I set off toward Charlotte. “Just wondering if you wanted to go outside for a breath of fresh air,” I said.
“I would love that,” she said, and reaching for my hand, she transferred herself from Ambrose’s custodianship to mine. Not for the first time, I wondered how she was going to hold out in the south of France—a whole nine-hour drive away from her support system. I didn’t doubt Charlotte’s strength. She had certainly been a solid shoulder for me to lean on. But now that she needed her friends the most, she was being forcibly separated from them.
We grabbed our coats on the way out and stepped into the bracing December air. The moon lit up the courtyard, illuminating its large marble fountain, which contained a life-size statue of an angel holding a woman in his arms. It was an image I never failed to compare to Vincent and me. In my eyes, the personal symbolism it held was as weighty as the stone it was carved from.
Charlotte and I sat down on the edge of its empty basin and huddled against each other for warmth. I looped my arm through hers and pulled her close. Getting close to Charlotte had helped me ignore the guilt of cutting off my friends back in New York. During the very worst period of my grieving for my parents, I had deleted my email address and hadn’t contacted them since.
“Did you know that your”—I hesitated, searching for a word less offensive than “replacements”—“that Violette and Arthur were coming today?”
Charlotte nodded. “Jean-Baptiste told me yesterday. He said he didn’t want me to feel like he was in a rush to replace us. But Violette offered to come, and he needs her. I can’t help but feel bad about it anyway. You know . . . unwanted. Like I’m being punished.”
“Even if it feels like a punishment, which Jean-Baptiste has assured everyone it isn’t, you’re not the one who’s being sent away. It’s Charles who messed up, no matter how unintentionally.” I squeezed her arm in support. “Jean-Baptiste’s rationale does make sense. If something big is going on with the numa, this would be a dangerous time for Charles to be here in the middle of it, indecisive and confused. Plus, he said you could stay if you wanted.”
“I can’t live without Charles,” she said mournfully. “He’s my twin. We’ve been through everything together.”
I nodded. I understood. We had a lot in common, Charlotte and I . . . if you didn’t take our mortality into account. Both of us had experienced the death of our parents. We were both left with only a sibling to link us to our former lives. I had my grandparents, of course, but my sister felt like the last remaining thread that connected me to reality. Although the meaning of the word “reality” had radically changed for me in the last few months.
“So do you know the new guys?” I asked.
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve never met them, but everyone’s heard of them. They’re part of the ‘old guard.’ If you think Jean-Baptiste’s old, they’re ancient. Although they’re just as aristocratic as him.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious,” I laughed. “Violette looks like she died really young.”
Charlotte smiled. “Fourteen. Her father was a marquis or something, and she was a lady-in-waiting to Anne of Brittany. She died saving the young queen’s life during a kidnapping attempt.”
“Queen Anne? That makes her practically medieval!” I racked my brain for names and dates from my French history classes, but Charlotte beat me to the punch.
“She died right around 1500.”
“Holy cow. She’s more than a half a millennium old!”
Charlotte nodded thoughtfully.
“How about Arthur?”
“He’s from the same era. They actually knew each other in life. He was one of her father’s counselors, I think. In any case, they both reek of courtliness. She and Arthur live in a medieval castle in the Loire Valley, where I’m sure they feel right at home.” There was a bitter tone in Charlotte’s voice. It sounded like she wished they would go back to their chateau and leave us all alone.
“Their coming here is like a dream come true for JB. They’ve been around so long they’re like living encyclopedias. Kind of like Gaspard times ten. And Violette’s known all over the world for being the expert on revenant history. She knows more about the numa than anyone. Which makes her the perfect candidate for helping JB strategize.” She shrugged as if that conclusion were obvious.
The creaking sound of the front door opening interrupted us. We turned our heads to see the topic of our conversation, her nobility so tangible it was like a cloud of expensive perfume suspended in the cold winter air.
“Hello,” Violette said. Her voice mixed the high pitch of a little girl’s with an older woman’s self-assurance. This creepy discrepancy quickly disappeared as her rosebud lips curved up into a friendly smile that was so infectious, I couldn’t help but smile back.