine."

"Promise me?" she said, softly.

And I stared up at her for a long, bittersweet moment of wishing.

"I swear it," I whispered.

She stared at me for a heartbeat longer, then leaned in to brush her lips to my cheek, soft as a feather.

I let out a soft, stupid little sound.

She pulled me into a brief, tight embrace.

"Right. Good night then, gorgeous," she said, with a strange lilting laugh.

"... Good night," I answered, flushing hot at the unexpected warmth her tone had lit in me.

She stepped back and latched the gate. She turned, giving me one lingering glance over her shoulder before she struggled back up the stairs to her family. They closed ranks around her; raucous voices fading.

Sophie was laughing and protesting about something when their door shut behind them.

The light above the gate flicked off.

It was just me, my heartache and the distant, unaffected stars.

I stood in the gloom and thought about brash, beautiful Sophie who burned like my very own personal sun.

And then I thought of poor, unlucky Sarah, lying cold and alone on some metal bed.

I knew I should go home and mourn her, then inter and house her precious face in one of the little stone-walled alcoves in that broken part of my heart where so many others already lay entombed.

Loss management becomes a critical life skill when you're immortal.

I let my feet carry me slowly onwards, choosing paths by whim as I crossed and criss-crossed Ulcaster's dim witching-hour streets.

It was a quiet night; a mournful night, only the occasional car or insomniac gull disturbing the stillness that draped the town.

I drifted, spectre-like, moving from light to shadow and back again in a manner that would have been hauntingly beautiful had I had an ounce of style about me.

But I didn't.

I just had regrets, weighing me down like millstones.

I was unsurprised to find myself at length in the road outside Sarah's dark flat, staring at the azure-and-white police tape that criss-crossed her door.

I thought of better times; times when, unable to sleep, I'd leaned against this stretch of red brick wall and watched her living her best possible life through the only-somewhat-obscuring screen of her privacy curtains, watching her meet, seduce, and fall in love and then, shortly, out of love with a long succession of men and even one or two lucky women.

And I smiled through the tears at the bittersweet memories of the times we'd drunk tea or brandy at her bric-a-brac-littered kitchen table and talked about boys in her case, and the vague, softly-voiced and desperately-longed-for dream of girls in mine.

I remembered the sense of awe, the childlike wonder I'd felt when I'd realised that she liked me - not romantically, of course... but as a person.

A friend.

Someone she cared for. Not intimately, but... intimately.

She'd always given the most amazing hugs.

And now she was gone.

I hiccoughed and rubbed at my eyes, then glanced furtively around as footsteps approached and paused.

DI Cole regarded me from the depths of a pale wool coat and red-black scarf that she'd pulled over her pale hair.

She seemed unsurprised to find me there.

"Mademoiselle Devereux," she said, softly.

"Detective Inspector Cole..."

I blew my nose and tucked the tissue heedlessly into a pocket.

"Angela will do. I'm off duty. Couldn't sleep?"

"Yes. No. Pfaugh... you know what I mean."

"Neither," she said. "May I?"

"Sure."

I sniffed and wiped my eyes again; she leaned back against the wall next to me and stared across the road.

"We found Sarah's mother," she said.

"Oh. I... I didn't ever meet her."

"They were estranged. But... blood is thicker than water. Sarah will go home and will be buried somewhere quiet with trees and hedges and a lovely view of the ocean."

"Oh."

"It doesn't help, does it?"

"No," I whispered.

"It never does. It's closure for them, but not for me. And not, I suspect, for you."

"I should never have let her go out with that man..."

"I doubt it was your choice to make. And anyway... it wasn't him, Miss Devereux."

"How do you know?"

"We found him this afternoon. It was... well. It wasn't him."

"Oh."

I shuddered.

She shifted next to me; a match flared as she lit a cigarette and took a pull.

"I know it's a filthy habit," she said, sighing the smoke up into the still night air. "But it's one of my coping strategies. So. What will you do now?"

"Mourn my friend," I said, softly. "Cry a lot. Regret every wasted moment a whole lot more."

"Touché," she sighed.

"Tell me how she died."

"You really don't want the details," she said. "Isn't it bad enough that it happened?"

"Please... just tell me. Was it... painful?"

She took another drag of her cigarette and made a face. "I doubt it was pleasant. Death never is. But I'm pretty certain she didn't suffer. We found no signs of a struggle. She was taken by surprise."

"Oh. That's... good..."

And I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

She held her peace as I fought for control; I appreciated her tact.

"I've been doing this job for many years now," she said. "I often wonder why. No matter how many of them we catch, there are always more."

"It's like Sisyphus and his boulder," I whispered.

"Indeed. I'm glad to finally find someone who knows the old classics," she said. "But then I suppose that's you to a T, isn't it. Bligh's idea of reading matter is page three. Mademoiselle - are you going to be able to get home?"

"Yes. I'll be... safe enough."

"Mm. In that case..."

She stood, and turned.

"Stick to the well-lit path on you way home, if you please. And be sure to call me if you remember or see anything. Adieu."

"Adieu," I echoed reflexively.

I watched her as she walked away.

She had the grace of a ballerina, I thought. She placed each foot perfectly...

Not a ballerina. A duellist, whispered the darker side of me.

Something about her seemed... off.

I shoved her mental catalogue card into the "Dangerous, use gloves" drawer and then, slowly, made for home.