Deja Who (Insighter #1)(25)

She should never have gotten the job. The opening came about when the current governess had to flee following the fall of the Bastille; élisabeth was delighted with her promotion to such a prestigious position, which would prove to be the ultimate mixed blessing.

In addition to educating the royal children, the queen charged élisabeth specifically with tackling the dauphin’s fear of loud noises. The fils de france was especially afraid of the barking from all the Versailles dogs.

(Not what he should have been afraid of, by the way. But orders were orders. In fact, Louis XVII of France died in a dark room, “barricaded like the cage of a wild animal,” having not spoken a single word for seven months. In other words, the child died a dog’s death.)

As élisabeth worked to teach the three Rs (reading, wRiting, revolution) she was ringside for the destruction of the Ancient Régime, moving with the royal family from the Palace of Versailles (after a torqued-off mob of starving women stormed the place) to the Tuileries Palace. Even though society was literally disintegrating around her, élisabeth refused to abandon her post, ask for paid sick time, or even negotiate for combat pay. She had cause to regret this after accompanying the royals on a dangerous, disastrous escape attempt to flee Paris and form a counterrevolution.

The king of France was a noted ditherer. He was also in extreme denial, to wit: “Aw, only a few peasants are mad. Most of them love me! I’m pretty much a man of the people.” (I am paraphrasing.)

All that to say this complicated élisabeth’s life, which was already pretty hectic, what with not losing her mind from being afraid all the time and teaching a little boy not to fear dogs. But her loyalty never broke; it never even trembled.

The monarchy was abolished in 1792 and everyone—including élisabeth—was imprisoned. Louis XVI lost his head the following January; Marie Antoinette lost hers nine months later. The dauphin would be dead within two years; a dog’s death.

élisabeth survived it all, which was her curse. Devastated by the royal family’s executions, she would live decades longer, and would for the rest of her long life regret she had not done more when she wasn’t confronted by men trying to convince her they were the dead dauphin. Although Charles X made her a duchess after the Bourbon restoration, the dead were still dead.

She had held the job for three years.





FIFTEEN


“I thought you were murdered in your other lives.”

Leah braved a peek at Archer, who didn’t seem a) horrified, b) revolted, or c) bored. Just interested, and concerned.

“The ones where I’m not an impotent observer, yes.”

“What are you talking about, impotent? You—”

“It means—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Archer had his hands up. “I know what impotent means. From the dictionary, not from any, uh, personal issues. But how can you say you’re just a watcher—you got arrested with the entire French royal family! You tried to help them escape, it’s not your fault you all got caught. I mean it wasn’t your fault.” He squinched his eyes shut and rubbed them, hard. “Argh, hate talking about past lives, all the verb tenses get weird.”

Leah hadn’t considered that. “Well . . . I cared about them and they all died. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Except learn from it and bring that knowledge into your next life?”

“Except I’m not. I just end up in the middle of some incredible terrible event in world history and can’t change anything or do anything.” Cripes, it had been so difficult to share this with them and she wasn’t sure they were getting it. Which was fair, because she wasn’t sure she was, either. But still: frustrating.

“So, what?” the mayor asked. She and Archer were sharing Leah’s carrots. “You were always on the sidelines. Or you think you were, which can be the same thing in some cases. So?”

Nope. They don’t get it. Should have kept my flapping mouth shut. Tight. “That isn’t—”

“You were back then, and way back then, and way way back then, and you are now, because Insighters are always on the sidelines, it’s pretty much a job requirement, and if no one’s ever told you, you’re a bit of a chilly bitch. So?”

“So maybe that’s the problem.” They had been in the park long enough for the sun to begin to set, and deep golden rays slanted across Cat and Archer’s faces. Leah couldn’t help but be pleased that the only two people in her life she cared about

(you haven’t even known him a week! how is that “in your life”?)

seemed to be getting along. Sharing carrots, even. (Ugh.)

“What, being a chilly bitch?” At Leah’s arched eyebrows, Archer added, “I’m just using the mayor’s term! You didn’t object, so it’s agreed-upon. Unless you never want me to say it again. In which case, the term ‘chilly bitch’ is dead to me.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said dryly, and hoped he couldn’t hear the smile lurking behind her tone.

“Were you an Insighter in any of those lives?”

She shook her head. “No. Or not officially.” Though around since man first clubbed his first caveman girlfriend and later felt conflicted about it, Insighters had only been officially a thing (with accepted, industry-wide salary ranges, job protection from the government, and HMO coverage) for the last few decades. “If I ever was one, I don’t remember that part. Or I’d get a flash of something from another life and put it down to nerves or superstition or being stressed out by the French Revolution.”