I turned around, perplexed but weirdly reassured that I’d done what needed to be done, even though I’d just acted on a hunch.
Linus hooked his arm in mine. “What was that all about, Schätzchen?”
I pouted. “It’s a tad complicated.”
Linus laughed. “You and your boy troubles.”
“This isn’t boy troubles.” It’s a lot more problematic.
“Meh.” Linus obviously didn’t believe me.
“But look at you.” He was in full dark rocker mode tonight, in tight gray jeans and a leather jacket that had to be new but looked suitably distressed. And… “Linus, are you wearing guy liner?”
He laughed, a spark lighting up in his clear blue eyes. “Maybe. I just felt like dressing up. You should see Sam’s wig. I think Tristan has been rubbing off on us.”
“Sam could do worse than letting Tristan influence him,” I murmured, suddenly miles away: I’d just spotted Dora near the door.
She was talking to a tall stranger in a dark coat who had his back and very broad shoulders turned to me, so that I couldn’t see his face from where I was. In the past ten minutes, the room had really filled up, and between the music and the hum of conversations, it was getting difficult to talk.
“Listen,” I told Linus, “I have some business to take care of…for the bar. I’ll find you before our gig.”
He kissed my cheek. “Don’t be late.”
He left me, and I crossed the room to meet the infamous Hughes of the five cardboard boxes.
28
Tristan’s cousin Hughes was a rather good-looking guy. He had the family’s trademark blue-purplish eyes that could glow almost red depending on the light. He was bigger and broader than Tristan, with a strong profile, a slightly hooked nose, and a rather sensuous mouth. His hair was fairer than his cousin’s, almost chestnut, like mine, and he wore it quite short, a lot shorter than Tristan’s anyway. And as I was coming at him from the side, he hadn’t seen me yet.
Dora seemed to find Hughes to her taste, judging by the expression on her face as she spoke with him. I’d seen her talk to Tristan; she’d been assertive and bordering on possessive. But now, she was downright flirting. Maybe this was her attitude towards big, important clients. There was no way of confirming that theory from a distance. I’d just have to get closer.
I’d nearly reached them when she spotted me at last.
“There she is,” she told Hughes, and he turned towards me, raising a quizzical brow at me.
Facing him, the impression of power was very real, but there was also something unsettling in the way he scanned me. Had I not been spending time with Tristan, I’d have thought it was because of his eyes. But now, I knew better. This disagreeable impression came from being seen as a pet, but on a whole new level now. I felt as if to this guy, my parts were just as important as my whole. In his eyes, I wasn’t really a person anymore, just a collection of ingredients and behaviors. The door opened briefly, and a chilly gust of winter wind brushed across my naked throat.
“Hi there,” I greeted them informally, because I knew it would rub them the wrong way.
Hughes’s nostrils flared, and Dora hissed.
“Show some respect, pet.”
I’d decided to play the undisciplined companion, but without pushing it too far, so I looked down for a second before facing them again with a timid smirk. They needed to see why someone like Tristan would find me mildly amusing.
And I thought Hughes got it.
Dora had warned me that she would be the one to talk, so I let her.
“This is Victoire. She’s the human on the receiving end of your boxes, Hughes. Thank you so very much for agreeing to talk this over with us. When I accepted your mission, I didn’t know about Victoire’s position as my fiancé Tristan’s favorite pet. And now I find myself as a concerned party in this matter, which, you’ll have to agree, is a little problematic.”
Okay, as much as I cringed hearing this, I had to agree that it made sense. Tristan’s deal with Dora made her plea with Hughes look more solid. Her concern sounded reasonable, somehow. Maybe this was going to work.
“I know you and Tristan have had your differences over the years,” she went on, almost cooing, “but I really think it would be in all of our best interests to try and make peace now.”
And now, I had to hand it to Tristan: if this whole business was really just politics to him, using Dora and me as pretexts to negotiate with Hughes wasn’t half dumb. As far as I could grasp it.
The only problem was it all flew in the face of everything his sister had told me—that Hughes must not ever be allowed near Tristan’s lands, for fear of him stealing that dangerous magic he so coveted.
Boy, was I ill prepared for all this shit.
Meanwhile, Dora kept going. “We—Tristan and I—are fully prepared to make a gesture in your direction, Hughes. If you tell me that this pet really must go, of course I won’t sacrifice the goodwill between us just for her sake. But you know how it is with young love. One wants to indulge one’s significant other’s every whim, and I would very much prefer to keep Tristan happy. So. The matter of this human rests in your hands, but in any case, I really need to recuse myself from this mission. I hope you’ll understand.”
I gaped at her. Was she really throwing me to the wolves, or was she bluffing? I didn’t trust her at all.
But then, Hughes spoke, in a deep, velvety voice.
“I understand, Dor. Of course, I didn’t know about your pending alliance with my little cousin.”
But something dry and smug in his tone told me that on the contrary, he’d known perfectly well about Tristan and Dora and me, and we were playing right into his hand.
“I will relieve you of this mission,” he declared. “Let’s just follow your general conditions, shall we?”
Dora paled.
“Hughes…”
“You’re getting your childhood crush and your revenge, and it’s only natural that everyone here should get what they deserve.”
I was quite lost now.
“What’s he talking about?” I asked. “What’s that about revenge?”
Dora threw me a look of utter disgust.
“Shut up.”
But Hughes, on the other hand, seemed to be in the mood for some mansplaining.
“Dora never could stand Marianne,” he told me. “It was pretty much mutual.”
Now I almost wished I’d asked how she’d died. Hughes turned to Dora again.
“As per your standard contract, I want one percent of all your activities.”
Dora made a grimacing smile but nodded. “All right.”
I guessed it didn’t matter much; now that she was marrying Tristan, she was going to be super filthy rich. But what was Hughes getting at? Was this his way into Tristan’s possessions, too?
“I’m sorry,” I intervened, “but I have a question.”
“Yes?” Hughes looked amused, probably because the pet was trying to use her brains.
“I gather the clause stipulates that Dora has to give up one percent of everything she owns to you? Does she get to choose how she repays you?”
“No,” Hughes said. “I get one percent of each and everything she owns now, and of everything she will have one year and one day from now.”
“So Tristan’s things, too, if they’re married?” I asked.
At this, Dora positively snarled at me. But Hughes confirmed it.
“Exactly.”
I knew it. This whole conversation was a charade. Dora and Hughes were playing together against Tristan. They wanted him and his lands and the magic these lands hid somehow. And now, because Tristan had wanted to help me, they were going to get it. Because of me.
“And one percent of you, too,” Hughes added helpfully, as if I hadn’t already had enough arguments to make a radical decision. “And I get to choose which part.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I growled, forcing the vomit back down my throat. “And neither does T
ristan.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Dora said, laughing.
But I could still ruin this whole deal.
“I’ll open your damn boxes,” I told Hughes.
Maybe it wasn’t a very clever move on my part. Cutting Dora from the deal felt good, but probably Hughes would still get what he wanted if I opened his presents. He seemed the type to carefully plan his every move. Even if I couldn’t see how yet.
At least, I got to dismiss Dora now. I turned to her, smiling.
“I don’t want your help. You can go now, thank you.”
Wow, did I enjoy getting rid of her. But of course, she didn’t agree.
“My deal is with Tristan, not with you,” she said acidly. “You have no power of decision in this matter, pet. You have no legal depth in our world.”
I just shrugged. “I know. But your deal with Tristan says you’ll help me. So if I back out of it, and you can’t help me, you won’t really be able to hold Tristan to his word, now, will you? He will be free to do whatever he wants.” I just hoped he’d choose wisely.
“This is not how things work,” Dora said.
“Oh, but it is. What do you think, Hughes? Can you wait till after my show? We can all open the boxes together, then.”
He smiled.
“Let’s.”
29
I reached the stage just as Tristan did. He was going to introduce the band and present his whole artistic program for the season. It was quite rich, and I felt proud being part of what he was building, on top of all the rest. Or I would have been proud had I not just caved in to Hughes. Right now, I was feeling rather queasy.
We both paused before climbing the four steps that led up to the stage.
“How did it go?” Tristan asked me.
I made a face. “I rejected the deal with Dora for you.”
“What? Why?” He seemed appalled by the news. Maybe he’d really wanted to marry her. But hey, I was sure she would still be open to the prospect.
“Because I just found out that she had a compensation clause in her contract that guaranteed Hughes one percent of everything she and you would own.”
“Oh. But that…”
He looked perplexed, and I thought about Marianne again. Maybe he really didn’t know what was hidden in these woods of his. It made me want to go and question his sister again. Although it might be too late for that now.
“He would get one percent of everything, including me,” I added. Yes. Let’s make it about me.
“But I don’t own you,” Tristan protested.
It came a bit late, but it felt nice, nonetheless.
“Hughes didn’t see it that way, and I couldn’t tell if he really had a point or not, since your laws are one of the many, many things I don’t know. But hey, anyway, better safe than sorry.”
“Safe?” Tristan sneered. “How does that make you safe?”
It doesn’t. I was talking about you.
“Yes, so, now I told Hughes I would open the boxes right after our set.”
Tristan opened his mouth to protest, and I cut him off.
“Listen, really, it’s better that way. Let’s just get this over with. I’m going to do it. You’re invited, but maybe it’s better if you don’t come. It’ll be tricky, considering the boxes are in your cellar, but maybe the girls we hired can take care of the bar for the rest of the evening.”
“You really didn’t have to do that, Victoire,” Tristan said. “In fact, I’m going to talk to Hughes right now, and get you out of this once and for all.”
“Would you please stop that now?” I groaned. “I need to do it. I need to know what’s in those fucking boxes. And I need to know what’s wrong with me. Can’t you respect that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. And the answer isn’t going to be in those boxes anyway.”
We were both getting angry now, not a good way to start a show. Well, other than a rock ’n’ roll show.
“But there is something wrong with me,” I insisted, “and you know it. Just admit it. And you have done enough. I’m already so thankful. Plus, I need to tell you that it’s your dead sister’s wish that I keep you out of trouble. So, there you have it. For Marianne’s sake, let me handle this.”
He was staring at me, dumbfounded. I didn’t wait for his answer. I climbed the stairs to the stage where Thom, Sam, and Linus were waiting. With each step I took, I got rid of everything heavy, tortuous, dark, angry, or sad in my life. Maybe this gig was destined to be my last one, but so help me rock ’n’ roll, I was going to make sure it was memorable. I intended to be remembered.
I went to each of my bandmates. I ruffled Sam’s crazy wig while he blew a brotherly raspberry against my neck. I gave Thom a high-five. He jumped then threw his head back and howled at the moon. The crowd went nuts. Thom gave great shows, you had to hand it to him. We were going to be great.
Tristan had taken the mic, sunglasses firmly in place on his nose to protect his fragile eyes, and he was warming up the room now, as if it needed it. But I wasn’t listening. I was hugging Linus and kissing his cheek.
“I love you.”
He hugged me back tightly.
“Are you all right, Schatz?”
“I’m okay. I feel like we’re going to make history. Can’t you hear it? There’s a big wave of music coming. It’s going to wash over us. Let’s surf it, baby.”
He made a face.
“Have you been doing drugs, Vic?”
I laughed, blew him a last kiss, and went to my spot in the front, in the harsh spotlight. Tristan was wrapping up his speech now. He’d kept it short and sweet. I let the applause wash over me, thinking of that wave. And when the room was finally ours, and Thom gave his sign, we took off with a blast.
Our first song was the one about the guy who didn’t want to be a banker. That one was pretty much self-explanatory, and it made for a great introduction. After all, we were Parisian brats who’d fled their yuppie fate. Now, the song also made me think about the economics books Thom had wanted to burn for heat in our fireplace and how they’d been reduced to ashes in the end. I told that little story, the one about the fire, as soon as the song was finished and took the opportunity to publicly thank our friend Elise.
“I don’t know if she’s here or if she knows what we owe her…”
There was a shout in the audience, and Elise jumped up, waving, a huge smile on her face.
“Oh, hey, Elise!” I blew her a kiss. “This next song is about you. It’s called ‘The Nice Woman with the Eggs,’ but there are so many more things we could thank you for.”
We sang the song for Elise, and after that, it was time for something gloomier, edgier. The next song we’d lined up was the one about the little girl lying face down in a metal cage. It was still an energetic song, but its themes were distinctly dark.
It was about me, of course, about my freak accident, four years earlier. Singing it now, I realized I’d never gotten to the bottom of that story. Tristan had found I had a death mark upon me. Had the mark been there over my head all that time? All these four years, almost five, as I lived my life, met my musical soulmates, learned how to play music, wrote some songs?
If so, I could definitely keep living with a death mark, a sword of Damocles, or any weird shit above my head. I’d been managing just fine all this time. Maybe that had been my superpower all along.
Four years ago, I’d plummeted to what should have been my death, in that ancient elevator in Paris, because I’d wanted to buy a piano. I hadn’t gotten my dream fulfilled that day, but I’d lived, and I’d moved on to chase the dream anyway.
Weird, though, that Hughes and Dora should have chosen precisely my accident as the moment of reference for that phony storage contract. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, could it? I had to suppose there was some kind of magic in those five ominous, fireproof boxes. What if, in order to succeed, that magic had needed to establish some kind of connection to my freak accident?
So, knowing what I knew now, what did it tell me that the boxes had been put in storage on the day of my accident?
It means I may have escaped something that day, but I still have it coming. It says the death mark is finally going to hold now.
Yes, I really believed that these five boxes in the cellar probably contained my death. I was four years late, but tonight, death was coming back for me.
What was in it for Hughes, though? Why did he want me dead? Was I really that much of a threat to him and his plans?
And what if I was?
I could tell that the audience in front of me was happy and that the show was a total success. I was there, and I wasn’t there at the same time. It was almost as if I were connected to several realms at once. I was everywhere, and I was nowhere. And it felt right, as though this really was my place in the world, where I could be exactly myself.
Not a pet.
Not conventional.
Perhaps not completely human.
Or even entirely alive.
Although I felt very alive.
But in between.
Yes.
That must be it, somehow.
Next, we sang our song about Tristan/Clovis, the one I’d written after meeting him. It was weird to revisit the first exchanges of our weird…friendship. After this song, we did the lullaby I’d written for my ghost, the one that had died with our house (Lydia’s house, but she wasn’t there tonight).
And then suddenly we were out of songs. The show as we’d planned it was over. But I just didn’t want to leave just yet. Couldn’t do it. And so, I decided to add just one last piece to the set.
Seizing the mic before anyone could move on, I said, “And last but not least, we have a surprise song. We just wrote it a couple of days ago, so it’s still a bit rough. And by that, I mean very rough.” There were some laughs in the audience. “Anyway, I hope you can all forgive me for that, and I hope you’ll like it. It’s called ‘Standard Moonlight Binding Magic.’ It’s about something that may, or may not, have been haunting me for a while.”
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