RoseBlood(95)

Aunt Charlotte and Bouchard exchange glances.

“I didn’t agree with your grand-mère’s decision to bring you to RoseBlood,” my aunt answers. “But I’d made a promise to at least try. Still . . . I wasn’t convinced her strategy would have the desired results. I was worried it was a trap.”

Bouchard clears her throat.

My aunt rolls her eyes. “We were both worried of that.”

I crinkle my forehead. “So . . . you tore my clothes and killed that poor bird to save me from another of Grandma’s psycho vendettas?” My stomach turns, remembering the crow’s greasy, clumped feathers.

“Not exactly.” Aunt Charlotte moves closer to the lamp. Her eyes come to vivid clarity in the light, glimmering like Etalon’s when energy is brewing beneath the surface. Does she absorb it from the cigarettes somehow? Her irises are brown but fringed in gold. They’ve always been normal behind her glasses . . . hazel like Dad’s.

Sunny mentioned my aunt having boxes of contacts stashed with her cigarettes. I glance over where Bouchard studies her e-cig from end to end, far too comfortable propped next to the armoire.

The armoire where my aunt stores everything.

I jump up and Diable grumbles as he’s spilled onto the floor. I rush to the other end of the room. Bouchard tries to block me, but I slap the cigarette from her hand, throwing her off balance.

I force open the doors, and there they are. Disposable colored contacts: hazel brown. Aunt Charlotte’s camouflage.

It appears we each have to wear some form of mask to fit into this world. Just like Etalon and the Phantom.

“It’s good that you know at last. You won’t feel so alone now.” Aunt Charlotte’s warm hand clasps my shoulder gently. “I’ve wanted to tell you for years. But your grand-mère wouldn’t allow it. She feared it would endanger your mother, and she’d made a promise to your father to protect both of you at all costs. I didn’t realize you’d had your awakening, or I would’ve told you, regardless.” I start to shake her off, but her gentle touch reminds me of Mom’s, and I surrender to the sensation. “Sweet child, please be assured: Where your grand-mère is concerned, there’s never been a vendetta. It’s always been a rescue attempt. However warped.”

I turn to her then. “What . . . drowning . . . catching fire to—how’s . . . rescue? Bird killer!” I bark the accusation to mock her like her patronizing explanation has mocked me.

Aunt Charlotte shakes her head sadly. “I didn’t kill that bird. I simply used its corpse. Fran?oise . . . she’s Death’s handyman.”

Bouchard huffs as she picks up the e-cig glowing at her feet. “A crow that has the voice of a kitten is an abomination. As is a viperine snake with a growl like a wolf. I was trying to save those creatures.”

My chin drops.

“Pssshhh.” Aunt Charlotte waves a hand. “I’ve heard it all before. Each fresh animal hanging in your museum of atrocities. All of them an abomination that needed redemption at your scalpel’s blade. Perhaps, had you not dropped out of vet school, you would’ve learned how to operate successfully.”

“So . . . the rumors are true?” I ask with a stiff tongue. “About the animals in the forest?” But I don’t get an answer. Bouchard and my aunt are too engrossed in their bickering. The more I listen, the more it’s apparent how long they’ve known each other, and how Bouchard seems to be accountable to my aunt. Or at the very least, an ally.

“No way,” I say. “She’s your familiar. People can be familiars, right?”

They both stop talking at once.

“Oh, look, our newly awakened ingénue thinks she’s figured it all out.” Bouchard narrows her beady blue eyes, deepening the web of wrinkles around them. “You’re only halfway there, tripe.” She points the e-cig my direction. “I’m not a familiar. I’m family. A second cousin twice removed, one generation older than you.”

An unexpected snort bursts from my mouth. “Make that three or four generations, Lady Methuselah.” I’m not intimidated anymore. After everything she’s put me through while I’ve been here, I’m ready for a fight. And now that we’re on familial ground, I have nothing holding me back.

Bouchard curses in French and starts toward me. I step up to meet her halfway. Diable hisses from the chaise across the room as Aunt Charlotte steps between us.

“C’est assez!” She grabs her cigarette from Bouchard and pokes a finger into her chest. “I’m over being patient with you. Yes, yours is a recessive gene; yes, the power passed you by. Stop taking your jealousy out on Rune. Remember what I can do to you, should I decide I no longer care to tolerate your negative energy.” She opens the door to show our bony second cousin out.

Bouchard twists around and shoves her pointed toe over the threshold, preventing Aunt Charlotte from closing it.

“Oh, you don’t believe I’ll do it?” my aunt asks her on a sinister murmur. She looks to the left of the door, where a clock hangs on the wall. “Hmmm. A quarter to eleven. I suppose I could have my midnight snack early. Cynicism tastes like flat ginger ale and cold peppermint tea, two of my favorite flavors. Rune, you’ll join me, won’t you? Bon appétit.” She licks her lips and her eyes flash.