CH 41

It was snowing when I woke up shivering at four in the morning.

My apartment was freezing as I'd left the bedroom window open after a lovely spring day. Foolishly I had not expected April to have the audacity to plummet into winter's foul grasp yet again, but Paris was unpredictable as always.

My hands were stiff from the cold as I attempted to latch the open window closed and then build up the fire in the hearth. Thankfully I had plenty of firewood on hand, but Elvira voiced her displeasure on the matter loudly, making certain to add a string of curses while she remained in her cage and watched me feed the hearth with logs.

"Do you want to come out?" I asked as if she could give me a clear answer. She continued to screech, which I was certain had all of my neighbors wide awake and most likely penning angry letters to the apartment manager.

Typically Elvira preferred sleeping in rather than being awake at four in the morning, but the cold air had put her into a mood.

"Elvira–" I left the fireplace and walked to her cage where I reached into the metal enclosure. To my astonishment, she bit me on the thumb, slicing the pad clear open with one swift nip from her beak.

I sucked in a breath, drawing my hand back in both surprise and unexpected pain.

"What in the hell did you do that for, you awful little–"

She screeched again before hoping as far back as the cage allowed, her head turned and eyes closed.

I would never know how many individuals had poked her with canes or broom handles, how many instances she'd been knocked clear off her perch or jabbed in the chest. All I knew for certain was that she had been mistreated and sometimes, out of frustration, she struck first, a habit that would most likely never be broken.

"I am not angry with you," I explained. "Offended, bleeding on my own floor, and in a surprising amount of pain, but I'm not angry with you."

She stood on one foot, the other extended as if in warning that I was not welcomed to draw nearer.

"And after all of the years you have lived here, you should know by now I will never, ever strike you. Not even when you bite me for no damn reason. And there was absolutely no reason for this," I said, examining my thumb. I'd experienced much worse physical injuries in my lifetime, but this was personal. "Do you see what you've done? You've hurt me, both physically and emotionally. Betrayal, Elvira, this was betrayal."

She whistled in response, which I assumed was her attempt at voicing remorse. Like a toddler, her mood could change at any moment, the inability to give words to her thoughts frustrating for both of us.

I left her cage door open, walked across the room, and rinsed off my thumb in the kitchen sink. Once it was sufficiently clean, I dried it off and applied ointment to promote healing.

"Come out when you want," I said, wrapping my thumb in a rag, thankful it had not been a worse bite as she was fully capable of biting through the bone. "And prepare your apology. I expect no less than fifty words and none of them had better be curses."

With my thumb bandaged, I returned to my bedroom and flopped back into bed, feeling the injury throb.

For the life of me I could not recall why Erik had done it, but he had bitten me once. In truth he had probably bitten me multiple times, but I only recalled one distinctly.

Erik hadn't broken skin, but he'd left his tiny teeth marks in my upper arm, then promptly burst into tears of frustration once he saw my reaction.

My brother had been quite gifted with music. He understood the intricate details of sound and how to arrange music from an extraordinarily young age, but for all of his musical genius, at the age of two or two and a half, he could not put his thoughts into words, and when I couldn't understand what he wanted, his temper flared.

You aren't listening! He would say through the tears.

I am listening. You aren't making sense.

Sometimes he would growl, or ball his hands into fists and strike me in the chest before emotion immobilized him and he crumpled to the ground, face buried in his hands.

Erik, tell me what you want. Please. I'm listening to you. Tell me what I need to do for you.

My feet are hungry.

You want your shoes?

No! Lan, my feet are hungry.

When he was unable to put his desires into words, I had attempted to put my arm around him. Instead of accepting comfort, he had decided to bite me.

I had wanted to bite him back out of anger, to ask how he liked it when I sank my teeth into his arm. Instead I merely sat with him, my hand on his back as he hyperventilated, consumed by the rage that came with his inability to express himself, which swiftly turned into sorrow once he realized he was no closer to receiving what he needed.

How are your feet hungry, Erik? Tell me what that means.

The hunger is usually here, he said, pointing at his stomach. But I am so hungry my belly is empty down to my feet. It hurts, Lan, I am so hungry it hurts.

So hungry you tried to eat me, Kire.

He had considered crying harder, but instead picked himself up off the ground and kissed my arm in the same fashion I had kissed his bruised knees and scraped arms.

I would have done anything for my little brother, despite the unexpected teeth clamping down on my arm. Decades later, I would have given anything to turn back the clock, to relive the good and the bad, to sink to my knees and wait until he caught his breath and asked me to feed him or tie his shoes. It was always the most simple request. Lan, scratch this bug bite, I can't reach it. Lan, my stomach hurts. Lan, I am thirsty. Lan, take me down to the shore before it gets dark. Lan, you're not listening. Why are you ignoring me?

I wasn't certain he had asked why I was ignoring him. The moments before he wandered off were unclear, but I filled in the blanks with my own pretenses.

If you loved me, Lan, if you truly did care for me, you would have listened and taken me to the shore as you promised. You did this to me. You let me become lost.

"No," I whispered to myself.

My breath hitched. Erik had never spoken those words to me, but it was what I had deserved. I stared at the ceiling, paralyzed by the self-loathing thrumming through every vein and nerve.

The opening to Don Juan could not come soon enough. The ad I had placed in the program had to reunite us at last. I wasn't certain how much longer I could survive without finding Erik.

oOo

I arrived at the gymnasium ten minutes late as I had managed to fall into a deep sleep, one that was thankfully roused by Elvira knocking my metal coffee carafe off the counter.

Bernard and Hugo had both arrived already and were seated where the boxing ring had been located the previous day.

"We were getting worried about you," Hugo said. "I thought you fell into a snowbank."

The snow had melted by sunrise, but I decided not to mention that part.

"You were getting worried," Bernard grumbled. "I said if he shows up, he shows up, if he don't, that's not my problem."

Hugo shook his finger at the prize fighter. "Now, now, you're the one who kept checking the time out of concern."

I raised a brow. "I am sincerely flattered, Monsieur Montlaur."

Bernard crossed his arms and scowled. "Yeah, yeah."

"How did the two of you get inside? I thought I was invited solely on the basis that I have a key."

Hugo gave the most devilish smile. "I never returned my university keys."

Quite frankly I wasn't surprised. I assumed the university thought Hugo lost them and didn't bother to ask for them back. Most likely he had lost them and they'd recently been unearthed in some disastrous corner of his home.

"He's Hugo Duarte," Bernard said. "He don't need to give 'em back."

I retrieved a folding chair from the wall and took a seat beside Hugo. "Why did you want me here early?" I asked.

Bernard sat forward, legs spread and hands clasped. The swelling in his face from the previous day was still quite significant, but better than it had been. The bruising to his nose had spread, creating deep blue rings around his eyes.

"How long are you going to stare at me?" he snarled.

"I'm not staring," I said.

"Yeah, you are. It ain't a good-looking face."

I sighed heavily. "You have injuries sustained from a boxing match that ended in a disqualification," I replied.

"Like a dog that's been beat."

"I would not liken you to an animal. Now I will ask again. Why did you want us here early?"

"The kid's got an aunt living in Brussels," he said. "Drucinda Frane."

I blinked at him. "Do you know her personally?"

"I know her by name 'cause she's filthy stinkin' rich like this one here," he said, jabbing his thumb in Hugo's direction.

"I am not nearly as wealthy as you presume," Hugo muttered.

"Well, she ain't quiet about her fortune."

"This is good news then," I said. "If she's well-known in Brussels, it cannot be that difficult to find her, and if we cannot locate her immediately, I know of a detective."

Bernard shrugged, his frown deepening.

"You don't agree?" Hugo asked.

"I ain't handing the kid off to just anyone," he said.

"But if she has family–" Hugo started to say.

"Sometimes family is a hell of a lot worse than strangers." He briefly looked at me, then stared quite blatantly at my left arm. "Agreed, Professor?"

"I have an opinion, but will refrain from judgment."

"I'll pass judgment for the both of us then."

"Does Celeste have any other family that you are aware of? On her mother's side, perhaps?" Hugo questioned. "Perhaps it would be possible to find a few family members and one willing to take her in."

"Take her in," Bernard grumbled. "Like she's some stray animal wandering the streets."

"Like she's an orphan," Hugo corrected. "In need of relatives."

"I don't know nothin' about her mother's side of the family. All I know is she's got this one aunt," Bernard said. "If you contact her aunt, I'm talkin' to her first."

The gymnasium door opened and Celeste scurried inside, a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string under one arm and a silk hat on her head. She had donned a new dress, dark green in color, and matching gloves. The dress itself appeared a little too long in the skirt and sleeves and wide around the waist, but I assumed there was nothing in her exact size and it was a world better than what she ha been wearing.

"Eh!" Bernard grumbled. "Who's the fancy lady coming into this smelly sty fit for hogs?"

Celeste stopped in her tracks and adjusted her hat. "Bern, you know who it is."

"It's a little song bird. Go ahead, give us a twirl. Show off them new clothes and that tiny hat."

"The hat is not tiny!" Celeste insisted. "It's fashionable."

"Well, I don't know nothin' about fashion, and from here it looks tiny to me. Like a hat you'd put on a goose, not a girl."

"You look quite lovely," Hugo said.

"Twirl around!" Bernard insisted.

Celeste did as instructed, displaying a complete lack of grace for the daughter of ballet dancers. I cringed as she spun around, nearly lost her balance, and came dangerously close to falling into our chairs.

"Quit twirling before you hurt yourself," Bernard growled.

Celeste straightened her spine. "Are we meditating?"

Bernard inhaled. "You want to meditate or take a few swings at the Professor?"

Celeste pursed her lips. "I don't think the Professor wants me to take swings at him."

Bernard gestured as if he intended to swat her words out of the air. "Eh, he won't mind. He's tough as nails. He probably ain't as fun to hit like me, but he'll do."

"I don't want anyone to hit you again," Celeste said, stepping toward her instructor. "Not ever. Not like yesterday."

"I've had worse, kid."

"I want you to have better, not worse."

Bernard's expression softened. "Sometimes I do too," he said under his breath. "But we don't get to choose our lives."

Celeste switched the parcel from her right arm to her left. "Can I practice without striking anyone?" she asked.

Bernard thought for a moment. "You wanna learn how to take someone off their feet? It'll require the Professor's assistance, but instead of scrambling his eggs, I want you to knock him on his ass."

I issued a significant look in Bernard's direction. "Thank you for volunteering my services," I dryly said. "Well I got a bum knee and had the hell beat out of me yesterday and Hugo is missing half his leg. You want one of us to volunteer?"

I rubbed my temples and stood. "By all means, I shall play the part of the bad man for Mademoiselle Frane's education. Let's get this over with."

oOo

"The head controls the body," Bernard said from his folding chair as he sat in front of the mats I had placed on the ground in front of him. "Don't ever forget that."

Celeste narrowed her eyes. "The mind, you mean?"

"No, I mean the head. You'll see what I'm talking about." Slowly he climbed to his feet and lurched toward me, gesturing for Celeste to move aside so he could show her.

I took a deep breath and shifted my weight, bracing myself for the demonstration.

"I ain't gonna do nothing for real," he assured me. "But what she would do is a headbutt first."

Out of instinct I took a step back, having no desire to be cracked in the face.

"I ain't doing it for real and ruining that perfect nose of yours, Professor. Relax."

Momentarily I looked away from him, my hands at my sides in fists. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

Bernard stepped away from me. "Since I don't want the Professor feeling like he's about to get whipped, I'm just gonna go through the steps verbally. Headbutt," he said, rocking his head forward, imitating what he wanted Celeste to do. "And immediately after, kick to the groin." He looked at me and nodded, closing the space between us. "I ain't doing it for real."

I still flinched when he grabbed my head with both hands and slowly drew my face to the side. Despite the demonstration being much slower than the real thing, I felt myself immediately off balance.

"And there it is," Bernard said. "The head controls the body. Headbutt, blow to the groin, and you pull their head one way or another and they're down. You can jab 'em in the eye when you turn their head to make sure they stay down. Now, come here," he said, motioning to Celeste.

She timidly stepped forward.

"I'm gonna put you on the mat," he said. "Like you're comin' after me."

To my surprise, Celeste lit up. "I get to be the attacker?"

"Yeah, why the hell not?" Bernard said.

"But I don't have eggs," she pointed out.

"Pretend you do. Now I ain't gonna do it for real, same as I told the Professor, but I'm gonna do it quick so you see how it would be done. Got it? Now–"

Before he finished speaking, he went through the motions of a head butt, knee to the groin, and finished by grabbing her head. He paused, her ears covered by his meaty palms, and gently turned her skull to the side, setting her off balance.

He guided her down to the mat as if she were made of glass.

"Do it for real!" Celeste exclaimed as she sprang to her feet.

"I ain't headbutting you," he said firmly.

"No, the part where I fall on the mat."

Bernard's eyes narrowed. "I don't want to hurt you, kid."

"You won't," she promised. "Do that part for real."

"You're gonna cry if I lay you out."

"No, I won't. Please! Do it for real."

Bernard took a deep breath. "It's gotta be quick. Your opponent don't got time to think. You ready for that?"

Celeste started to nod. Before she had time to react, her instructor went through the motions in the blink of an eye: pretend headbutt, strike to the groin, and lastly grabbing her by head. With her head to his shoulder, he swept her off her feet and tossed her to the mat.

The sound of her body landing hard made me wince, the impact like a belly flop into a body of water. Hugo inhaled sharply and I took a step forward, certain Bernard had knocked her out cold or at least punched the wind from her lungs, incapacitating her.

"My God," I muttered.

Celeste lay sprawled out on the mat, her eyes wide and unblinking, chest heaving. She stared at the ceiling as Bernard and I stood over her, both of us with our mouths agape.

"Did you break her neck?" I asked through my teeth when she continued staring straight up at us.

"Ah, hell, kid, I told you not for real."

"I'm not hurt!" She sat bolt upright, grinning as her little hat fell from the top of her head. "That was like being on a swing when you feel like you could touch the clouds. One moment I was on my own two feet, then in the air, then on the ground. My stomach is still in the air, I think."

She giggled to herself and grabbed her belly.

"Yep, my stomach is in the air!" she exclaimed.

Bernard and I exchanged looks, both of us sighing in relief when she was clearly no worse for wear.

"You," Bernard snapped as he hauled her to her feet, "got bigger eggs than some men I've met," he said. "And I don't mean that as an insult, kid. You're scrappy, that's what you are."

"Will you do it again?"

"Again? You're supposed to be a delicate little waif, ain't you?"

"Can I be delicate and still learn to defend myself?"

Bernard made a sour face "Yeah, sure. No one suspects a delicate little songbird will rip off their–"

I cleared my throat. "Indeed, Monsieur Montlaur."

"Eh, she ain't offended." He nodded at Celeste for confirmation. "You offended, kid?"

Celeste shook her head. "I'm not offended, Bern."

"See."

I sighed to myself at their newly forged camaraderie.

"The Professor is probably correct. I ain't treating you the way a proper young lady deserves." The boxer bent at the waist and retrieved Celeste's hat, which he blew on to remove the dirt from the mat. "How's this stick to your head? Some sort of girl magic?"

"Pins!" she said, feeling along her scalp where two pins stuck out from her hair.

"I remember these brain pokers," Bernard said, plucking them from Celeste's locks. "Hold still and let's see if I still remember how to do this."

Celeste tilted her chin down and Bernard removed all of the pins, which he held between his teeth while positioning the hat.

"Look up," he said through a mouthful of hair pins. "Make sure it's on crooked the way you had it."

"It wasn't crooked, Bern, it's supposed to be to the side," Celeste explained. She smiled as she watched him examine the hat. "It's fashion."

"I can't imagine having to wear this tiny little hat on the side of my head for fashion," he said, sliding the first pin into place. "You girls, I tell you. Strangest part of the species. Delicate but tough as hell, kid."

Celeste continued to study him, her expression filled with adoration when he praised her. It reminded me of the way my brother would stare at me when I laced up his shoes. He had been safe and protected, provided for in every way necessary. For the brief time we had spent together, we had both been content.

The same was not true for Celeste, She had spent nine months on her own, navigating an unfamiliar city, subjected to horrific treatment by strangers preying on a helpless girl. And yet, despite how she had been abused, she still found a way to trust again, to open a heart that should have remained closed.

"This ain't ever coming off," Bernard said once he slid the last hairpin into place. "You're going to be wearing this until you're sixty."

Celeste ran her hand over the hat, grinning as it indeed stayed in place. "It's perfect. Thank you, Bern."

Despite his rough voice and scowl, Bernard softened in her company. Celeste tilted her head down and the boxer leaned slightly forward, straightening the green striped ribbon. For a moment I thought he would kiss her tenderly on the forehead, the broken heart of a father responding to a girl without a family.

The emotional bond was what I missed most about Erik, the quiet moments when he would put his head on my shoulder or entwine his fingers with mine and it felt as though the world belonged to only us.

I had never known such freely offered tenderness before or after Erik had been born. I had never known what it was like to truly love and care for someone unconditionally, to be wanted and needed by another person, to be valued simply for being myself.

The only part of life I recalled before Erik's birth were the lady with the cart and the horse who came to visit and took me with her and the dread of being alone with Bjorn or Gyda. I had no one to confirm that it was true, but I remembered being alone in my bedroom, consumed by loneliness and the fear of the silent house turning to raised voices when Bjorn returned stinking of liquor.

And then one cold day in late December, a physician came to the house, Gyda made terrible noises for hours, and a bloody, wet mass of blankets was removed from the room and set on the back step.

That wet mass had erased the hours of neglect I had endured, the days of sitting on the floor in a locked room, lost in my vivid imagination, longing for the woman with the cart to take me away forever.

Moments after the newborn had been discarded, I had retrieved him, taking it upon myself to care for him in a way I was certain no one had ever cared for me. From the very first moments my brother was in my arms, I caressed and cuddled him in the fashion I had craved.

That part of me, the attentive, loving brotherly part of me, had flourished for three and a half years, but it had been sealed off since the day my brother had disappeared, starved until it was no longer viable.

But I wanted to feel connected to someone else again, to experience emotional love between two people. I longed for the bond we had shared, for the intimacy that was deeper than flesh, for the moments where I had felt complete. For far too long I had allowed my head full control and neglected my heart.

My heart that should have overflowed with love for my own son, remained empty. My heart that should have been open had instead been tucked away every time I slipped beneath the sheets with someone different. I wondered if my heart that ached with loneliness and despair since the search for Erik had turned out fruitless, could ever be revived.

Bern took a step back and patted Celeste on the shoulder, and as I turned away, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment that he didn't kiss her on the forehead with the tenderness of a father to his child.

Perhaps Bernard wasn't certain that the girl was prepared for his paternal affection or he himself was not yet ready to treat her the same way he had treated his daughter Beatrix. Whatever the reason, I felt my own stomach tighten, retreating from my own needs to the safety of the numbness I had grown accustomed to experiencing.

"Enough talk. Time to send the Professor's stomach into the air right next to yours," Bernard said.

Celeste returned a wan smile to her instructor before she turned her attention to me.

"I promise I will not harm you, Professor," she said.

"You are overflowing with kindness, Cleaning Assistant."

"Give him hell, kid," Bernard growled.