Chapter 5
“Ishould go,” Eliza said after a while, rolling her shoulders and rubbing her palms on her leggings. “It’s been a long day.”
Something ached in my chest at the thought of watching her walk away. We’d been sitting silently in the Tuileries for over an hour; the sun had long since passed its highest point in the sky, though the late afternoon warmth was a welcome relief from the spring chill.
“You should stay.” I wasn’t sure why I said it.
Eliza, half-standing, sank back into her spot on the bench. She let her backpack fall back to the ground. “Have you seen Napoleon III’s apartments?” she asked, motioning back to the Louvre.
“It’s one of my favorite parts of the museum,” I replied, choosing each word carefully—as if the wrong one would scare her off.
She hummed. “Imagine living in a place like that. Full of gold and light, someplace that will withstand the test of time.” She paused and tilted her head. “Do you have to imagine?”
I smiled. “I’m not that old, and I was never rich.”
Eliza laughed, only once, but the sound hung in the air around us, making time stand still while we sat together.
I straightened. “Would you like to go for a walk?” I asked. “There’s a beautiful fountain up that way and the best crêpe cart in the city.”
Eliza chewed on her lip and fidgeted with the bottom of her blood-stained shirt. I held my breath, hoping she would say yes—praying she wouldn’t leave.
I didn’t know this stranger, but I was deeply, painfully familiar with the sadness in her eyes. The part of me that had been intimate with that level of grief ached at the thought of leaving her behind. Heartache like that was all-consuming; it was destructive. When I’d allowed myself to drown in my goodbyes, I became someone else entirely—someone I didn’t recognize—and clawing my way back to the surface was a seemingly endless process. I didn’t know how long Eliza had been hurting; the only thing I knew was I wanted to ease her ache, if only for a while before we went our separate ways.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “But only for a little, I should get back.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Back to my empty hotel room, alone, I suppose.”
I didn’t comment, letting her breathe in her own realization. I stood and gathered my things, leading the way through the Tuileries. Eliza’s eyes remained wide as she took in the park. It would be bright green and blooming with spring in a few weeks, but most of it remained brown from winter. The ground crunched beneath our feet and the smallest leaves on the trees rustled in the breeze. Eliza looked as amazed as every other tourist was.
Falling into step beside her, I kept my eyes on her while she admired the street sellers with all sorts of tourist trap trinkets—from miniature Eiffel Tower figurines to fedoras to mass-produced artwork scribbled on to look one of a kind. A few tried to approach us, and she waved them off with a grimace. One wandered apparently too close for her comfort and she flashed her fangs, sending the seller scrambling back with a cry.
When she glanced at me shyly, we giggled and continued our walk.
Finally, we approached the fountain on the other side of the Tuileries. Eliza picked a bench to sit on and watch the water; I sat beside her.
“Have you ever felt like you have no idea where you belong?” Eliza whispered, her eyes fixated on the fountain.
“Yes,” I said honestly. “It’s terrible.”
She nodded, her eyelids drooping. “Yeah, it is.”
I frowned, bravely placing my hand on her knee. “It gets easier. Life goes on.”
She brushed my hand off and stood. “You said something about crêpes?”
Startled by her sudden change in mood, I blinked a few times to gain my bearings before standing and motioning for her to follow me. “Right this way.”
The crêpe cart was tucked into the corner of the Tuileries; thankfully, only a few people were waiting in line for their early-evening snacks. When I glanced at Eliza next to me, her eyes brightened with excitement.
I ordered my crêpe with bananas and hazelnut chocolate spread, and Eliza ordered strawberries and powdered sugar. We lingered near the cart while we waited. The skip in her step when he called out our orders was unmistakable and instantly brought a smile to my face.
If I could leave her with an inkling of joy amidst whatever made her sad, I would count that as a win.
“Cheers,” she said, raising her crêpe.
“Cheers,” I hummed, knocking mine against hers before taking a huge, chocolatey bite.
“God, this is the best crêpe I’ve ever had,” Eliza said around her bite. I nodded in agreement and licked the chocolate off my lips. Perhaps her gaze dropped to my mouth, but she looked away so quickly I couldn’t be sure.
We ate our crêpes quietly, wandering around the park. The late afternoon turned to evening, covering the city in shadows.
“I should go,” Eliza said once she’d tossed her wrapper in the trash.
I lingered, my breath catching when her pretty blue eyes met mine through the dark. I sucked in a breath. “Have you ever seen the Arc de Triomphe?” I asked, motioning to our left. “It’s this way.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “No, I haven’t.”
“Would you like to?”
Eliza inclined her chin, drawing her tongue over her bottom lip. “I’d love to.”
I started toward the Arc, smothering my gleeful smile when Eliza followed. I wouldn’t get away with asking her to stay again, so I needed to make the most of our walk to the Arc. After that, she would be gone.
“How long have you been in Paris?” I asked.
“A couple of days,” she replied, licking her lips. Her answer was brusque, leaving no room for further discussion.
I tried another angle. “Have you been to the Musée de l”Orangerie yet? It has these stunning murals of Monet’s water lilies?”
Eliza drew in a breath. “I’m not an art museum person, I don’t think.” Before I could deflate at my failed question, she continued. “They aren’t something we had at home, so maybe I don’t know what I’m missing.”
“Well,” I hummed. “Paris has no shortage of them.”
She swallowed, fidgeting with the straps of her backpack. Her eyes raised, peering at me through the last of the light. “Thank you,” she murmured.
I shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”
We walked a while longer before we reached the Champs-élysées on the way to the Arc. Eliza peered at the enormous, high fashion stores with something like distaste on her lips.
“Do you think locals shop here or is this for rich tourists only?” she asked, curling her lip.
“Rich tourists, for sure,” I replied. “The buildings are cool to see, though.”
She shrugged dismissively. I kept us moving forward, relieved when the Arc came into view. Once she saw it, Eliza focused her attention ahead. Her lips parted and her eyes widened in shock. This time, my eyes dropped to her lips—though I didn’t look away quickly enough, and she noticed.
“See something you like?” she asked.
I only hummed, hoping the shadows of the night hid my blush well enough.
Eventually, the roundabout street before the Arc came into view. I asked Eliza if she’d like to go up to it, but she paused and stepped back.
“I’m going to go,” she said.
I furrowed my brow. “Why?”
“Because you don’t want to know me,” she breathed. “So, I’m going to leave before I want to know you.”
“Eliza-” I started.
“Goodbye, Sophie.”
The words caught on my tongue; two hundred years of agonizing farewells prevented me from saying them back to this stranger. Eliza pursed her lips, stepping back and turning to leave.
I said nothing while she walked away.
I arrived at my apartment with an inexplicable weight in my chest. Willa and Addie were nowhere to be found, but Willa had left a note on the counter saying I was more than welcome to eat some of the leftover pizza in the fridge. I tapped my fingers against it and smiled at the little doodle of a pizza in the bottom corner.
Instead of pizza, I poured myself a large mug of blood. Feeling like I was moving on auto-pilot, I set the mug in the microwave to warm it up. Not for the first time, the thought of warming human blood in a microwave amused me. When I first became a vampire, the only option for sustenance was drinking directly from the vein. It took decades to learn how not to kill someone every time I fed—though I spent most of those first decades alone and learning how to be a vampire on my own.
Now, my primary diet comprised blood bags stolen or bought from hospitals. Once or twice a month, my brother would drive out of Paris—or sometimes out of France—and return with enough blood to sustain three vampires for weeks. In Italy, I did the collecting for myself. Here in Paris, it was as good as food delivery was going to get. My friends would occasionally go out to drink from the vein—Willa and Wren preferred it—but this was more comfortable for me.
I sat on the couch with my mug and turned on the TV, pulling my knees to my chest. Willa’s black cat, Echo, trotted out of her room and settled at my feet. I scratched between her ears while I scrolled through the streaming services, looking for something to watch.
No matter how hard I tried, I kept thinking about Eliza—about the sad look in her eyes, the bloody marks on her shirt, and how desperately she tried to channel her sadness into indifference. I thought about how relieved she looked to sit silently for a while, how her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened.
While I pondered what possibly could have made her so sad and drained, my mind wandered to the pretty, endless blue of her eyes and the way her lip curled when she snarled at me.
I shook the thoughts out of my head.
I didn’t know her, and I would never see her again. It didn’t matter how much I felt like I recognized the grief in her eyes or how desirable her mouth was, I would never know her.
Willa returned after dark with her boyfriend, Wren, in tow. She skipped inside, though he visibly stiffened when he saw me sitting on the couch. I offered a small wave, which he didn’t return. Willa didn’t notice as she skipped into the kitchen to make hot chocolate.
I remembered who Wren was the first moment I saw him walking out of the cemetery with Willa on his arm. Images had flashed through my mind of cars colliding, rain soaking every inch of my body, and blood—so much blood. The front of the car had torn through his abdomen, leaving him as little more than a body in the road. Overcome with grief from my most recent goodbye, I’d forced my blood into his throat—hoping to save his life.
When he died anyway, I stumbled into the night alone, thinking it was over. For nearly a hundred years, I’d regretted my actions that night; I never knew he’d woken a vampire.
And then Wren walked into my life, and for the briefest of moments, I thought I could have apologized. But for every day I’d regretted his death, Wren had too. He hated being a vampire, and once he had hated the eternity he had in front of him.
Until Willa.
Willa made his eyes shine and was oftentimes the only reason he smiled.
Unfortunately for Wren, Willa was best friends with me, and every time he came to the apartment, he was reminded of who was responsible for his death.
“Did you ever find that vampire again?” Willa asked, her words pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What vampire?” Wren asked, his eyes fixed on her.
“There was a crying vampire in the Louvre today,” I answered.
“She threatened to kill someone for bumping into her,” Willa corrected.
I winced; I hadn’t realized Willa had heard that part of our conversation. Wren turned his attention to me, and for the briefest of seconds, I thought he seemed concerned. “I found her,” I said carefully. “She was having a bad day; she wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”
Willa hummed, unconvinced. She handed Wren his hot chocolate and motioned for her room. “We’re going to bed,” she chirped.
“Keep down the sex noises,” I huffed.
They disappeared into her room, and I gathered my things and crossed the apartment to hide in my room. Inside, I turned on the TV to drown out whatever noise or conversation they might make and settled into my bed.
I thought about Eliza until I fell asleep.