Page 32 of The Child of Rue Royale
“She’s a Wildes. There’s no such thing as nice.”
I LOOK UP. THE WORDSdigest inside every muscle in my body, every cavity that pumps blood, every bone that holds me in place. That’s the last entry, nothing more, no questions about what my grandmother whispered in Bastian’s ear, and both excitement and disappointment course through me at the same time. I grab my phone, trying to decide if I should tell Chantal first or call Cassius. My wrists suddenly begin to throb. Winnie, from the bedroom, telling me there’s magic to be made.
My phone rings in my hand, and I jump.
“Hello?” I say once I see who is calling.
“Find anything interesting?” Cassius asks, his voice low.
“Yes, Cassius. Something extremely interesting,” I say, and it’s like I can hear him smile over the phone.
“Excellent. I was hoping that would be the case.”
“Is there more? I don’t see what my grandmother whispered in his ear.”
He’s silent for a moment, then his words come across gently. “No, no more. I think I told you that when times were happier, I stopped writing. After that night, Bastian was barred from consuming drunk blood, and he changed, he matured. He became more of the Bastian you knew, the real Bastian. So, no. There’s no more about him, that is.”
My hope sinks, my foot tapping the couch nervously. “Do you know what she whispered?”
“I don’t. I’m not sure even he knew, he was so bombed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this? When I came to you and asked you if he kept a journal?”
Silence again, and maybe I said it too harshly, but my frustration is full of heat.
“What I gave you to read was…very personal, intimate. I’m very private. It has situations, feelings, and experiences that I’m not proud of and uncomfortable sharing. I also didn’t think there was anything imperative in it. Nothing extremely telling, so to speak. I’ve had witches and vampires say wild things to me all my life, and a twelve-year-old saying Bastian was special wasn’t that out of the ordinary. Until you told me you were having a boy. Then! Then I went back to my writings and re-read what Cora said. And those lines struck me. ‘A child will need you. The most unexpected child.’ A boy, his boy is the most unexpected. I then remembered how badly he wanted to be a father, but you see, once he knew that was out of the question, he never spoke of it again. But it all made sense in some strange way that didn’t make sense. So, I knew I had to push my pride aside and let you read it. And I apologize it took me so long. I am old and stuck in my ways, but I’m trying to do the right thing now more than ever.”
“Okay,” I whisper, letting his explanation sink in. What’s done is done, and I have his book now. “Cassius?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. I need to call my mom.”
I hang up, bolting down the hall to the bedroom where Chantal is thankfully still awake watching TV.
“We have to talk to my mom,” I tell her, everything in my body fueled by what I know this to be. Validation for bringing Bastian back. What I needed more than anything.
“What does it say?” Chantal asks, sitting up and grabbing her phone.
“Facetime her,” I say, my feet pacing the soft carpet, my teeth working the tips of my nails.
It rings only once before Mother answers. “What’s wrong?” It’s four a.m. in New Orleans, and I never call at this hour.
“Mom. Cassius brought me a diary, and Grandma was in it. She stumbled on Bastian and Cassius in Pirate’s Alley and…just let me read it to you.”
I read it out loud for Mother and Chantal to hear, how Bastian would change everything, the unexpected child, and breakinggenerational curses. And how she whispered something in his ear. Something Cassius couldn’t hear.
My mother’s face goes still over the screen, her mouth widening but nothing coming out.
“He also really, really wanted to be a dad,” I say, the emotions pressing into my throat, causing my voice to deepen.
“How do we know this is accurate? Not something made up by Cassius?” Mother asks, and all I can do is look at her.
“I know it is. Everything in my soul tells me it is. Cassius wouldn’t betray me like this, betray Bastian like this. Bastian wasn’t supposed to be made, but Grandma knew, knew that he was meant to change it all. That he needed to be a father. Mom…tell me you understand. His story isn’t over yet.”
“Let me see?” Chantal says, trading me the phone for the book. She opens it, skimming, the wings of hope flapping in my chest like a dragon’s.
“What are you getting at, Aster?” Mother sighs, and I can feel her exhaustion from here.
