Redemption (24 page)

Even if you ignored all these things, Aude was complex, and wise and quirky and a juxtaposition of countless other things. She had always been everything but normal.

I turned the car around and ignored every street signal on my way back to the cemetery. I made it back in record time.

But I didn’t find her.

36

Aude

I’ve been home from the cemetery for several hours. I can’t get my brain to stop thinking. To stop considering everything I’ve learned tonight. Between the revelation that I’m a de Rouen witch, seeing Guillaume’s suffering, and my uneasy drive with Ramtin, my head just hurts.

When my phone rings, I jump.

“Aude? You made it home. Thank goodness. I went back to find you and you weren’t there.”

“This is why you need a cell phone, Guillaume.”

“Are you all right? How did you get home?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to make him feel bad, but he should know I wasn’t all right. “I’m all right now. But the Terra Cotta man was there. Ramtin saved me and drove me home.”

“Ramtin? What was he doing there?”

I open my mouth and close it. What
had
he been doing there? I’d been so busy being freaked out about everything else I never stopped to question why he’d been there. “I … I don’t know.”

“I don’t like this. He’s either following you or involved with the Stone Monster.”

He becomes silent.

“Aude?”

“Yes?”

“I should have been there. I failed you. Do you understand why I left?”

“Marguerite was a de Rouen witch wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And she meant a lot to you.”

“Yes.”

“We need to talk,” I say softly.

“We do. You need to meet the family. There are still some things we should tell you.”

We make plans to meet the next afternoon, since Antoine is away researching a lead off a website. Something about a meditation master who claims he knows how to reach deep within himself.

Comforted by having spoken to Guillaume, I manage to sleep.

It’s the first day of holidays and I have no school for the next two weeks, so I have a few hours to waste before Guillaume picks me up.

“Mom, I’m going to the music store!” I yell out across the house to my mother, who’s most likely reading in her room.

I hit the sidewalk with determination. I haven’t visited the Goddess in a long time and I need to do something normal. I walk down Ste-Catherine Street, with a lift to my step. I have enough money in the bank to buy it. I probably won’t, because I have better places to spend it, like studio time with Lucid Pill. But visiting it while being able to afford it would be a new experience. And maybe I could pull off both the guitar and some studio time. The others would be pitching in on the studio after all.

I’m giddy and almost break into a run to the store. I will buy it.

In the megastore, I take the stairs up two at a time to the instrument room. And then I stop dead in my tracks.

It’s not there.

No reason to panic. They probably rearranged things. I scan the entire store and my heart sinks. I don’t see the beautiful purple guitar anywhere. There’s a knot in my throat like I’m going to cry, which I know is ridiculous.

A salesperson makes his way to me, and I ask him about it. “The Goddess, I don’t imagine you have it in the back or anything?”

“We don’t have any instruments in the back, what you see is what you get,” he says. “Maybe we could order it in for you?”

I don’t hold much hope, since it was discontinued, but who knows? Maybe whoever they order instruments from has a reserve of them?

“Maybe.”

“Okay, so what exactly are you looking for?”

“It’s a Les Paul Goddess in violet burst.”

The sales guy types a few things up on his computer.

“I’m sorry, it’s discontinued.”

My shoulders sag.

“We have some other great guitars.” He starts his sales pitch, but I turn my back to him and drag my feet as I exit the store.

I don’t walk straight home. The midday sun is at its warmest and I enjoy the frosty but sunny day. I’m well dressed for the late-December weather and I love the clouds of smoke made by my breath. A wind picks up and my hair flies in all directions.

I walk about Rue St-Denis and look into the windows of small shops and lively pubs. Some owners of smaller businesses are outside installing Christmas lights at the last minute. Christmas has always been a bit of a mystery for me. I can’t really reconcile the large family gatherings I see on TV with our little two-foot Christmas tree Mom picked up on clearance ten years ago so I wouldn’t be the only kid at school that didn’t have one at home.

That small plastic tree that smells of mold is really the only thing in our house that reminds us it’s a different season. Well, that and the present Mom gives me every year. She always tells me that I shouldn’t expect one because it’s ridiculous that society has to give us specific dates where we should offer good will toward others.

I look at the ring on my finger—the one Mom had fitted for me. It doesn’t have to be Christmas for her to give me an awesome gift. I twist it around my finger as I walk.

A man carrying a large metal frame shaped like a tree waves and wishes me a Merry Christmas as he walks to the closed terrace of a small pub. I smile.

My cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number on the display, but I answer it anyway.

“Hi there, Aude, it’s Ramtin. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

My heart sinks. Why can’t he leave me alone?

“What do you want?”

“I just wanted to touch base. See how you’re doing. Figured out the witchcraft stuff yet?”

“Uhh … ” I don’t know what to say.

“Well, think on it, pretty girl. I have to go.”

A couple blocks later, I’m still staring at my phone, and deciding what to make of the conversation when I get that chill on the back of my neck, as if I’m followed. Hoping that it’s Guillaume, I turn around, but see no one.

“Guillaume?” I call out at the empty street. There’s no answer.

“Guillaume?” I call out again. This time my voice shakes a little.

A chill creeps along my spine all the way up to my neck. I crane around looking for the cause of my unease.

But I see nothing. I turn around, take two more steps, and I’m hit with so much force that I’m lying in an alley several feet away from where I was standing. Something is holding me down on the ground. I’m having trouble breathing. I try to clear my mind from panic and fear and remember what I’ve learned in self-defense class, but I’ve never learned how to defend myself from stone monsters. I kick up my legs trying to make contact with something—anything—but I only manage to hurt myself.

The Terra Cotta man leans in on me, and many of the creases in his skin appear like small cracks from aged clay. I wonder if I could break his face with a well-placed punch. My arms are pinned against me, so I have no way to test out the theory.

“You will give me your esssssenssssse,” he hisses at me.

My chest hurts as the monster applies more pressure to it. I have trouble thinking straight.

Wham.

The world fades to black for a moment, and the side of my face throbs. My mouth is filled with the metallic taste of blood. The pain is sharp, but clenching my teeth against it makes it worse. I open my mouth to scream out.

The noise starts leaving my throat when I get smacked by something hard again; this time it’s on the other side. My vision blurs and I hold on to my consciousness with everything I can.

My attacker stands up and I rush to take a deep breath. Before I can, its fist hits me in the chest. Pain rushes through my core and I swear my ribs crack.

My breathing comes out ragged and I know there is something seriously wrong. White spots dance in my vision and for a moment, I think it’s snowing. My vision darkens again and I cling to reality. I’m losing the battle.

Darkness closes in.

I claw toward where I have last seen light. I won’t give in to this. I fight harder, and when a pain sharper than I’ve ever imagined possible hits me, I know that I am regaining consciousness.

I hear steps beside me.

Step, step, step, pause
.

37

Guillaume

There, amidst heaps of garbage, she lay, her body twisted and bloody, like it had been discarded with the rest of the trash. The worn bricks it stood against served as a sort of camouflage for the terra cotta creature and I didn’t immediately see it. When I did, my fur and scales stood on end as a rage overpowered me, blocking out everything else. I let out a snarl as I pounced toward it.

But it was not interested in fighting me and ran down the alleyway. I started giving chase but when I passed Aude’s lifeless body, a sound caught my attention. A rasping, labored sound. I immediately gave up the chase and looked down at her. Her eyes fluttered open but they looked dull, missing that sparkle of life I’d admired so much in her.

I’d transformed into my living gargoyle form when I couldn’t find her at the music store, where her mom had said she was, and something felt wrong. This feeling of dread had been worse after, as my instincts are a lot more fine-tuned in this form.

Now, she didn’t have much time and I wanted to hold her before she lost the battle. I released the essence and felt the confines of my stone form. I panicked worse than normal; my urge to feel her flesh on mine was so great.

I tried to grab the minute amount of essence needed, but in my hurry took too much, and had to let some trickle back down into myself before I could turn back to my original shape. The process was frustrating and I was scared that the precious seconds I lost were all I had.

Finally, I felt the bitter wind against my bare skin and I knelt beside her. Her eyes were closed again. I made a small gagging sound as I tried to swallow past a lump in my throat. Her eyes opened a slit and she watched me, her breath raspy. In my imagination, I saw the corners of her lips rise slightly at the sight of me. I knew this wasn’t real but it was enough to pierce through the walls I’d kept up for centuries.

Here she was, this girl I’d come to love, dying in an alley, and it was my fault. I stroked her hair as I choked back a scream. I wasn’t meant to feel. This is what happened when I went against my nature. First Marguerite and now Aude. I was responsible for both. Instead of protecting them, I had to watch them both die.

“Guil … ” Her words sounded like a dry cough.

“Shhhh, don’t speak.” I put my finger on her lips in a gesture for silence.

“Don’t … ” She let out a couple of broken breaths before continuing. “ … cry.”

It took me a while to understand what she meant. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I wiped at them with the back of my hand.

Whatever light was still in her eyes dimmed slightly.

“No! You can’t die on me! You can’t abandon me like she did.” Like she abandoned all of us. My heart was so heavy I thought it would fall out of my chest. It hurt.

“Hang on. I need to get help.”

“Please … ” She made a small sound and her eyes rolled a little. She closed them and I saw the tears streaking down her cheeks to mix with the blood and dirt that covered her face. “Please stay.”

I searched her jacket for her cell phone and hesitated. The small rectangular piece of plastic only had a few buttons, and I didn’t know how to work it. I pressed randomly until I saw an entry for emergencies. I pressed on it and it dialed 9-1-1. After describing Aude’s condition, I was told to monitor her and not to move her. They would send an ambulance for her. I was asked to stay on the line, but I hung up. I didn’t think it would come soon enough, anyway.

But I wasn’t ready to give up.

I remembered how Marguerite had taken essence from all of us in order to save me. I hadn’t known this was possible until then.

“I wish you could take my essence to heal yourself.” I said to her between heavy sobs that shook my whole body. “I have enough inside of me. I wish I knew how to teach you … ” I was hit by another round of breathless sobbing, “ … you could use it to heal yourself.”

I was incoherent, but her eyes lit slightly and searched mine before closing. Her rasping breath slowed down and I felt the blood drain from my face as her body went limp.

38

Aude

I try to regulate my breathing and this is when I hear it. Lost in the mists of my brain, the steady, rhythmic sound of drums. Using all my faculties, I concentrate on the sound and find myself reaching into Guillaume. I pull at what feels like sparkling energy, like a fresh, tingly liquid that dries the second it slips through your hands. It’s a contradiction of my senses. My extremities burn, but it feels right and my eyes tear up. A cautious breath escapes my lips. It doesn’t hurt, so I take a deeper one.