Madame Martin’s was just as clean as the shopkeeper had made it out to be.
Amaia sat at the small writing desk in her room, staring at the blank piece of paper. How would she begin? It was foolish. She didn’t even know how she would get a letter to Meg. What should she say? Maybe it was a bad idea.
Abandoning the writing project for now, she sat on the bed with her book. She had intended it to be a gift for Meg, but she supposed her friend wouldn’t mind her reading it first. Perhaps it would give her something to write about, if nothing else.
All through the night, she read. And as she read, she thought. A few chapters would pass, and then her mind would drift. She was like the monster in this book: a creature. Michael had remarked on the existence of a soul. If there was such a thing, could she be in possession of one? She was the result of Lawrence’s ambition. Yet he hadn’t been able to control her as he’d hoped.
Perhaps she, like the monster, should have demanded a companion from her creator. In a way, she had. He had never intended to give her one. His entire existence had been wrapped up in denying her that one simple pleasure.
When she finally closed the book, she felt more confused than ever. She couldn’t take the work on its mere entertainment value. Indeed, it hadn’t been entertaining at all. It had only provoked thoughts for which she had no answers. At least now she knew what she would write to Meg. She would simply tell her what had transpired in the years since their parting. There was nothing more she could say, other than to express her longing for her friend and her sincere hope that all was well with her.
The letter complete, she slid it inside the book. There was no sense staying any longer. She needed to find Meg.
Leaving the boardinghouse, she headed north toward Paris. It seemed the most logical place to begin her search. As she ran, she blocked out everything, letting her instincts guide her body. In her mind, she held the visualization of Meg’s energy. It gained strength as moved north, wavered as she went west, and intensified as she changed course to the east. Meg’s energy eventually led her to Avallon, a small village a few hours south of Paris.
Amaia couldn’t just walk up to Meg. That would defeat the purpose. She also disliked the idea of leaving the book and letter in Meg’s room. What if Meg wanted to send her a reply? There was one place where they had always met, and it wasn’t too far away.
Amaia went to Notre Dame. If she and Michael did end up together in this life, there was a good chance they would settle in Paris. There was no reason to believe they wouldn’t follow through with the plans they had made. If that were the case, then she and Meg could swap messages at their old meeting place. Amaia could keep her energy cloaked, so Meg would never be able to find her. It was somewhat risky, but Amaia needed a friend.
Outside the Portal of the Virgin, Amaia found a loose stone she and Meg had noticed once. When removed, there was a small hollow space, just big enough for a book. Amaia placed the letter and book inside and then replaced the stone. No one would be able to tell it was there unless they were looking for it. Her task complete, she returned to Avallon.
She rented a room across the street with a window overlooking the entrance to the boardinghouse where Meg and Liam were staying. It was so tempting to go to her best friend. Meg would welcome her back. They would talk, and Amaia would feel better just by virtue of having Meg understand.
She watched them exit the house. They looked good. Meg chatted away. Amaia touched her hand to the glass. She was so close, yet she knew she couldn’t endanger her friends by associating with them. It would only bring more heartache. Keeping in touch by letter would be much less painful. They didn’t carry anything, so they would most likely return. As soon as they turned down another street, Amaia departed. Her instincts told her to hurry, but she knew if she gave in to them, she would move faster than was natural for a human and draw attention. Instead, she forced herself to go slowly. She would have to figure out which room they occupied. One room smelled distinctly less of human than the others. It would have to be theirs, or at least it was the best guess. Amaia took a pin from her hair and proceeded to pick the lock.
Once the doorknob turned, Amaia entered the room and immediately knew she had made the right choice. There wasn’t much inside, but what was there was clearly Meg and Liam’s. Meg’s latest books were stacked near the bed, no doubt handy for that afterglow period following a session of lovemaking. On the nightstand sat miniature wooden figurines along with a carving knife and some scrapings. It appeared Liam was in the middle of crafting a flower.