When I finally reached the great oak tree, I spent a moment dreamily marveling at its grandeur, even in the dead of a winter’s night. It towered over me, its branches spreading out at least thirty feet. It had to be hundreds of years old. I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined a summer afternoon relaxing under its generous shade, a book in hand. Enjoying life. Enjoying Paris. Would that even happen? Where would I be next summer? Would I be alive? Would I be deadly to those I loved?
I wrapped my arms tightly around my body as the effects of the cold began to wear on me. Why had Sofie been out here last night? I focused my attention to the base of the tree. At my feet lay a single white pillar candle, nestled next to a bunch of frozen pale white roses. The wick had long since burnt down. Beneath it, a flat bronze object caught my attention. Kneeling, I brushed away the freshly fallen snow to reveal a bronze plaque embedded in a concrete rectangle: Nathan 1237-1889.
Nathan was buried right here, under this tree.
It made perfect sense and yet my heartbeat sped up all the same. Of course he was buried here. It explained Sofie’s desire to sit out here alone. My heart instantly ached for the woman. And for Mortimer, and Amelie, and Bishop. Love seemed to be a damning condition for all vampires.
Next to Nathan’s tombstone, I noticed another glimmer of bronze. I brushed away the snow to find a second tombstone with another inscribed plaque. This time, my heart did a full stop. It read Sofie Girard 1862 - 1889.
Sofie had buried herself—her spiritual self, her humanity, her heart—alongside the man she killed so many years ago. I leaned back and wrapped my arms tightly around my chest as numbness seeped into my body, picturing Sofie in this spot over a hundred and twenty years ago, lowering the man she loved, who trusted her unequivocally, into the ground. Because she put him there. She too died that day, both through her physical transition but also her core.
My fingers were red and stiff. I need to go inside, I scolded myself. I’m not proving anything by being out here, like an idiot. Except that I’m an idiot. Struggling to stand, fists tucked under my armpits, I let my eyes wander over the grounds for a second. A massive octagonal gazebo-like structure stood in the center of the space, its wooden trellis walls obscured by a web of frozen, leafless vines. I wandered over. Inside, three partially snow-covered concrete benches faced each other. Further back, surrounding the entire area including the massive oak, was a cedar hedge border, at least forty feet high and so thick, a squirrel would have trouble tunneling through. A few wooden archways and statues peppered various paths, lined by small shrubbery. It was a royal garden. No doubt a spectacular one in any other season. Now, though, it lay asleep, catering to a dead vampire and a crazy girl.
I was about to head back inside when hobbled steps crunching toward me announced someone’s approach. I half turned to see a dark-haired figure moving forward. Julian, picking his steps carefully, with a heavy black jacket thrown on haphazardly, a long, white coat slung over his arm.
“I thought you were smarter than to come out here without at least a coat, Evie,” he lectured.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Julian. It’s like summer,” I grumbled indignantly. For some reason, a renewed streak of stubbornness forced my back to him. I knew this Bishop decision had nothing to do with him, but I couldn’t help it.
I felt his presence behind me. After a few moments, when I didn’t acknowledge him, he silently spread the jacket over my shoulders. He didn’t leave, though. We remained like that until I silently acknowledged that I was, in fact, an idiot. I gave up my stubborn front and slid my arms into the coat, allowing the duck feather down fill to envelop my half-frozen body. I took a seat on one of the benches.
“You know I’ve heard sitting on cold concrete will give you hemorrhoids,” Julian joked softly.
I snorted, annoyed. I knew he was trying to skirt the subject. “It’s easy for you to joke, Julian,” I said. “He’s not your friend. You despised all vampires until two days ago, remember? Now you’re in love.” I sounded petty. I immediately hated myself for it.
“I agree. He’s not my friend and I don’t know him at all,” Julian answered, easing himself down beside me. “But he’s your friend, and he’s Amelie’s friend. I don’t want to see either of you suffer. That will happen if he’s not bound up because he’ll die. Everyone seems to agree on that point but you.”
“It’s not that I don’t agree,” I finally admitted, the words acrid on my tongue. “We do need to keep him safe. I get it. Of course I get it. I’m not stupid.”