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Soon after Siaka returns with our lunch, Liv packs up and goes, leaving an explosion of candy wrappers and sugar residue strewn across Bran’s desk. I shovel it into a trash can, then scoot my stuff over. It seems awkward now to share a desk with my Flame-finger counterpart.
It must have been the wrong thing to do, because Siaka gets this look like something smells rotten and cranks the music. I can’t do anything right with this guy. What’s wrong with me?
We eat our sandwiches while working. The four feet between us is so charged with negativity I can practically see the sparks out the side of my eye. When I dare glance over, I see that Siaka is typing out some old Flame-finger text handwritten on a crumbling notebook. I click through the bardia’s database, cleaning up files with incomplete or misspelled addresses and making a list of those lacking email addresses. I’ve got a lot of admin work to do before we can get up and running. And although it seems important, no one’s talked about a deadline, so I’m guessing the schedule is ASAP.
Siaka’s phone buzzes, and he tilts it forward to read a text. “Welp. We better go,” he says. “Arthur’s waking up from his dormancy.”
I look at him quizzically.
“Bran and I decided the best time to test the remedies is just after a bardia has reanimated from their three-day dormancy.” He shoots me a tense glance. “After you’ve reanimated.”
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to make up for my previous blunder. “I’m not really one of them yet, so that’s probably confusing for you.” Oh shit. I know it’s a disaster as soon as it comes out of my mouth.
Siaka looks at me like my words were a slap.
I scramble to fix things. “I don’t mean confusing for you personally. I mean confusing for anyone. Because you’re obviously really knowledgeable...” I trail off, feeling each word dig me in even deeper. As if that’s possible.
Avoiding eye contact, we pack our stuff, leave the basement, and make our way through the shop. Siaka locks the door behind us and halfheartedly asks, “Scooter?”
“Sure,” I reply. I hate the tension between us, but I don’t dare try to talk it out for fear of saying something that ruins things for good. Because if I said what I truly feel—I mean, face it, the horrifying awkwardness is because I have a massive crush on him—well, I might as well turn in my resignation to Bran and Gaspard and tell them to find me a replacement.
I tuck my hair behind my ears, pull on the helmet Siaka hands me, and sit behind him on the scooter. Despite my best efforts to ignore it, I still feel his magnetic pull, and it takes all my resolve to resist wrapping myself around him. But gone is the sparkling feeling floating in the air. Instead, I smell exhaust each time we pass a car, and the glittering magic of Paris has morphed into a thick fog of suck.
I feel like taking the next train out of the city, but where would I even go? The place I lived the last five years isn’t my home anymore. What am I going to do? Show up on my mom’s doorstep and say, “Hey, Mom, I came back to life!” No, Paris is my home now. I have to make this work.
When we pull into the courtyard at La Maison, Bran is sitting on the edge of this angel fountain that always reminds me of Kate and Vincent. My mentor is chatting with Vincent, who holds Odette on his lap. She’s wearing Bran’s glasses, and her eyes are magnified to the size of eggs as she watches us climb off the scooter. She points as we walk toward them.
“Big,” she says. Then taking the glasses off... “Little.” Then back on. “Big!” And off. “Little!”
It’s super-cute.
“Give the glasses back to Bran, Odette,” Vincent says. “We wouldn’t want him to hurt himself running into things.”
Bran rolls his eyes comically. Odette giggles and says, “Don’t hurt yourself, Bran.”
I have this pang in my heart because I want to be a part of this, but I feel I’ll have to earn it. My hunch is confirmed when Vincent glances up and gives me a polite nod instead of a smile.
Now that we’re outside, in daylight, I see that Odette has large green eyes and strawberry blond hair. It’s pulled up into two short ponytails on either side of her head, which is how my sister wore her hair at the same age. The pang in my heart flares and I look away.
“Hi, Siaka,” says Odette, solemnly lifting her face to let him kiss her cheeks, left then right. She looks at me. “You live upstairs now. I tried to go in your room, but Mommy said no.”
“I’m Louis,” I say and lean over so that she can plant soggy kisses on my cheeks.
“You are kindred,” she announces. “Bran and Siaka are kind of kindred. They are our most special friends. But if you live in our house, that means you are kindred. Right, Daddy?”
Vincent looks uncomfortable and tries to distract her by fixing one of her ponytails, but she won’t let the subject drop. “Right, Daddy? Louis is kindred.”
I try to let Vincent off the hook, and ask Bran, “Should we go check on Arthur?”
He stands and slips his glasses back on. “Yes. I was out here waiting for you when I was joined by such pleasant company.” He ruffles Odette’s hair, but she’s digging in for the win with her father and pays him no attention.
As we walk toward the front door, I hear her say, “BroBrose says if someone lives in La Maison they’re kindred, and BroBrose is always right. He told me that.”
Bran chuckles as we pass through the front door. “Looks like you have a powerful ally, Louis. Vincent doesn’t stand a chance when Odette makes up her mind about something.”
“She’s really something,” I agree.
“She’s more than you think,” Bran says. I look at him quizzically. “I’ve told Vincent and Kate already, but I imagine they kept it to themselves. Odette has a role to play. An important one. But it will come later. That’s all I know.”
“But how?” I ask.
“Her aura.” And that’s the end of that. I’m getting used to Bran spouting mysterious prophecies, but with this one, I wish I had some spoilers.
We enter the house, pass the foyer and a sitting room, then through a series of doors. Bran leads the way, with Siaka standing stiffly aside to let me through first.
“Go ahead,” I offer, but he shakes his head and waits for me. Things could not be more awkward. I give up. Once we’re in Arthur’s room, I try to forget about my failure with Siaka and watch Bran.
Arthur sits reading, propped up against a pillow in a four-poster bed that looks straight out of the Palace of Versailles. Next to the bed, on an equally ornate bedside table is an untouched tray of fruits and nuts along with bottles of water and juice.
“Finally, you’re here,” he says, putting his book down. I glance at the title. It’s a self-help book about relationships. I try not to grin.
“I’m starving,” Arthur tells me. “Bran forbade me from eating until you arrived.”
“From what I can ascertain,” Bran pipes up, “a remedy or cure is most effective if administered when the body is empty of liquids and food. Therefore, the optimal timing is just as a bardia reanimates.”
“Being the bardia in question,” Arthur says, “what kind of remedy have you got for me this time?”
Bran pulls a flacon from his pocket, uncorks it and hands it to Arthur. “I won’t tell you what’s in it,” he says, “but it’s meant to do the same thing the last four have: ease your craving for death so you’re in full control of when you choose to die next.”
Bran hands me a leather-bound journal and a pen. “Since you will be living under the same roof, you can record Arthur’s reactions. Please write down anything relevant, then ask him the questions written inside the front cover.”
“Okay.” I pull up a chair and prop the journal on my knee. I glance at the last entry and write the date, time and Arthur’s name in the same order.
“Go ahead,” Bran says to Arthur. “Drink it.”
Siaka pours a glass of water and waits. Arthur tips his head back, empties the flacon into his mouth, swallows, then—his face twisting into a grimace—grabs for the glass of water. Chugging it, he looks at us, eyes watering.
“First question,” Bran prompts.
“Ah, Question 1. What did it taste like?” I read.
“Cat pee,” Arthur responds.
I look up to see if he is joking. He’s not. I jot down, “Taste: cat piss.”
“Question 2,” I continue. “Do you sense any aftertaste?”
“If possible, an even stronger note of cat piss, followed by what I would imagine floor polish tastes like.” Arthur’s nostrils are flaring, and it looks like he’s trying not to throw up.
I write down his response, then run through the rest of the questions, noting no immediate physical reactions, no lightheadedness or swimming of vision. I get to the end of the list.
Satisfied, Bran stands and says, “Good, good. Louis will stay with you for the next hour to note any other immediate reactions.”
“May I eat?” Arthur eyes the tray of food.
“Yes, of course,” Bran replies.
Plucking up a date, he pops it in his mouth. “Mmmph,” he moans, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “Oh my god, the first thing you eat after dormancy is always the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”
Brans smiles and pats Arthur’s shoulder. He turns to leave. “Siaka, there’s a manuscript in the library that Gaspard thought you and I should have a look at.”
“Let’s go,” Siaka agrees. And without giving me so much as a glance, he follows his uncle out of the room.