Page 21 of The Child of Rue Royale
“You think?” he says with a smirk, a sliver of amusement in his eyes.
“Would you like one?” I ask, sitting next to him, rubbing through my scalp for another chip.
“Oh, you’re disgusting.” He laughs, and I smirk too. “How have you been?”
I slump on the couch next to him, looking at my huge stomach, the Dorito seasoning all over me, the dirty jammies. “Oh, I’ve been great. Just swell. Can’t you tell?”
I’ve left him speechless, so I just sigh. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
Clearing his throat, he looks from the hallway to me again, a melancholy overcoming him. “Everything is fine. I just felt the need to get here as soon as possible. It was like something was pushing me. Telling me I had to do this. Do something I had once denied you.” His brown eyes meet mine, and I nod, waiting for him to continue.
“You asked if Bastian kept a diary. And I was honest with you. He never kept one. But I also omitted…that I did.” At that, he pulls out a small green book from his bag and holds it between his hands.
Almost instantly, Winnie pulls on the inside of my wrists from across the room, the terrible habit my grimoire has when it wants to create. But create what?
“I have kept journals off and on throughout my life. Unfortunately, I don’t have a habit of keeping a record of incredibly happy times. No, it’s the difficult times that have always warranted record keeping” He laughs at that, as if frustrated with himself. “After Bastian finally took to vampirism, I sat down and tried to write our story, a sort of autobiography. I never finished it. But this,” he says, placing his hand over the book. “This is the beginning of our journey together. Now it’s difficult to remember every interaction when you’ve been alive for two hundred years, but something stirred in my memory recently. And I think it could be helpful to you.” He proffers the book toward me, and my hand clasps it so quickly, heat courses through my fingertips at its touch.
“Cassius…” I say, needles pricking every vein in my body.
“I’ve decided I’ll tend to a few business matters in the Bay Area while I’m here. I will be around for a few days. Read it, and if you need me or have any questions…I’ll be a phone call away.”
“You think there’s something in here that can help me?” I flip through the diary, Cassius’s elegant handwriting filling the pages.
“I have an inkling, yes. And I also believe you’re up to something. Something terribly wonderful.” His eyes burn into mine, and my face flushes.
“I am…” I stammer, because Cassius knows. He knows what I’ve been planning, bringing Bastian back, he must. And he’s handing me something he thinks could help. “I don’t know if it will work,” I whisper.
“Of course.” He looks at me with sympathy in his eyes, and I can only imagine I’m a picture of a pathetic witch who’s fallen from grace.
My wrists tug and tug, pushing me to open the book once again, but I’m frozen in this moment, my curiosity begging to explode.
“I must go. Marlowe is waiting for me in the car,” he says, standing, so I try my best to get up quickly, but the ability to bend at the hips has been temporarily stolen from me. “You know, the woman you saved. And ultimately told to run for her life.” His expression doesn’t move a lick, and I nod.
“Well, she didn’t listen,” I say, my tone flying too high.
“She didn’t. Thank God.”
I look down at the leather-bound book between us, emerald green, with Cassius’s initials pressed into the middle. “You think there’s something in here I need to know?”
“I think you can read for yourself and make your own interpretation. Call me if you need me. And please take a shower. Did you get the packages I sent?”
I feel lost, like he’s speaking in fast forward and I’m processing in slow motion. “Packages?”
“Yes, I sent packages, and they say delivered. Some baby stuff Marlowe said would be helpful.”
“Oh, they’re in Bastian’s room. I haven’t been able to open anything yet.”
“Aren’t you due in a few weeks?”
“Three,” I say.
“Do you need help?”
“No, no. I just can’t make myself do it. I’m going to. I’ve been…”
“You don’t have to explain,” he says, softening at my search for an excuse. When the truth is, I can’t make myself do much right now. “This is a big change. This is not New Orleans. You’re having a child somewhere that isn’t home.”
“Yes. That’s it.” I bite my lip to keep from crying, and the incessant beat of my heart grows faster and faster with every second that passes without me reading the diary in my hands.
