32

Paris appeared dead in the grey of morning.

The Daroga asked the driver to wait, and took Katrina into Madame's home, still half asleep in his arms. She roused as the dog and bags were deposited near her, and just remembered to say good-bye as Daroga and Darius left. Marie stood there, a grim look to her severe features.

"Katrina, come with me." She ordered, and the girl obeyed.

They went up the stairs, up to the attic; to a small room in a back corner, dark save for one guttering candle. Light was just beginning to tint the window reflecting from the house next door. There, slumped over a broken desk was Erik.

She turned her face to the older woman who whispered, "Helen and the baby are fine. She was up and walking yesterday, but he wouldn't come out. Early in the morning, he was breaking things at the opera. If the Daroga hadn't come by…" She looked away. "We're out of ideas, Katrina."

Marie left, and Katrina walked up to her uncle, putting a hand on his arm. There was no response. She burrowed her head under his elbow, and scrabbled for a place in his lap. He moved at last, leaning himself back with a rattling sigh. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and waited for that feeling it would do to talk.

It was he that broke the stillness.

"Have you seen the babe?"

"No, I had to see you."

His eyes opened and drifted down to her. "Did they tell you what it looks like?"

"No." She wondered what on earth that had to do with anything. A baby was baby. "Jacques wrote and said he was healthy."

"Oh, Jacques wrote you, did he?" An edge returned to that rich voice. "How did you come to be here?"

"The Daroga came for me. He was outside the Opera when you were upset."

A glint came to the yellow eyes, but it faded instantly. "So many wrongs, so many moments I can't alter. If it starts again…but what can I do? It would be my fault, how can it change? She would not survive it, and it is strange…I want her to live. Insanity, that what we agreed to should alter. But another life, two lives, what to do now?"

Katrina sensed she was out of her depth, and decided to get her worst fear out in the open while she dared. "The Daroga said you were going mad. Are you, Uncle Erik?"

"Mad? I have always been a little mad, Katrina. But getting worse, no I am not. I am only afraid."

The idea that Erik could really be afraid and admit it had never occurred to her. "Of what?"

"That my son will be like me. And if he is, what will happen to Helen."

For the first time since she had met him, Katrina looked…and saw how different he was from other men. She understood that Helen had seen it always, and still gone to the house on the lake. Katrina had done it naturally, as if their shared blood bridged any gap. For Helen it was not a chasm so easily leapt.

For the first time, she considered that perhaps her uncle was not safe. That he had chosen Helen because she was not like Christine, and yet not like other women. It seemed possible that somehow, Katrina might be a reason.

Yet, she looked back on the days they spent together, the moments around the fire, the walks to church, the music and paintings. No, it was not all so different from other people. Some of it, she decided, was even better.

These were not thoughts she could completely understand or give voice to at the time. They were emotions, balls of vague ideas that would one day be sculpted down to their proper shape. It was enough that she understood just enough to do the right thing.

Sliding down from his lap, she took his hand. "Marie is the only one up, the only one I saw. Helen and the baby must be asleep. We can go peep, and no one will know. Even if you don't want to, I haven't seen the baby yet. Please, show me where they are?"

He relented, and guided her silently down the stairs to the second floor, to the right where a door was just ajar. Katrina slipped in, holding his hand and went straight to the cradle, bathed in blue dawn light. She leaned over, lifted the light cover just a little, and breathed in the delicate scent of newborn.

The child stirred, cracking dark eyes grumpily at those who dared disturb him. Katrina stuck a finger into his fist, allowing him to take hold and shake hands.

He was longer than most babies, bore no resemblance to a butter ball in shape, but he was certainly not yellow or dreadful. He made a small sound like the word "Go." And fell asleep again.

"Isn't he wonderful?" A dozy voice asked from the bed. Helen had rolled over at the disturbance, and was watching the proceedings. Erik sat beside her, and silently took her hand, but said nothing. She fell into slumber as Katrina went to find Marie and cajole a coffee from her.

"They named the boy Roberto."

Stephan looked up from the letter Katrina had written to assure the Lefevres that all was well. "That poor child will be a strange one when she grows up."

Andre smiled. "She already is. There is something about her that reminds me of the painting in your music room. The eyes perhaps, I wish I could remember…" He trailed off thoughtfully. "She always looked at people like that, Stephan. That day in her village, after it was all over and the drunk was away from the children, she just looked at me over her mother's shoulder. It was as if she could see right though, and into the future. Just fixed people in those big eyes, and held them there until she understood. It hasn't changed, or I'd have forgotten her."

Stephan wasn't sure he liked what his friend said about Katrina. It did sound like the picture of his sister. The picture that smiled down on them forever.