Sure enough, there’s loud banging.
“Bastian.” I flick my chin toward the front door. He eases Alma onto a couch, then heads to the door.
Charlotte sniffs. “Maybe I should call the police. Or your daddy. I’m sure he’d love to hear about your little tryst.”
“Nothing’s going on between Adrien and me, Charlotte.” Cadence’s voice is unflinching.
“Yet.”
My molars gnash.
“You’re in shock,bébé.”
“Don’t you fucking call me baby. I am not yourbébé. I am not your anything.”
The same men who guarded the overflowing well last week are now standing in the living room, armed with fire-extinguishers and heavy-duty medical masks.
The friend snakes around them and latches on to Adrien’s seething ex. And then the room breaks out in questions: What happened? Was the source of the blaze controlled? Did anyone retain physical injuries?
That last question wins them a barbed glare from Charlotte. “You think I painted boils on my fucking torso?”
“Besides you, mademoiselle,” the fireman says.
“No. They were all spared. Just me.”
“The paramedic will take a look at you.” The chief clicks his fingers.
One of his men drapes a crinkling silver sheet around Charlotte’s shoulders, the sort they hand out after marathons, then escorts her and her friend out of the house.
The chief pulls Adrien aside for a few more questions while Cadence heads to the kitchen and grabs a paper towel roll and the ice bucket I set aside. She crouches to collect the shards of glass, flinging them into the empty bucket. I go to help her, expecting her to charge into me and tell me to fuck off. She does neither. I’m not even sure she realizes I’m squatting next to her.
The noise level quiets down and then the door clicks shut. Adrien stands facing it for a long time. His shoulders are stiff and yet tremors run down his arms. I almost feel bad for him.Almostbecause if what Charlotte said is true, then he’s a fucking sleazebag.
I hear Alma and Bastian talk in low tones, the only other people who’ve stayed. Cadence stands and lugs the bucket to the kitchen where she empties it into the trash. And then she’s balling paper towels and blotting the spilled champagne. I grab the roll from her and rip out some sheets, glancing at Adrien every few seconds. He still has his back to us but his hands are lifted, cradling his head. Shame rolls off him in thick waves.
Finally, he says, “I thought she was my piece.”
After a beat of silence, Alma asks, “What does that even mean: your piece? What’s going on?”
Cadence looks at her best friend. “I’ll tell you later, honey.”
Alma scoffs, “How about you tell me now,honey?”
Cadence turns to me. Is she seeking my counsel or my comfort?
I want to give her both. “Bastian, why don’t you explain what you know?”
After almost a week in this shithole, he’s up to speed. Where I spent the last five days thinking about Emilie, retreating under the duvet, downing nothing but cheap madeleines and five-euro wine, he trudged up to Fifth Kelc’h to use the library, only to find it closed. So, he trudged back down and did a deep-dive into the internet instead. He’s a total information sponge; every little tidbit sticks to his brain, no matter how insignificant it may be. And he can usually connect dots that no one else sees. On day five of my funk, he dragged my sorry-ass out of bed and got me to take a sorely-needed shower.
I watch him line up the discarded wine glasses on the coffee table with the half-drunk beers. He always fidgets when the spotlight’s on him. When we were kids, and our foster parents would grill him on whether he cheated in class—his scores were too perfect—he’d tend to a sagging plant or color-code the canned food in the pantry closet.
As he walks Alma through the Quatrefoil and the curse, Adrien finally returns to the scene of the crime. “I can’t believe I did that to Charlotte.” He clasps the edge of his kitchen counter. “She’ll never forgive me.”
“For saying another girl’s name during sex or calling her a demon?”
Cadence glares at me, color rising into her cheeks, into her eyes. I swear they’re bluer. Yes, that was a dick move on my part, but do I regret it? Not even a little.
“Why did you call her a demon, Adrien?” Her searing eyes don’t leave my face.
