Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer (25 page)

Later that night, I was in my bedroom, unpacking. Charlie came in and sat on my bed.

“Are you just being nice because you’re tired or something?” he asked.

I laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, good.”

He looked around. Normally, I wouldn’t have even let him into my room, so this was a new experience for him.

“Um, hey.” He stared at his hands. “I’m sorry I scared you in the garage before you left.”

“Have you been feeling bad about that the whole time?” I laughed and patted his shoulder. “You’re forgiven. Not like I haven’t been mean to you for the past, oh, fourteen years.”

He laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that meant I’d spoken the truth.

“You know, Charlie … we don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Do what?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know, hate each other? Maybe we could just start getting along.”

“What, starting now?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

“Okay.” He gave me a small smile. “You must be tired.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m so turned around, I can’t even tell what time it is.”

“I’ll let you go to bed, then.” He stood and then leaned over me and gave me an awkward little hug, which I returned as well as I could. “You want me to take that back downstairs for you?”

He was looking at my desk, where Great-Grandma Colette’s box was still sitting.

“You know what?” I said. “I’ll do it myself.” After what I’d been through, the storage closet no longer seemed so scary. And I liked the idea of sealing the box back up and stashing it far out of reach, even though it was free of the medallion.

Some things deserved to be locked away.

Charlie nodded and left my room, wishing me good night as he closed the door.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, unpacking my toiletries with one hand while I brushed with the other. I knelt to put my makeup bag under the sink, and when I stood up, I stared into the mirror.

I waited for the swimmy, woozy feeling to take over, for Véronique’s face to show up in place of my own. But even though I stared for a full minute, I only saw myself.

I hope you’ve found peace at last, Véronique.

I knew that I would always be looking for her. Every time I looked in a mirror, I’d expect to see her face. Véronique was part of me. What she’d done was part of me. But … what I’d done, what I’d chosen, was a bigger part.

I returned to my room, slipped beneath the covers, and fell asleep before I had time to wonder if I was tired.

I dreamed of small, curving streets paved with rough stones; of the perfume of flowers and sweet pastries in the air; of beautiful buildings rising up on every side of me; and of a feeling of magic and history beneath my feet.

And my dreams felt as real as a memory.