Page 13 of The Child of Rue Royale
My body goes cold. Can hearts shrivel? Because it feels like mine is collapsing, freefalling to the pits of my stomach. And if that’s not possible, it’s possible for my body to. I flop back on the pillows.
Agony was my confidant for weeks after he died. The only thing constant in my life. The kind of loss that you feel so deeply, it becomes a part of your very bone. Aster the wounded. Aster the lost. When Cassius told me I was pregnant, I couldn’t believe it. It was such a confusing time for me. A joy that we created a child and a sorrow that Bastian would never know that child, never feel my hand in his hair, never kiss my lips again. And then all these pieces started dropping into place. All the things I could do to bring him back. It became my driving force for waking up in the morning.
The power of three…it can’t be for nothing. I have his ashes, his blood, my magic. Everything I need to bring him back. That can’t be for nothing, right?
No. My eyes drop to my hands. Capable, powerful hands. With the ability to raise the dead. I can’t be deterred. I love our baby, our little Aventurine more than anything. But there’s a reason he turned to ashes in my hand. There’s a reason his blood pumps in my child. There’s a reason I’m a witch with the power of resurrection. I still have time to change my mind. But for right now, I know this is what I need to do.
So I shrug, flutter my eyes, and wring my hands, and when she asks me not to bring him back, I can only shake my head.
“I’m not making any promises,” I say. But I did make a promise.I promise to bring you back, Bastian.I promise it will be okay, my little Aventurine.They both are counting on me to do the right thing. And I’m sticking to my vow.
“I’M UP,” I YELL ATChantal as I lace my shoes, getting ready for the last ultrasound I’m paying out of pocket for. Sonograms thus far have shown she’s growing perfectly with no signs of vampirism. Mother and Chantal think I’m being paranoid since the last clerk swore everything was perfectly fine, but I have always been of the “You never can be too careful” sort. One last ultrasound, just to be sure there are no glowing eyes or pointy teeth.
The cold jelly is applied to my belly, the Doppler making the small circles I’ve grown familiar with over the past few months. The sonographer is a hipster guy with lots of tattoos and an old-fashioned mustache.
“I love your handlebars,” Mother hums, and I bite my lip, taking a slow and deliberate breath. Must she flirt with everything that has a penis? And everything that doesn’t, for that matter.
“Why, thank you. They tried to get me to shave it, but I refused.” With one hand still working the Doppler on my stomach, the other twists the mustache proudly.
“It’s not a look most men can pull off, but you baby, you have pulled it off and thrown it into the laundry basket.”
What the fuck does that even mean? “Mommm,” I whisper under my breath, but she just arches a brow toward the ceiling, pleased with herself.
“Well thank you, ma’am,” he says, and her smile falls.
“Omg. He ma’amed me,” she says aloud, and he laughs, enjoying the flirtation, and I want to yell,Do you guys want me to leave so you can have the hospital bed I’m lying on?
“All right, here we are.” The tech finally points to the screen as he moves the Doppler around, and all thoughts but the baby leave my mind.
“Everything look good? Bones all there? No teeth?”
“Teeth?” He laughs. “Well, it can happen, but it’s very rare.” He’s quiet for a few moments, looking around as the sound of her heartbeat fills the room. What a fucking sound. I would bottle it up if I could.
“Heart rate is perfect. Bones look just fine. No teeth that I can see. He’s looking good in there.”
“She,” Mother corrects, and my head pops up to look more closely.
“She? Oh, I’m sorry. Did you not know the sex of the baby? I thought you had come in before.”
“We do know the sex. At twenty weeks the sonographer told me it was a girl. Most likely, she was a little shifted with her legs crossed.”
“Oh, well I’m sorry. It might have been in a bad position which makes it hard to be 100% that early. But this baby is a boy. There’s no doubt about it. Look right here.”
I blink once. Then so rapidly it’s like my eyes are the wings of a butterfly. I can’t take in what I’ve just heard. I can’t absorb the words. I look at Mother, her elbow resting on the side of the hospital bed, her chin in her hand.
“There’s some kind of mistake,” she says, looking between the sonographer and the screen where my baby’s outline shines in black and white. “Do it again.”
He chuckles, eyes kind yet confused. “Do what again? Look again? It’s right there. She’s having a boy.”
“A boy?” I ask again because it’s not computing.
“Listen, that’s not possible,” Mother cries. “I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but it’s not possible. So do your job and look again!” Every fragment of flirtation is gone from her huge eyes and is replaced with indignation.
But I think, deep down, I knew it was possible. This baby wasn’t supposed to be possible. A life between a witch and a vampire wasn’t possible. And though everything in my heart wants to deny what I’m hearing, I know, down to the pits of my soul, that it’s true. I’m having a son.
“Oh my God,” I say out loud, my hand covering my mouth.
“Honey, it’s not possible.” But then I watch the slow spread of reality cross her face as the sonographer points at the lines on the screen. The lines that cannot be denied. The son that can’t be denied.
