“Murder tourism,” Nathalie said. She didn’t want to admit it to Gabrielle, but had she not been directly involved in the morgue, visiting murder sites was the sort of thing she’d explore with Simone, Louis, and Ju—
With Simone and Louis. Not Jules.
She folded the broadside and put it in her bag. Gabrielle stood there, not saying anything yet making no move to leave, either.
Nathalie spoke, if only to free them of this awkwardness. “Are you doing, uh, something at the morgue or only passing through?”
“The Prefect of Police asked if I wouldn’t mind helping with other cases.” She toyed with a pearl button on her beige frock.
“Ah, I see.” Both Gabrielle and Jules had powers independent of murder, which made them more useful than her. It was an uncomfortable thought she’d entertained for some time. Jules had offered assistance on other cases at times, so she shouldn’t have been surprised that Gabrielle had been invited to do the same.
Still, she didn’t like it. It was one thing to work together. It was another when they—or rather, only Gabrielle now—might be perceived as more valuable.
But she had to get over that, didn’t she? She didn’t own the morgue, didn’t own what Insightfuls did with their powers. Jules had been right about that.
“Part of me almost likes being an Insightful now,” added Gabrielle. “Yet part of me still feels like it’s penance.”
“I’m glad you’re making peace with it. Or that part of you is.” Nathalie tilted the brim of her hat. “I’m sure I’ll see you here, then. Have a good—”
“Are you free for a few minutes of conversation?” interrupted Gabrielle, an air of subdued gravity about her.
34
This was the second offer she’d made to talk, this one more direct than the last. What was so pressing that Gabrielle wished to speak with her? Evidently she wanted to go beyond pleasantries. Nathalie had been focused on getting her article done, seeing as it was late in the day. Her manners and curiosity colluded, and rather than making an excuse, she found herself saying yes.
“You mean here? Or…?” Nathalie purposely didn’t suggest a café. She wanted the opportunity to leave gracefully, and a café would come with certain social trappings.
“There’s a spot along the river that I like. Perhaps that?”
Nathalie acquiesced, following her a short way to a staircase beside the bridge (the one Nathalie resented). Gabrielle, her limp nearly imperceptible, wound her way through excitable families and jaunty tourists to a spot alongside the Seine. Bathers were along the edge of the river, clear of the small boats and sightseeing ferries. Gabrielle sat on the wall, feet dangling over the edge. Nathalie sat a meter or so away and watched the other people as she waited for Gabrielle to begin.
It wasn’t immediate. Gabrielle was silent, then remarked on the whimsical red-and-white paint scheme of a passing boat, her thumb spinning the crucifix ring the whole time.
“That ring means something to you, doesn’t it?” Nathalie said, eyeing it.
Gabrielle looked at her hands and held them up. “Both of them do. A tale of two grandmothers.”
Nathalie raised a brow.
“The amethyst one is from my grandmother Marguerite, a widow whose husband, long gone from cholera, gave her this after a year of marriage.”
“Striking.”
“The other is a confirmation gift from my grandmother Jeanne. A ring she herself wore for many years. She was most religious.” Gabrielle touched the crucifix ring with her other hand. “I find a lot of solace in prayer myself.”
Nathalie hadn’t anticipated such openness. She was drawn to it and put off by it at the same time. Gabrielle was a puzzle, and she still didn’t know what to think of her. “I have, too, at times. I’m not as consistent about attending Mass as I’d like, but I find serenity at Notre-Dame.”
“Conversations with God have helped me accept myself as an Insightful.” Gabrielle tucked a braid under her hat. “I never thought I’d use my power this frequently. I have a long way to go to make peace with it, but my contempt turned to resignation. Prayer has helped, the experience has helped. Some other … relationships I’ve cultivated. And you.”
Nathalie turned to her. “Me?”
Gabrielle stared at the river and swung her heels, kicking them against the bank. “I’ve observed you, how you approach it all. Confident and with a sense of duty, even a speck of conceit.”
Nathalie went to argue the point, then realized that perhaps Gabrielle was somewhat right. “Conceit is a strong word.”
“That’s why I said a speck. The smallest dash is acceptable, I think.” Gabrielle smiled in such a way that Nathalie couldn’t help but return it.
Yet even as Nathalie warmed up to Gabrielle’s overtures, the why gnawed at her. Was she building up to ask about Jules’s absence? Because Nathalie wasn’t about to answer that. Not in a straightforward manner, anyway.
“I haven’t been in the company of many Insightfuls unafraid to use their powers,” Gabrielle said. “Even after spending time in the hospital, you’re so filled with dedication, you returned almost right away.”
Nathalie’s stomach twisted like a tree in a fairy tale. Gabrielle held an exaggerated view of her, her ability, her sensibility in grappling with it. “It’s, uh, not that effortless for me. Especially after this last episode of memory loss.”
“It was heartbreaking to see you that way.”
Nathalie blushed. Was that what Christophe had told her? Jules wouldn’t have told her anything so personal. Besides, she was much better by the time Gabrielle had seen her. “If you thought I looked unwell when I came home, you should have seen me at the hospital.”
“I did.”
“Oh?” Nathalie looked at her askance. “There was a guest register. Your name wasn’t in it.”
“Purposely.”
“Why?” Nathalie narrowed her gaze.
“To be discreet.” Gabrielle paused before continuing. “We talked about going to the top platform of the Tour Eiffel.”
Nathalie’s bones disappeared, every one of them, and she feared she’d slide right off the bank into the Seine.
Agnès hadn’t visited her in the hospital.
Gabrielle had.
How distorted was my mind?
“I can’t believe it. I remember but I don’t. You … didn’t resemble you.” She turned away, unwilling to let Gabrielle study her visage. “In my bizarre convalescence, I mistook you for someone else.”
Gabrielle seemed both unbothered and unsurprised. “You were asleep when I arrived. I shouldn’t have done it without asking first but I—I touched your feet to discern your path.”
Nathalie recoiled. “What? I would have preferred to give you permission, yes.”
Yet she couldn’t blame Gabrielle. Might not she have done the same?
“I don’t know what happened in specific terms, but I saw that you were in a space with a lot of rooms and beds. I knew from Christophe that it was Saint-Mathurin Asylum because you were visiting your aunt when this happened.” Gabrielle hesitated, as if she were waiting for Nathalie to interrupt. “There was a great swell of energy from you and you … almost seemed to disappear with lightness. You returned and lingered in the room, then walked into a hall and collapsed.”
Energy followed by disappearing.
Gabrielle knew she had a vision, and she knew visions only came when someone died at the hands of another.
Surely she’d deduced the truth. After all, Dr. Delacroix had cited “an encounter” when he spoke to her in the hospital.
Which meant he knew the truth as well, yet never pried. His focus was helping Nathalie, not making Aunt Brigitte accountable.
As with Gabrielle, Nathalie presumed.
“Your power is remarkably impressive,” said Nathalie, attempting a lighthearted tone. “That is, uh, what happened.”
She decided not to elaborate. What were Gabrielle’s motives? To seek justice for the woman Au
nt Brigitte killed? To scold Nathalie for holding on to the secret? Or something far more benign?
“I can see the distrust on your face,” said Gabrielle. “Maybe my approach was wrong. I won’t interfere—I trust that your family and the asylum will take care of the matter.”
Nathalie considered both not responding and explaining everything. Each had appeal. Ultimately she settled on a single word. “Yes.”
She still didn’t understand the point of this conversation, unless Gabrielle was exercising subtle power and sought to make her squirm. Which was why the next questions were not at all what Nathalie was expecting.
“Did you have anyone to discuss it with? That is … someone who understood? Besides your parents or your friends.”
The words came to Nathalie’s ears slowly, as if entering her mind patiently and single file.
What were the chances those questions were random, coincidental?
Rather slim.
Nathalie responded using a phrase Maman had taught her for whenever someone’s questions were too pointed. “Why do you ask?”
Gabrielle watched a pair of bathers swimming on the other side of the river. “I think you know.”
“Do I?”
“I sent him to you,” said Gabrielle, her voice faint. “I correspond with him regularly.”
Was she talking about…? No, that was so unlikely. Nathalie pressed her palms into the wall. “Him who?”
“Delacroix.”
Some other … relationships.
Could it be?
It was balmy and they were in the sun, but a chill nevertheless tickled up Nathalie’s arms. The first time she’d met Gabrielle, they’d gone to Café Maxime’s with Christophe. Gabrielle had expressed how disgruntled she was over her Insightful identity, and Nathalie remembered thinking about the mysterious Insightful who supposedly helped other Insightfuls. And how, if she’d known him to be real, she’d have suggested Gabrielle seek him out.
Gabrielle watched her expectantly.
“You sent him to me? I—when I tried to think of—I never considered that it might have been you.”
“Why not?”
Because I didn’t think we liked each other.
Or was it only Nathalie who hadn’t liked Gabrielle?
Nathalie flicked a pebble into the Seine. “I didn’t know you … were inclined to demonstrate such a courtesy toward me.”
“We all need help sometimes. If you didn’t want it or seek it, no harm would have been done.”
“I wasn’t sure he was real. I don’t remember all of our conversation, but I think I told him the entirety of my story as an Insightful. He’s since sent me a lovely letter, maybe not revealing everything about who he is but … enough. He invited me to correspond with him if I felt like I needed to or had questions.” Nathalie lowered her voice. “So you told him how … I ended up in the hospital?”
Gabrielle gave a timid nod.
He did seem to know, Delacroix. She’d thought so at the time but neither trusted her mind nor understood how he could have. She wasn’t sure at the time what she’d said out loud and what she hadn’t.
“His gift is one of profound empathy,” said Gabrielle, a note of admiration in her voice. “He can feel the pain of others—pain of the heart and mind. He perceives it in a pure way, and the toll it takes on him is an immediate manifestation of physical discomfort. An ache.”
“No wonder he’s a recluse.” Nathalie thought about what that would be like. Every loved one, every social exchange of any significance bringing pain because everyone carried something. How could you possibly shun the pain of others unless you removed yourself from the world most of the time? It didn’t sound like something he could choose the way that Nathalie or Gabrielle could. She either touched the dead through glass or she didn’t. Gabrielle either sought a path tracing or refrained.
What barriers could one put up so that the hurt of another didn’t seep through?
“That sounds like a most unfortunate ability to have,” Nathalie said, her voice soft.
Gabrielle crossed her feet at the ankles. “He considers it the price of having worked so closely with Dr. Henard. He uses it for benevolence, to support and try to understand the troubles of Insightfuls. He listens, he explains. He cares.”
“What of his name? Or names?”
“From what I’ve heard,” said Gabrielle, “he used several early on. In recent years his choice of name became more deliberate.”
Delacroix. Cross. But also near a crossroads.
Gabrielle swallowed and continued. “That, combined with his ongoing research, makes him … very important to someone like me.”
“I’m glad he’s been able to help you. You’ve undoubtedly learned from him.”
Gabrielle blushed.
Nathalie’s heart was filled with gratitude in that moment. While she didn’t reach out to place a hand on Gabrielle, part of her wanted to. “I don’t know that there’s a greater display of empathy than what you did, both in seeing the situation with my aunt for what it is and in sending Dr. Delacroix to me. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome. Some good soul sent him to me; I never found out who. I’ve been grateful ever since.” Gabrielle stood and dusted off her dress. “He gives sound advice and is knowledgeable. He can’t solve every problem or use his gift to eliminate your worries, but he’s a good person to have supporting you.”
He wasn’t a rumor, wasn’t a legend. He was someone who might be able to help from time to time with perspective the other Insightfuls in her life might not have. “I’ve not yet written to him, but I certainly will. Thank you again.”
Nathalie was about to get up as well when she noticed someone crossing the bridge who looked like—no, it couldn’t be him.
Yet it was.
Christophe.
35
Why wasn’t he in Switzerland? He wasn’t due home for weeks.
She wanted to wave but didn’t, not in front of Gabrielle. They might have taken a step toward friendship, but Nathalie still didn’t care for the way Gabrielle beamed at him and sought his attention (or had she been mistaken about that? Well, now wasn’t the time to evaluate it). Keeping her eye on him, she almost lost him in the crowd while saying goodbye to Gabrielle. She increased her pace and reached him before he got to the steps of the morgue.
“Christophe,” she called out.
He turned and waved at her, squinting into the sun.
“What are you doing back so soon?” she asked as she closed the gap between them.
He exhaled. “I spent a lot of time thinking and arrived at a decision on the train to Switzerland. Before that, really. I needed a few days there to confirm that my thoughts were in order, and indeed they were.” He wrung his hands together and lowered his voice. “I called off the engagement.”
Shock, curiosity, elation, even a touch of pity—all tackled one another in her head at full force, like boys wrestling in a schoolyard.
She wanted to ask why. He read the question on her face; he had to have, like he’d read so many before. Yet as inquisitive as she was, she didn’t want to intrude on his privacy. She wanted to know but also didn’t. She’d never asked about his fiancée before, never spoke a word about his prolonged engagement more than necessary. Other than the young woman’s name, which she herself never used, Nathalie knew nothing of her. To ask now about her, about them, would be disingenuous.
Someday maybe she’d ask. Or someday maybe he’d share.
For now, she chose words of respect and comfort. “I’m sure that was a taxing decision to make, and I’m sure you’re both experiencing a flood of feelings right now. May your heart heal soon.”
Because in truth, as satisfied as she was to learn of this news, her own heart had yet to mend from Jules’s betrayal and the end of their relationship. Christophe didn’t know any of that, but again, this wasn’t the occasion to discuss it.
“It’s difficult, but I know it’s for my best interest as we
ll as hers. Better to recognize that now than after marriage.”
Finally he met her gaze. When he did, it was she who looked away first. She spoke without making eye contact. “I, um, also wanted to apologize for how we, that is, how I left things. Before your departure. I was incensed that day. Not at you, though I … certainly made it seem so.”
She felt heat rushing through her, head to toe, and not because of the sun.
“That’s very considerate of you, Nathalie.” His tone was even, hard to interpret. “Thank you for being so forthright.”
She faced him and was relieved to see geniality on his face. Not a smile exactly, but something approaching tranquility.
“I—I didn’t begrudge you your anger that day,” he added. “Although I can’t say I enjoyed being on the receiving end of it.” The faintest of smirks teased the corners of his mouth.
“Well,” Nathalie said, relaxing into a humble smile as she took a step back. “I am grateful for your understanding. It’s good to see you again so soon, despite the circumstances. We’ll speak at length before long, I’m sure.”
Christophe agreed, and they parted ways. As Nathalie strolled away, her insides became engulfed in a waterfall of emotions old and new.
* * *
After turning in her article, she went to Montmartre to Simone’s apartment. The two of them and Louis had plans to attend the Telephone Pavilion and perhaps try a “long-distance call” (Nathalie was skeptical; it had to be a trick), have dinner at a nearby restaurant beside the Finland Pavilion, and take in a fireworks display to end the evening. Tomorrow morning, they were going to explore a small, abandoned theater Simone had heard about at Le Chat Noir.
She arrived just prior to the agreed-upon time of four o’clock and knocked on the door. No answer. She waited a moment and tried again.
“Simone?”
Nathalie more than half expected her friend to answer the door with a yawn. Simone’s vampire hours (as she called them) from working at the club often had her on an unusual sleep schedule.
Sensational Page 23
