Rosalie squatted down to him and kissed him on the cheek before looking him in the eyes. He remembered how her eyes filled with tears as she said softly, “Oh, sweet boy. Don’t worry about such things. Your father has a house somewhere else and you and Vivienne and I have to stay here to take care of your grandmother.”
Shortly after this, he’d seen his father at Mass with Delia, his wife. In a moment of clarity, he realized the many times before when his mother hand grabbed his hand and held her close to him at Mass she worried he’d call attention to himself and embarrass her and Auguste. He waited patiently next to her as he usually did, waiting for his chance. When his mother was occupied by a fellow parishioner seeking love advice after mass, he darted through the other people milling about as he saw Auguste and Delia walking away arm-in-arm. He ran after his father, catching up with him easily and tugging on the hem of his father’s suit jacket. Auguste and Delia stopped. Christophe heard Delia’s sharp intake of breath and saw the tears well up in her eyes. He was struck mute, realizing the pain he caused Delia just through his existence. Auguste said nothing and the couple resumed walking, leaving Christophe standing alone in silence.
He’d never pressed it again with Rosalie or his father, but shortly after Christophe’s attempt at contact, Rosalie and Auguste started arranging for times they could all be together. After that wordless exchange outside the church, Christophe’s resentment toward his father began to build. While he was civil to his father during the short visits following the encounter, he didn’t seek a relationship with him beyond those visits. His resentment grew to hot anger after Rosalie killed herself.
The anniversary of Rosalie’s suicide always renewed that spark of anger. He knew as he readied himself for Mass that his grandmother had arranged for Marguerite to come in and cook dinner for the three of them. He’d seen her through the kitchen windows, bustling about. Marguerite had been his first love. She was a slight woman, and even though she was quite young, Marguerite had the same kind of quiet reserve his grandmother and his mother had. She was one of Marie’s students, and he’d taken a special interest in her partially to spite his grandmother. Marguerite had not been as easy to sway as he’d hoped, and Marie hadn’t seemed to care that he was sleeping with her student. It was just another instance in which she ignored him and seemed to think of him as simply a fixture in her life. Ultimately, both women responded to his advances with far less passion than he’d hoped and the romance fizzled out.
On this anniversary of Rosalie’s death, he saw his father and Delia at Mass; he wondered if Auguste remembered it was the anniversary. If Delia remembered, Christophe thought, she probably cheered the day as the anniversary of when her husband finally was her own. His musing was disrupted as Vivienne joined him and their grandmother started in with how long it had been since they’d all attended Mass together.
“Not only that, but Christophe here has taken a page from your book, Vivienne, and is hardly even home anymore.”
Vivienne smiled at that thought and merely mumbled to their grandmother, “Good, I’m glad my little brother is finally acting like an adult.”
After Mass, the two younger Garniers walked to the car together. He knew he had little time to talk to her before Marie would grow impatient and suspicious of their private discussion.
He and Olivia needed the family secret. He knew Marie would never divulge it to him, and probably not to Vivienne, in fear that his sister would take the same route Rosalie had. His only real hope was to get Vivienne to help him get the secret by becoming her ally. He had to convince her their mother had been right about the ritual. He broached the subject by bringing up the letter Rosalie had sent to Vivienne. She’d shared it with Christophe as they grieved their loss immediately after Rosalie’s suicide. Rosalie had been clear in the letter, which she must have sent shortly before taking her own life, that Vivienne was not to say anything to Marie, and the only other person that Vivienne felt she could talk about it with was her brother. At the time, neither sibling gave the story their mother told much credibility beyond it being the creation of her own tortured mind.
After all, how easy was it to believe that their grandmother was centuries old and had discovered a way to move from body to body, claiming the physical life and beauty of her daughter as her own?
But, when he’d told Olivia the story his mother told in the letter, she assured him of its validity. Her description of the Eve of St. John ritual and how Marie looked her in the eye gave him chills. He knew, from drumming in rituals for his grandmother, his mother, and now his sister, there was a level of knowing in those moments when the drumbeats catch you that transcends reason. He had no doubts left about his grandmother’s power. He’d seen pictures of his great grandmother and could not ignore the look of panic and fear in her eyes. His great grandmother died before he was born, but Rosalie had loved her greatly and kept a small black and white photo of the two of them together on her altar. She’d revealed in the letter that the woman who was supposedly her grandmother, muted by a severe stroke, was her mother—she’d been displaced from her body for Marie’s own dark purposes.
The ritual that allowed Marie immortality was the secret Olivia yearned for, and Christophe saw the great opportunity this held for him; not only would he be able to deny his grandmother the pleasure of taking his sister’s identity, but he could also use the ritual to create a new identity for himself. He could only imagine the power he might have if he could inhabit the body of someone else who had gained power and prestige on their own in the broader world. And even if he chose to stay Christophe Garnier, he’d be with Olivia forever. Surely she would grant him that request if he gained the secret for her.
The dinner fell apart in much the way he assumed it would. Marie poked at Vivienne for not being present enough, for not taking her role in the family seriously enough with her mother gone. The surprise for Christophe was his sister standing up to their grandmother, telling her of the warning letter Rosalie had sent, and asking her directly to tell her side of the story. He’d taken that as his cue to exit, and he’d retreated. The carriage house he lived in served first as his mother’s apartment and now it was his refuge. He wondered if she was there tonight, on the anniversary of her death. He couldn’t sense her, but he’d never been able to.
He could see the silhouettes of Vivienne and Marie through the windows, Vivienne gesturing with her hands as she talked while Marie stood as still as a statue. He wondered how much Marie would really be willing to tell Vivienne. He was happy to see the seed he’d planted in Vivienne’s brain had taken root and led to the confrontation. He never felt before that he could manipulate his sister and now he felt far more powerful than she was. Both women seemed small to him for the first time.
His feelings of power were reinforced when Vivienne did as he’d hoped and joined him. He poured them each a shot of rum and asked her about the argument. Marie simply harped on the same old themes—Vivienne should have children and should begin taking on Marie’s clients so that when Marie was gone they’d have someone to count on.
She’d asked him about that day then--the day Rosalie hung herself. She’d done it in the dining room. “I still don’t know how she managed to push the heavy table to the side and attach the rope to the top of the fixture in the ceiling.” Christophe paused and took a gulp of bourbon before continuing. “She had to have used a ladder to attach it, but she’d taken such time and care that she’d removed the ladder from the house and placed it back in its place with the other garden and household maintenance tools.”
That his grandmother had never had the heavy light fixture replaced after Rosalie used it to secure the rope was beyond him. Yet, it was under that light that they dined together each year on the anniversary of her death.
“They were fighting before it happened; Grandmother was arguing it was time for Mother to take on more of Marie’s clients and to be more responsible, about how now that she had children there was no reason to continue with Au
guste.” He paused again and wondered once more if Auguste was aware of the date. “Grandmother stormed out of the house, leaving Mother behind. As I took her to her client appointments, she complained all afternoon about mother’s insolence.”
He’d been proud of Rosalie that day at first; it was the first time he’d actually seen her stand up to Marie, and he’d returned that day and gone straight to the carriage house, assuming she’d be in her own space, ignoring her overbearing mother. He liked spending time with her in the carriage house, as it was the only time he had her full attention.
“So, I came home expecting her to be here, but she wasn’t. I was standing in the doorway of the carriage house, my hand still on the door knob as I pushed it open, when I heard the screams from the main house.” Marie found the body of her only daughter swinging from the chandelier in the dining room.
After he recounted the story, he left Vivienne there, drinking and brooding. He knew that the anniversary of her death and the room with Rosalie’s altar were his best hope for contact between his mother and his sister. He sensed that Vivienne was beginning to believe there was more than simple madness to Rosalie’s accusations, and he hoped that the build up of energy would be the tipping point.
He left her to go to Olivia. She was glad to hear Vivienne was beginning to take her mother’s story for the truth. Now they only had to wait.
Chapter Thirty Four
Christophe didn’t have to wait long for his sister to come around. Vivienne called Christophe not long after the night he left her at their mother’s altar, asking him to meet her at her apartment. When he arrived, she answered the door with such energy that she seemed possessed by something. It was different, though, than the way she was when she worked rituals and was mounted by the Loa. She was in total possession of herself, he realized, which was why her eyes were so bright and the air around her seemed to crackle with energy.
As they sat, she revealed to him that she’d dreamt of Rosalie on the anniversary of her death. She was brief with the description of the dream, mainly focusing on how it led her to turn to Auguste for answers. During the visit, he finally revealed he had a box of Rosalie’s things, including the journal Vivienne was now showing Christophe.
“So, now you believe me?” He was relieved his sister had finally come around to the truth about their grandmother, even if it meant Auguste was involved.
“I’m sorry, Christophe, for not believing you before.” Vivienne handed him the journal and asked him if he read French. He couldn’t but as his hand touched the book, he swore he felt a surge of energy from it. Instinctively, he knew when he saw the journal it held the key Olivia so desperately wanted. He worried it might be difficult to get the journal away from Vivienne. She would no doubt miss it immediately, and he had no reason to take it from her. He knew she would worry if he took it home that their grandmother might realize they had it. Besides, he couldn’t read French, so there was no way he could convince her to let him borrow it to read it. It wasn’t like you could just take something so precious in for translation by a stranger, either.
In his time watching after Liz, he quickly found she and Vivienne shared a fast friendship. He’d observed them together on a couple of different occasions and he was able to easily escape their notice because they were so focused on one another. He couldn’t blame his sister for feeling kindness toward Liz or for being attracted to her. After all, he had to fight against his own affinity for her. So far, the two women were just friends, but he could sense the desire for more from both of them. Instead of trying to discourage it, he decided to use their mutual interest to get what he wanted.
He made sure he was with Vivienne when she met Liz for a date one night. With his sister dating her, he realized he’d not only have far easier access to Liz without things seeming odd or her realizing he was watching her. He was also able to access Vivienne’s house knowing that when she was out with Liz that he and Olivia would not be interrupted. He left the two of them at The Ruby having pre-dinner drinks and went to meet Olivia.
He and Vivienne had keys to each other’s houses, and Olivia had no qualms over entering his sister’s house upon his invitation. One visit was all she needed to read the ritual instructions and commit them to memory.
Olivia was happier than he’d ever seen her as she read over the journal. She’s actually kissed him in her excitement and it was a moment of actual joy for her—the kiss was free of any artifice and had not other purpose or design than to show her gratitude.
Afterward, she led him to the Casbah. They sat in the shadows watching a dancer bearing a startling resemblance to Wren. Olivia handed him a cigarette. “We’re not just here for entertainment and celebration. While you’ve been following Liz, I’ve been ensuring that Wren can return.” She nodded toward the dancer, and as she did, Tiffany slid the duster off her shoulders. Her back was to Olivia’s table, and Christophe was able to see her tattoos matched Wren’s.
Things were coming together quickly, and Christophe wondered where his place in the tribe would be once Wren was back. He also wondered why Olivia was bothering. If she wanted more playmates, surely there were easier methods.
Later, when he and Olivia were alone in her bed, he asked, “Why go through with the transfer for Wren? Since you’re convinced that Liz is Daniela reincarnated, why bother with the ritual at all?”
Olivia was quiet for a few moments, letting the questions hang in the air. She kissed him sweetly. “Don’t worry, Christophe. You still have a place here. Your work is just beginning really.” She slid from between the sheets and grabbed a robe. He marveled at the sight of her still, and he wondered if the sight of her would ever become ordinary to him.
“It’s not that, although I’m glad to hear that your use of me isn’t over now that you have the ritual. It just seems, though, that you could have Daniela without freeing Wren or effecting any transfer.”
“If it were so simple, what a wonderful thing that would be.” She moved to the window, her back to him. “I have looked for this secret for too long to just give up now.”
“So, it’s out of stubborn determination?”
She smiled at him. “On one level, perhaps. But Daniela is only one part of Liz. It is as if two souls inhabit her one body. Her memories of her past as Daniela are only present when her conscious mind is suppressed. In other words to simply continue as I have been would be to settle for an eternity of stolen kisses and trysts only.”
She turned away from him, gazing out of the window. “The only way to ensure that I have Daniela is to isolate that part of her psyche. To do that I must separate those two souls somehow.”
“Besides, knowing how to use the ritual will ensure that I never have to go through this again; even if one of you—my favored ones—should be killed I would have the power to resurrect you. It’s not just Daniela I have mourned for over the lifetimes I’ve had.”
She sat in the chair in the corner of her room, and he resisted the urge to go to her. He was sure that if he did she wouldn’t finish what she had to say. He waited.
“Wren has shown that she’s worthy of another chance. I didn’t treat her well, and she could be useful to us. And, while I can enthrall Liz, she has protection, it seems. She’s not the same as she was before. Your sister has awakened power in her that I didn’t anticipate. While she is submissive to me in her current state because she longs to feed and to be with her own kind, she also has a much stronger identity than she did before she went to Hattiesburg. She had to be alone—without me or Alex—to realize her own strength.”
He’d sensed a difference in Liz, too. He wondered if it was simply a matter of his own sharper awareness that there were Others, or if it was something about Liz that was truly different.
“You mentioned that your sister blessed The Ruby after Liz returned. When I went to her the first time after that ritual, I saw in her mind visions of herself during the blessing; it was as if she were watching herself dancing, spinning. She looked lik
e the people I saw at Lake Pontchartrain a lifetime ago, Christophe. She was mounted by a spirit.”
“A Loa. Do you know which one?”
She nodded. “Brigitte. Protector of the dead.” She lit a cigarette. “That’s why the ritual is so important to me now.”
He understood. Liz, being undead, had no gravestone for Brigitte to protect—she was her own living graveyard, now inhabited by two souls—her own and Daniela’s. It made sense that the protection ritual called upon Brigitte, as well; he knew from his mother that she was often called upon for protection and Vivienne still wore a St. Brigid’s medal. He’d seen one on Liz’s neck as well.
He realized that Wren was practice for a simple transfer; to separate Liz and Daniela would take far darker work. Work that required a powerful Houngan.
Olivia nodded, reading his thoughts. “Yes, see, as I said, you have nothing to worry about, my Houngan. You are more valuable than ever.”
Chapter Thirty Five
Sasha reached out to Liz in her dreams, trying to warn her. She knew she was unaware she’d been turned. Sasha was glad Vivienne was with her, as it was clear she cared for Liz and provided her some protection. She’d also made use of Ai as an information source. After Liz went on the tour, she and Ai formed a truce and actually were becoming friends. Sasha established a connection with Ai and not only could feed from her to find out what she knew, but also could call upon her, much as Dracula used Mina and Harker as conduits for information. This was how she discovered that Vivienne and Liz were visiting a clairvoyant together in an effort to determine if Alex had a message from beyond to deliver.
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