Chapter Thirty-Five #2
My father takes a seat next to him, while I take the chaise across the table, but my attention is on my lover—on the slight shake in his hands as he pours us each a glass, on the paleness of his face as he sits next to me.
A war wages behind his eyes, the sweet acceptance he’d finally felt after slaying his demon now fighting with a lifetime of being told he is naught but a horror and disgrace.
He fiddles with his own glass of blood, though notably does not drink from it. “Not exactly. That is—I can drink it, yes. It helps with the hunger, but it doesn’t sustain me as it does you. My appetites are… different.”
He does not expand, but he does not need to. The scene my brother and father rode into made it clear enough what Theodore was truly feeding on, so neither of them question him further.
“What fascinating lovers you have found, Azizi, darling,” my father says as he relaxes further into his chair. “A hungry little beast, and the spirit of a lavandière—a powerful one at that, if she is able to possess one of our kind. This is not an easy feat.”
“I would not say it was easy, per se.” The pain that had pierced through me as I reached for Kolfina still stings at my hand.
The force with which she shot beneath my skin still aches like a slap across the face.
“We were under quite a bit of distress at the time, and Kolfina was growing weak from an attempted exorcism. I did not realize I was offering myself until she was already here.”
Jonas bobs his head and shares a look with our father. “It would make sense though, wouldn’t it? Weakened spirits often seek out something to better sustain them, and a creature of the night would be the safest place for her to rest.”
“I had always thought it impossible for a spirit to possess our kind. Father and Dorian, perhaps,” I say, turning to the older man, “as you once said that you are merely touched by Death, whereas the rest of us are taken by it and given back. Why then can she possess me?”
“Les lavandières.”
That word, it stirs something in Kolfina, something that has her turning our head to face Theodore, who’s eyes have grown wide with wonder and just a hint of fear.
“That is what you called her, right?” he asks again, letting out a quick breath when my father offers him a nod in return.
Theodore glances up at us, and I can feel Kolfina behind my eyes like the press of a warm rag, watching him back.
“Les lavandières—the washerwomen. It’s an old story Missus Fortue used to tell Louis and I when we were children.
She said when Death is coming, he sends his daughters first, bids them to wash the clothes of the dying and to make them comfortable in their final moments.
To help ease the way into the next life.
” He pauses, swallowing thickly as he glances down at his glass.
“When my mother passed… I thought it was an angel that visited us that night, but I learned later that it had been Kolfina there, singing to her while we washed my mother’s clothes. I hadn’t thought—”
“They are rare,” my father chimes in. He crosses one leg over the other, turning his attention to me—or rather, to the spirit inside me that bubbles with questions. “Azizi told me you’ve no memories of your life before, sì?”
It takes a moment for Kolfina to answer, the shock of being addressed directly giving her pause. But when I offer no answer for her, she raises our hand and wobbles it back and forth.
My father hums in response, taking a sip from his glass before setting it on the table beside him.
“A result of the traumatic death, I would assume. Memories are fickle things, especially when it comes to the dead.” He waves the topic away with a flutter of his hand.
“Regardless, as I said, les lavandières are quite rare, which is how I knew who you were immediately upon Jonas telling me your name. Lady Kolfina Everleigh de Klein, nèe Daillant, the late wife of Lord Walden Aimé de Klein and only daughter of the late Lord and Lady Daillant. This manor was once named after them, if I remember correctly.”
Lady Kolfina Everleigh Daillant.
That was her name. Before de Klein sank his claws into her. Before he killed her.
Kolfina reaches out to snatch Theodore’s hand with one of mine, raising the other to our lips, then to our temple. He blinks for a moment, brow furrowing slightly, before the meaning comes to him and he turns to my father again. “You knew them? Her family?”
The man tilts his head back and forth in a similar way to what Kolfina had done with her hand.
“I knew of them. I am sure I met them a few times at court events and the like, but we were never closely related.” A sheepish smile spreads beneath his beard, and he gives a quiet laugh.
“You must forgive me. As a creature born to hide from Death, I try my hardest to avoid those within his purview.”
“But what does her being a lavandière have to do with possessing Azizi?” Jonas asks.
“Ah, yes, well—spirits are able to possess most living creatures, and on occasion the dead, but being undead, our kind tend to only rebuff them on instinct.” He gestures toward us.
“Les lavandières however are tied to Death in ways that even I have never fully understood. It is very possible that the only reason you can possess Azizi at all is simply because Death, and all it entails, is your domain. It could even explain why you are a spirit in the first place, though Death does not tend to give second lives, in my experience. Those are usually stolen from him, like with our kind, the strigoi.”
Kolfina shakes my head before he is finished speaking, and a sudden rush of something floods my throat, sloshes around in my lungs and tastes of salt. I choke on it, though nothing comes out when I open my mouth. It stings. It burns.
It feels like drowning.
And then it’s gone, receding like the tide.
“Azizi?”
When the darkness clears from my vision, Theodore is pressed up against my side, his hands clutching at mine.
Kolfina stands before us, hair dripping with seawater, sand clinging to her skin.
She looks as surprised as I do to meet each other’s eyes, but she does not flicker in and out of view like she had after Father Thompson’s attempted exorcism.
“Affascinante,” my father says again. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person, fiorellina.”
Jonas grins wide and excited as he takes in the scene, his own glass of wine abandoned on the table between us. “And quite the entrance! Look at you! The bodies my sister steals for you don’t do you half justice.”
“Jonas—” I start, only for the soft shaking of Kolfina’s shoulders to stop me.
Sand gathers at the corners of her mouth as the young woman giggles, but she offers my father and brother a polite curtsy before turning to face the older of the two. I recognize the look on her face, the soft scrunch of her nose as she tries to think of what she wishes to say and how to say it.
My father is patient, as he always is, his attention settled on her completely.
Finally, Kolfina cups her hands in front of her chest, opens her mouth, and lets water pour from her lips into the cradle of her palms. Seaweed follows suit, only stopping once she’s trapped it back inside the barrier of her teeth.
She holds her hands out to him like a gift.
“The ocean?” he questions, earning an eager nod from the spirit. “Ah, yes, I suppose that does make sense, as you died within her arms. Death lingers in her domain often, said to be her oldest lover. Perhaps she holds the ability to give a second life on occasion. Though why, I am curious to know.”
Kolfina’s face darkens at that, her hair lashing around her like violent waves. Just as they had the day she reappeared for us, her cheeks rot away to reveal the bones of her jaw and teeth, paling to a sickly blue.
It is Theodore who answers him, however, unphased by the shocking appearance of our lover.
“Her husband,” he says, all but spitting the word out as he carefully places his glass back on the table. “Kolfina told us the ocean gave her the gift he was trying to steal for himself, but we are not sure what that means.”
I shift to the side as Kolfina sits on the arm rest of the chaise, leaning into her chill as her wild hair begins to calm and settle once more. “It is why I wrote to you. We hoped you might give us more information on what happened.”
“Yes, you mentioned symbols in a hidden cellar, is that correct?”
“I did,” I answer him. “I thought to draw them for you and send them with my letter, but I was not sure if they were safe to copy onto paper.”
A proud smile plays at my father’s lips and he nods.
“You are correct. Copying spells is only to be done when one knows what the spell does. It is much safer this way.” Slapping his hands on his knees, the man pushes himself to his feet and gestures toward the door.
“Shall we take a look now then? Let us get all this nasty business out of the way first before we are able to finally relax, sì?”