“I see,” I said, matching her solemnity. “Well, I’m going to be in class for half the day and studying for the other half, so I wouldn’t have time to go buy one even if I wanted to look like a tourist.”
“I could help you with your homework,” Nick volunteered. “And if you want to see the Louvre, I could take you tomorrow.” He smiled, and my insides went fluttery.
I smiled back at him. “I’d love that. Thank you.”
“The Nick Wallace Tour Company is at your disposal.”
“You’re not a tour company,” Sophie said.
“I am if Tosh wants me to be.”
“I’d love to tour the Louvre with the Nick Wallace Tour Company,” I said, and we arranged to meet next morning just as Ms. Wallace announced that dinner was ready.
The adults talked about work and the exchange rate and where to find kitchen cabinets over the salmon in butter sauce while Sophie told me about visiting the Astérix theme park. We’d read some Astérix comics in French class this year, but I didn’t know there was a whole park. I asked her what her favorite ride was.
“Les petits chars,” she said. “I smashed everyone.”
Nick saw my blank look and translated. “Bumper cars. She’s a demon in those things.” She told me about her bumper-car strategy, which was to bang furiously into another car until she scared the driver away, as Ms. Wallace brought dessert out.
“Yum,” Sophie said, and looked at me with a sly smile. “Do you know what this is?” She pointed to the plate in frontof me, which held a slice of chocolate cake surrounded by a ruby-colored pool of sauce.
“Looks like chocolate cake?”
“Inblood sauce.” She widened her eyes at me, smiled, and nodded hard. Nick groaned.
“It’s your fault,” Mr. Wallace told him.
“It wasHalloween,” Nick said. “I was just trying to make it festive for her.”
“Yes, and now every time we have raspberry coulis with anything, it’s blood sauce.”
“It looks like a vampire bit it,” Sophie said around a mouthful of cake. “Did you know that there’s a vampire in Paris?”
Mr. and Ms. Wallace looked at each other. “Where did you hear that?” Mr. Wallace asked.
“Clémence said. She said he bites people on the neck and makes them bleed, and it looks like blood sauce.” She had a ring of chocolate and raspberry around her mouth.
“Clémence is exaggerating, sweetie,” Ms. Wallace said. She looked uncomfortable. To me and my dad, she explained,“Somebody with a mental illness bit some people recently, although he seems to have stopped now. He’s not a vampire, and the police will find him and help him get treatment so hedoesn’t do it again.” She addressed the last bit to Sophie, who said, “Can I go watch Princess Merida now?”
“Yes,” the Wallaces said in unison, looking relieved.
“Who wants coffee?” Ms. Wallace asked, getting up and starting to clear away plates. Nick and I rose to help.
“Sorry about that,” Mr. Wallace said in a quiet voice. “We had no idea Sophie knew about the attacks.”
Nick and I followed his mom into the kitchen, carryingglasses and silverware. “I’m sorry my sister was annoying,” he said.
I shrugged. “It’s okay. I like cake with blood sauce.”
He grinned. “Next time you come over for dinner, we’ll have ice cream and blood sauce. It’s even better.”
Chapter 3
Twelve Weeks Ago
Saturday morning, as I was battling my hair into a braid, Nick rang our buzzer. Madame Dupuy invited him in, and their voices receded down the hall to the living room. I wrapped an elastic around the end of my hair, slipped on my baby-blue platform Vans, found my phone and purse under my bed, and trotted down the hall, ready for the Louvre.
I felt like I’d stepped into a job interview when I entered the living room. Madame Dupuy sat in Dad’s chair, looking polished and professional in her crisp white blouse, slim black ankle pants, and gleaming black loafers. A scarf in Starbursts colors knotted casually around her neck relieved the severity of the outfit. Her dark hair fell around her face in a stylish shoulder-length layered cut that emphasized her gray eyes. She looked both intimidating and striking. And amazingly, she looked like that every day, cooking and cleaning in outfits like the ones my friends’ moms wore to work andleaving every evening looking just as spotless as when she’d arrived. I mean, aprons were involved, but still. Our Portland housekeeper dressed like a grad student, in old logo tees from the brewery where her boyfriend worked, faded chinos, and sneakers. She was also a potter, so her clothes were usually dusty and often spattered with clay. I didn’t think Madame Dupuy would so much as go down to get her mail in anything less than business casual.
