“Him? It was my fault.”
“You did it to save me. To get me away fromhim.”
“And I failed.” She inhales deeply, as though to quiet her sorrow, but more tears stream out. She squeezes her eyes shut. “You found your way back home.”
“No. He found me.”
It hits me then that although he claimed to have gotten me out of Vincent’s clutches, he might’ve had no hand in it. That when he loaned my money to that Marianne-chick, he might not have known I was alive. Not that either is consequential at the moment.
Nolwenn grabs my sleeve, effectively halting me. “Marseille, you cannot tell him you know. You cannot say a thing. I have grandchildren.”
Holy shit. Does she think he’d hurt those kids?
“And he’s got a daughter who worships the ground he stands on,” she adds in a small voice.
“Doesn’t do much standing if you ask me. Unless he’s faking his handicap.”
“No. It’s real.” She wipes one cheek, then the other. “Do you promise to keep my secret?”
Going down without a fight goes against every fiber of my being, but there’s so much terror in Nolwenn’s brown eyes. And I don’t want to be the cause of it.
I scrub my hands down my face and heave out a sigh. “Fine. But once I’m gone, you have to swear you’re going to take care of Cadence as though she was your grandkid, Nolwenn.”
“I swear upon the Quatrefoil that I will.”
Is this some sick joke? “The Quatrefoil?”
“Sorry. It’s . . . the saying’s so ingrained in me.”
Taking Rainier’s wrongdoings to my grave better earn me some damned angel wings.
* * *
When I returnfrom my walk a half hour before moonset, Cadence’s clinic room is crowded. Adrien stands at the window, fogging up the glass with his slow breathing, staring out into the darkening grayness. Gaëlle leans against the wall under the mounted TV set, head back, eyes closed. Alma sits on the bed, cheek resting upon Cadence’s shoulder. Bastian occupies the Kartell ghost chair in the corner, punching his phone’s screen.
They all turn when I enter, their faces carved in granite.
I avert my gaze.
“I miscalculated, Slate. The new moon sets at 4:47.”
Whoopedy-woo. I get four extra minutes.
“Maybe that’ll give us time to—”
“To what, Bastian?” I don’t mean to sound like an ass.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Maybe we could—”
“Just let it go. Just fucking let it go.”
The door swings inward, and the doc strides in. She lifts an eyebrow at the amount of people in the room but doesn’t ask any of us to leave. Then she zeroes in on me and smiles. “Ah! You’re due for a rabies shot, Monsieur Ardoin. I was worried you were trying to avoid me.”
There’s no way in hell I am getting a shot before I die. No. Fucking. Way. “I’ll come in tomorrow.”
“Did they ever find that dog?” She looks from me to Adrien. “The . . . what was it again?”
“A German Shepherd-pug,” I answer tonelessly. Doesn’t even make me smile anymore . . .
