Chapter Text
Ambre’s hand shook slightly as she stared at the letter in her hand. Mother and Uncle Guillaume had invited her and Octave to Paris for Christmas dinner. Ever since the events from New Year’s Eve her mother and uncle had made arrangements for her and her brother to live in a family manor in the countryside. They had been living peacefully at the manor but they had not heard from mother or their uncle since January. Not even on their birthdays…
It felt strange that suddenly they wanted to see them again. Ambre wasn’t sure if she ought to go. She didn’t know how it would be. Would her mother resent her and not speak to her? Would Michel and Hermine avoid her and Octave? Would an accident happen with the wine? So many questions flooded her mind.
“Ambre!” Octave called from upstairs.
“Coming!” She answered, tucking the letter away in her dress pocket. She hurried up the stairs into Octave’s bedroom. He was lying in bed still. His face brightened when Ambre appeared in the doorway.
“Ambre,” he said happily. He began to prop himself up a little in bed. Ambre came over to sit beside him in a small wooden chair by the bed.
“Are you ill? Why are you still in bed?” She asked him, instinctively feeling his forehead to see if he had a fever.
He quickly brushed her hand away. “I’m fine. Just sleepy I guess…”
Ambre looked up at the clock above the door frame. “Octave, it’s past noon.”
“I said I’m fine!” He said more firmly.
Ambre gave him a look. “You don’t need to snap like that.”
Octave gave a sheepish look and said softly, “sorry.”
“It’s okay. But you really ought to get dressed. You’ll miss the sun if you continue sleeping all afternoon.”
“I barely see the sun anymore.” Octave said, staring off into space, “It’s like a shadow swept over us the moment we came here.”
Ambre said nothing.
“You’ve felt it, right?” Octave asked her, looking serious. “That feeling of darkness clutching at your chest, never ceasing, never ending…”
Ambre had felt it. But she did not want to worry her brother.
“We got a letter today.” She said, trying to stay as calm as possible. “From…mother and uncle.”
Octave’s eyes widened as he stared at her quizzically. “What kind of letter?”
Ambre hesitated.
Octave probed harder. “ What kind of letter, Ambre? ”
“An invitation.” She breathed finally. “They invited us for Christmas dinner.”
Octave stared at her before bursting into a fit of laughter. Ambre did not look at him.
“I’m serious, Octave.”
“Wh-why would they even consider inviting us for Christmas dinner?” Octave asked, his laughter subsiding.
“Maybe they pity us.” Ambre suggested.
“Pity?!” Octave asked dubiously. “I hardly think so. Do they forget what I tried to do last year?”
“No one could forget what happened.” Ambre said darkly.
“Exactly!” Octave said, throwing his hands in the air. “I doubt they would invite us so suddenly unless there was some ill intention behind it.”
Ambre looked at him frowning. “Surely they wouldn’t…you know how much they regretted killing father. They would never get their hands dirty again like that.”
Octave shook his head slowly. “I’m not really sure what to believe anymore.”
Ambre reached out her hand and touched Octave’s softly. He did not pull away this time and allowed her to lace her fingers in between his and squeeze his hand gently. “Me neither. I know none of us can change the past or what happened. But if mother and uncle sent this invitation to us surely that’s a sign that they want to stay in touch, right?”
“Maybe it’s a trap.” Octave said. “Reach out to us in the hope that we’ll come with good intentions and then strangle us in our sleep—”
“Octave!” Ambre exclaimed.
“Nothing would stop them! Did we not try to kill them last year? What’s to stop them from doing the same thing now?”
Ambre paused as she collected her thoughts together. “I don’t know the reason why they want to see us again…but if their intentions are genuine then it would be us that would feel left out. They’re already providing us a place to live. If we don’t repay them in some form what’s stopping them from taking this away from us, making us live on the streets and starve to death?”
Octave considered this. “And if their intentions are not genuine…we’re vulnerable if we go at all. Our guard could be lowered easily due to their hospitality and then they strike when we least expect.”
“I don’t think they want any more blood on their hands than they have already.” Ambre said quietly.
“No, perhaps not…” Octave said.
He lifted his hand from Ambre’s and shoved the covers off as he finally got out of bed, stretching his arms to the sky.
“I’m starving.” He said after a moment.
Ambre busied herself with making up the bed as Octave went over to the wash basin to freshen up.
“Shall I ask Annette to bring you some hot water?” Ambre asked as Octave had pulled his nightgown up over his head.
“No, I’ll get my bath later.” He said feeling his cheeks redden. He turned slightly, holding the bundled up nightgown in front of him modestly. “Some food would be nice though.”
“You can come downstairs for lunch once you’ve finished up.” She said, closing the door to give him some privacy. Outside his room she took the invitation out from her pocket. They both agreed then. They were going to see uncle and mother for Christmas.
***
The train to Paris from Chaumont was a long journey that took up most of the day. Octave remained silent for most of the trip, resting his head on his sister’s shoulder and nodding off occasionally. She pulled him close to her and rested her head on top of his. Together they stayed this way until a loud rap at the train compartment door woke them up, signaling their stop was next.
Parisian life seemed unchanging one year later. Octave looked about the city in disgust, clutching his suitcase tightly.
“It smells just as filthy as the day we left.” Octave observed, wrinkling his nose.
“Living in the country really changes one’s point of view.” Ambre said. She led the way towards the line of hansom cabs and gave the driver directions to their family’s residence.
As they set off Octave glanced around him, taking in all the sights and sounds of the Parisian evening. They were familiar to him but not friendly. He loathed the city and wanted to go back to Chaumont immediately. But he came for Ambre. He would do anything for his sister.
The siblings were silent until just before reaching the house. Ambre laid a hand on Octave’s leg. “Are you okay?”
Octave hesitated before giving a single nod, looking away from her.
Ambre murmured in his ear, “you don’t have to lie to me, you know.”
Octave glanced up at her, abashed. “What do you think?”
“I know it’s going to be…a difficult reunion. But it’s Christmas. Surely…”
She trailed off, not quite knowing what else to say to reassure her brother.
“You’re the one who insisted on coming.” He reminded her.
“I know that.” She said, trying to sound confident. “It’ll be good to at least talk to them. To see them and to see Michel and Hermine too.”
Octave scoffed. “I doubt they would ever want to see me again.”
“Stop that, Octave.” Ambre said. “They know how to forgive people, surely.”
The rest of the ride was silent until the hansom stopped in front of a large house. As Ambre and Octave descended from the cab to look at the house they both took a deep breath before taking their first step towards the door.
A butler they did not recognize answered the door and Ambre introduced themselves.
“Ah, yes,” the butler said, taking them both in. “the last two Valérys. Do come in.”
The two of them exchanged brief strange looks as they entered the house. A maid came bustling over to help them with their suitcases. A pair of hands touched Octave’s shoulders and he whirled around seething “ don’t touch me! ”
The butler held his hands up in an innocent gesture. “Beg pardon, Monsieur Valéry, I was just removing your coat.”
“I can do it myself.” Octave said, unfastening his coat and handing it to a maid nearby who had her hands ready to receive them.
Ambre shot him a look that read ‘be polite’. Octave returned a look that read ‘you’re the one who wanted to come here’.
Ambre turned towards the butler and curtsied, “I apologize for my younger brother’s behavior. He’s very sensitive. Forgive me, but I can handle whatever he may require during our stay. A servant will not be necessary.”
The butler looked surprised but nodded and bowed, “Understood, Mademoiselle Valéry.”
“Thank you,” Ambre said in her sweetest voice. She took Octave by the arm and followed the butler as he led them down the hall.
Once the butler was out of earshot she lowered her voice to Octave, “please try to behave while we're staying here.”
“Only if mother and uncle will.”
The butler stopped and Ambre and Octave collectively took a deep breath.
“Monsieur Octave and Mademoiselle Ambre Valéry.” He introduced.
As he parted to the side and the two siblings stepped into the parlor Octave felt the air grow colder around him. He shivered and Ambre glanced sideways at him, frowning. The room felt unchanged from the last time they had seen it. A fireplace was lit and crackled, spreading its warmth over the hearth. A middle-aged man with neat dark blonde slicked back hair sat in a red leather chair with a newspaper spread on his lap. A middle-aged woman with wavy blonde hair pulled up in a bun sat opposite him, working on some needlework. At the mention of their guests the two of them looked up at Octave and Ambre. For a long moment none of them spoke, they just looked at one another, amazed that they were all here in the same room together again.
Finally, the man in the chair, their Uncle Guillaume, spoke. “Ambre, Octave…you came.”
“We did, uncle.” Ambre said in a somewhat restrained voice.
He nodded. “I’m glad. Christmas is a time to spend with family after all.”
He started to get up from his chair and Octave caught his breath when he saw a cane on the other side of the chair that his uncle used for support. Instinctively, he turned away. He had forgotten where he had injured his uncle that terrible night.
“Dear,” Chloe, their mother, said to her husband. “Maybe sitting down for now would be best.”
Guillaume looked from her to the two of them, noticing Octave avoiding his eyes. “Ah, you’re probably right. Sorry.”
He put his cane away and resumed sitting in his chair. He motioned for Ambre and Octave to pull up chairs and sit with them by the fire.
Hesitantly, Ambre moved to get chairs for both her and Octave and they sat in a semi-circle around the fire.
“I hope the countryside is to your liking.” Guillaume said, addressing Ambre.
“It is a splendid house, uncle. We are very happy living there.” Ambre said evenly.
“Good, good.” Guillaume nodded. He looked over at his wife who had nonchalantly resumed her needlework. “Chloe has taken up sewing. She’s made quite a few designs around the house now.”
Ambre only nodded but did not comment.
“Are you still performing at all, Ambre? I know you loved it when you were here in Paris.”
“Oh…” Ambre’s voice lowered. “Sadly there aren't a lot of opportunities in the countryside. I’ve started doing other things around the house. Octave has a new job as a local journalist though. He writes for the local paper.”
“Oh, that’s great news, Octave!” Beamed his uncle who looked his way in an attempt to meet his eye.
Octave looked up at his name being mentioned but hadn’t been listening. “What? Sorry.”
“I told uncle you’ve been writing for the local paper.” Ambre told him.
“Oh, yes.” Octave said, trying to meet his uncle’s eye, but only getting to his knee which he continued to stare at. “I uh…yes, there’s a lot of things to write about in Chaumont. Not quite as juicy as Paris but there’s been the occasional mur–theft.”
Octave closed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened them he found three pairs of eyes looking at him with concern. Even his mother’s who had glanced up from her needlework.
Ambre touched his arm gently. “Octave, are you–”
“I’m fine!” He snapped at her. He suddenly stood up. “I uh, I need to use the lavatory.”
“O-o-of course.” His uncle stammered, rising a little from his chair. “Do you need anything? Some water?”
“No!” Octave shouted. He met Ambre’s eye and cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “No, thank you. I’ll be right back.”
He walked briskly from the room and down the hall to the lavatory, closing the door and turning the lock. Going over to the sink, he turned on the faucet and splashed water over his face, trying to stay calm. A hand towel hung beside him and he patted his face dry. As he looked up at his reflection in the mirror he nearly screamed, however. He clapped his hand over his mouth as the bloodstained figure in white stood about ten feet behind him.
Just like in my nightmares…
“Hello, Octave, it’s been a while hasn’t it?”