Redemption (22 page)

“Do all witches have gargoyles?”

“No, of course not. Though it was quite the fashion at one time, many families didn’t bother. A sacrifice must be made for gargoyles to be created.”

“A sacrifice?”

“Yes, a witch must die.”

I took a step toward her and she backed into the counter.

“Are you still scared of me?” I whispered to her.

“No. Of course not … it’s just … I need to put in the spaghetti.” She reached into the bottom cupboard to get a large pot. She filled it with water, placed it on the stovetop, and turned the element on high. Up on her tiptoes, she reached to the cupboard above the stove and grabbed the salt.

“Who did they kill to make you?” Her voice was barely audible.

“The older generation sacrificed itself for the younger one.”

“Wow. That’s horrible.”

I nodded. It was horrible. I had struggled for centuries with the knowledge of what my life had cost. This decision to become immortal at someone else’s expense. In the end, I had had no choice but to make my peace with it. But it was not something I liked to dwell on.

She bit into her lip as she studied me for about half a minute. Then, without a word, she turned to sprinkle salt into the water. I gently took her hand.

“Salt will make it boil faster. I swear you won’t taste it at all,” she said.

“Salt actually raises the boiling point of water, so if you were to add enough salt for it to make a difference, it’d take longer to boil,” I replied.

“Oh.”

“It’s a common misconception.” I scanned around the kitchen until I found the lid and grabbed it to place it on the pot.

“This, however, will help it boil faster.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem.”

We stood face to face in the kitchen for a moment until I remembered the tiramisu.

“We should put that in the fridge,” I said.

“Oh. Right.”

She placed the package in an almost-bare fridge and I wondered if she got enough to eat.

She must have noticed my gaze at the fridge. “We always put off going grocery shopping, so we end up eating out way too often.”

“I could see that. My father and youngest brother do the grocery shopping in my household.”

She lowered her voice. “Why do you refer to them as your dad and brother?”

I shrug. “We’ve been playing these parts for so long it comes naturally now.” It was nice to be honest with her.

“But you’re, like, so old … ” She blushed. “I mean you’ve been around so long, surely pretending you’re a teenage kid is exhausting.” She laughed then. “I mean,
being
a teenager is exhausting enough.”

“Garnier says we’re stuck. It’s always irritated me. I want to consider myself matured. I’d like to think I have gotten something out of eight centuries of life … something other than baggage.”

“I know all about baggage,” she said.

“You’re too young for baggage.”

“I’ve lived my entire life helping my mom with hers … ”

“And now you think you can help me with mine?” Was she under the delusion that she could fix me?

“No. I lived my entire life trying to help my mom with hers … and I’ll continue because she needs me, but I’ve come to realize a couple years back that any progress she’s made has been because she was ready to make it, and not because I’ve been holding her hand making it easier.”

The water began to boil and she added the spaghetti to the pot. I reached around her shoulder and lowered the temperature.

“I guess centuries of cooking would make you an awesome chef.”

“It means I’ve gotten pretty good at boiling water.” I laughed.

“You seem different.”

I felt different, almost human, and I realized that this is what Garnier did. He let his guard down and felt alive as a result.

I shrugged at her.

“Oh, about the journal … ” she said. “I think I’d like to visit my grandmother’s grave. Would you come with me?”

“Of course. When?”

“I’m working in the morning. Is the afternoon okay?”

I nodded. “Afternoon it is, then. Oh, and I think the pasta should be ready now.”

“Really?”

“Yes, should be about seven minutes.”

She laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Maybe you can come over my place and I’ll show you how to make a sauce from scratch one day.” I pointed the canned sauce simmering with ground beef and chopped onions.

We set the table in the small, but formal, dining room.

“We don’t use the dining room very often. This is kind of fun,” she said.

“Oh where do you eat normally?”

“In our bedrooms, or in the living room in front of the TV. It’s only the two of us, so there’s never been much of a need.”

Once we had served supper, Aude called her mom to eat. We sat down to dinner.

“Aude, you cooked that pasta perfectly,” Lorraine said.

Aude looked down at her plate then gave me a conspiratorial smile.

Her eyes sparkled and my attention was distracted from Lorraine. I smiled back at her.

“So, what do you and Aude have in common?” Lorraine asked.

“Pardon?” I asked while dabbing my mouth with paper towel.

“Well, people usually make friends with people they have things in common with. Aude is not the type to befriend you for your good looks.”

Aude choked on a slice of buttered white bread.

“Oh. Well, we both share an appreciation for music.”

“So, are you also in a band?”

“No, I mainly play the piano.”

“You do realize that my daughter is not interested in dating boys right now, right?” I was taken by surprise by her mother’s statement and, momentarily stunned, didn’t say anything.

“Mom!”

“What is it, Odd? Did you change your mind?”

“No Mom, but Guil is a friend, that’s all. And he totally knows that I don’t date. I don’t see how this is good dinner conversation.”

“Well what am I supposed to think here? You have a boy over for dinner, and you’ve never had anyone over before except for Lucy and Patrick.”

“Lucy and Patrick, who are now dating and have no time for me.”

They’d apparently forgotten I was there and I cleared my throat. “This is excellent sauce, Aude,” I said referring to the overly salty canned sauce I had teased her about earlier.

Lorraine raised her eyebrows at me and I understood Aude’s warning about her mother. I wondered what had caused this beautiful woman to become so hard. I compared her to myself and thought that we actually had a lot in common.

“Well, this is a lovely dinner, Mom. I’m glad I asked you to be on your best behavior. Imagine how you’d have acted otherwise.”

I concentrated on my spaghetti and we all ate in silence, our forks ringing against the plates in a hymn of awkwardness.

Lorraine excused herself before dessert and I ached for Marguerite while watching her leave the room.

“You keep staring at my mom.”

I stood up to clear the table of dishes, and she joined me. “Your mom reminds me of someone I knew, that’s all.”

She dropped the subject and we enjoyed dessert together. Between bites, I explained to her what I knew of the process of a witch touching her essence. She would scrunch her nose and close her eyes and make strange faces while attempting to follow my instructions. In the end when she failed, I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or to laugh since it was so cute.

Cute? Was I seeing her as some sort of human pet now?

After dinner, we talked more of the journal and she showed me a few entries she thought I would find interesting. We decided she would try again to reach her essence at the cemetery once we found her grandmother’s grave. Maybe it would give her the inspiration she would need.

Aude hugged me when I left. I enjoyed the warmth of her against me, and suddenly felt wary of the flurry of emotions within me. I didn’t understand them.

34

Aude

As soon as Guillaume pulls up, I run down the stairs two at a time. He gets out of the car to open the door for me and slides in to the driver’s seat.

I’m still trying to catch my breath.

He chuckles. “What was the big rush?”

“I didn’t want Mom to come out. If she sees me going out with you again today, she’ll totally get the wrong idea.”

“So, you know where to find her?” he asks.

“Yes, but when I asked Mom questions about it, it got confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

“Well my grandmother is buried with her father, my great-grandfather. Her mother, however, was buried with her previous husband on a family plot. I’d like to find her too.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know exactly.” I pause to think. “It’s, like, my whole life, my identity has been tied to only my mother, and I didn’t really care to know more. I was Aude, Lorraine’s daughter, and Lucid Pill’s singer. It was that easy. Suddenly, there are all these other aspects of me—witch, child of the seventh generation, granddaughter of a Duplessis Orphan. It’s not just about me and Mom anymore.”

“I think I understand,” he says. “If she was in a family plot, we may even be able to trace back further. We could maybe find more information on your lineage. Maybe you have a relative who’s alive and can teach you about your essence.”

I feel hope bubble inside me. Maybe I’m not alone in this.

“You realize how big the cemetery is, don’t you?” Guillaume asks.

“Yes, but I searched the cemetery records and have a list of women named Alice who would have lived in the approximate time frame. There is no one with the name Alice Vanier, so I have to assume that she is recorded with either her maiden name or her married name from her first marriage. From Audrée’s journal, it appears that Alice died in 1955. There are five Alices that fit those criteria, and I’m hoping the tombstones will be able to provide me with enough information to figure out the right one. If we’re lucky, we’ll find her on the first try. Otherwise, we may be in for a little bit of walking.”

“Couldn’t she be in a different cemetery?” He glances over his shoulder to me.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” I say. “Mom thought she remembered her mother telling her that it was a shame her grandma was buried in the same cemetery as her husband but in a different plot.”

We pull up to the cemetery as the sun sets, even though it’s only early evening.

After having studied the records and maps, I know exactly where I’m going. This is important; it’s a piece of the puzzle as to who I really am.

Walking through a cemetery at night should be spooky but Guillaume is with me and his presence lightens my step. I worry that I’m enjoying it too much, that I may be adding a complication in my life. But I can’t be because he’s not even human.

The tombstone to which I’m heading is simple. Guillaume leans forward to better make out its engraved words.

“I’ve been here before, but I thought it was the best place to start,” I said.

The tombstone reads:

Audrée Vanier
August 1st, 1945–June 15th, 1998
Daughter to Alice Vanier.
Mother to Lorraine Vanier.
Here lies a woman who
was finally granted peace.

“She had a hard life, even worse than my mom.” I feel the need to explain the last line on the marker.

“Can you feel your essence better here?” he asks.

I reach inside me like he described yesterday, but I feel empty. And stupid.

“I guess not.”

“Want to practice some more?”

“Maybe we should try to find Alice first?”

I show him the map I printed and we make our way to the closest destination that I’ve circled. The first tombstone we find doesn’t look very promising.

Alice Girard
May 9th, 1920–July 18th, 1955
Wonderful wife and mother of
three taken too soon.

“This could be her,” Guillaume says.

I scratch at my forehead. “I don’t think Alice had three children. I’m pretty sure she had two. My mom mentions an aunt she never knew. No one else.”

“Your family is so complicated, Aude.”

Dusk’s shadows fade into darkness, and I fish a couple of flashlights from my backpack. I pass one to Guillaume.

He reaches for my hand. Breathing becomes a little bit more difficult.

“Tell me about your mother,” he says.

“I don’t even know where to start.” I lead us through the maze of tombstones and trees.

“She seems so sad,” he says. “And you mentioned that Audrée’s life was
even worse
than your mother’s life.”

I sigh, and take a deep breath. “Mom grew up on the streets. I don’t know all the details. When I first asked her, I wasn’t old enough to know, and later, I became scared to ask. When my grandma, Audrée, had her, she was living on the streets herself. Mom’s always hinted at a terrible reason for it, and I never asked. Now I know it has to do with the mental asylum and abuse she suffered there.”