It wasn’t until late into the day two days later that Jacques sat Estella down. He spent the previous day organizing a joint funeral and between his own grief and Estella’s he could not bear another potentially heavy discussion with the girl

But it needed to be done. That letter from Marguerite was the only instructions he had to follow: take her to Matthieu. Take her to Theodora.

“How long have you known about me, Estella?”

She shrugged her small shoulders. She was small for a twelve year old, her feet barely touched the ground as she sat on the edge of the couch. “I don’t know. Mémé and nonno talked about you a lot. You helped them leave Europe during the war.”

Jacques rubbed his hands over his thighs and cleared his throat, “Then you know I’ve been your grandparents’ friend for a very long time.”

She nodded, wondering what his point was.

“Are you surprised that I am not the same age as them?”

Again she shook her head, but in the negative.

“Why?” If Estella already knew then that would make the future at least slightly easier but he needed her to say it. Situations like this could be delicate. While he and his family lived the…traditional lifestyle of their world, the Commission did not like it when humans were brought unnecessarily into the fold. And while Estella was certainly a witch’s child, she was still a child nonetheless.

Estella moved her mouth around, feeling the word in her mouth. In English, in French, in Italian, looking for the right language for her.

“Vampiro.” she said.

“How did you know? Did your grandparents tell you?”

“No,” she replied in a quiet voice.

Jacques leaned back, bracing himself for an impact he didn’t know the source of, “How did you know, Estella?”

She fidgeted.

She fidgeted.

His chest tightened, “Please, Estella. This is important.”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” she said, kicking her feet against the sofa.

“Here, here. Look at this.” He pulled the letter from Marguerite out of his pocket and showed it to her. “I sat outside last night and this letter appeared, addressed to me,” he explained. Estella acted as if a magically appearing letter was completely within the norm. Definitely raised with magic then.

If Jacques was a less-experienced man he might have shaken the child—gently but still. The girl is unnaturally calm, she should be raging, wailing, weeping. Anything that normal grieving children do. Aside from that first night home, Estella had been relatively quiet. She mostly followed him around and watched what he did.

Instead she’s merely…unsurprised. Expectant, almost.

“Is there any for me?” she asked.

He immediately regretted showing her the letter. Of course she would wonder if her grandparents left any final message for her. “I’m sorry, none that I saw.”

“No.” But still, she hoped, “Of course not.”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

He cleared his throat again, convinced he was going about this all wrong. That somehow he’s hurting the child more. Unfortunately for both of them though, they weren’t done with the conversation about her arm. It is bad luck to ignore favors of the dead. “Marguerite, your mémé, told me to ask about your arm. That you should show it to me. Estella, would you please show me your arm?”

Estella took the letter from him, then nervously looked up. “Okay… I don’t want to talk about it though.”

Jacques paused before speaking, weighing the situation. He couldn’t promise that they wouldn’t need to discuss what her arm would reveal. But he also needed the girl to trust him. “If it isn’t necessary to talk about then I won’t ask you to do so. How does that sound to you?”

“Only if it’s necessary you’ll ask?”

“Oui.”

Biting her lower lip, she slowly held out her arm and proceeded to pull up her sleeve, exposing her flesh there.

A raised scar skidded across her delicate skin as it subtly wrapped around her lower forearm. The tissue was shiny and smooth as it jutted over her skin. Jacques reached out his hand but did not touch Estella, seeking silent permission for a closer look. Gingerly, she laid her arm in his hands. Using his eyes, he followed the pattern of the scar as he carefully twisted the appendage to trace its development. He found beneath her wrist a mark more raised than the rest that seemed to be the source of the original wound. It was like a parentheses written by a poorly bent quill, with one end a blotted circle like a bleeding pen.

Mon Dieu. Was this what they were hiding? It’s a wonder his friends didn’t take her to France sooner.

Jacques worked to hide his shock. A vampire bit her and she was not a vampire. He had heard stories from Theodora of such things that vampires used to do during the dark days of superstition and warfare. When vampires thought they could gain the upper hand by claiming witches for their covens and their wars. Vampire bites were ineffective on a fully mature witch but the young were still human and susceptible.

Jacques fought back a shudder. According to Theodora, the prospect of witch magic embedded into the more durable body of an immortal was too tempting. Some war lords would steal witch children just to bite them. They would return the child to the family but return years later to take the now young adult when it was time for them to become what you could call a dhampir or simply a hybrid. It was incredibly dangerous for the nascent witch with the bite as the different magics in their system fought for balance—or dominance—when they aged. Estella will need care in a few years when she comes of age and those magics collide in her system.

She’ll need Mattieu and Theodora. No two vampires are more educated in the history, training, or rearing of magic as those two.

He kneeled in front of her, “You don't have to talk about it but I need you to tell me, is the vampire who bit you still alive?”

She swallowed, taking her arm back and digging her fingers into the couch. “Yes. He…um…he. I saw him. At the crash. Mémé told me that if I saw him again I should tell them and if they weren’t around I should tell you. I’m sorry I forgot. They even made me memorize your phone number and address.”

“And he was at the accident?”

“I think so but I… passed out.”

He nodded. Everything was more complicated than he thought.

They had to leave. Quickly.

Estella bit her lip as she watched Jacques rub a hand over his face, his expression grim. “What does it mean?” she asked.

“Your bite?”

“Oui. They wouldn’t tell me.”

He thought about putting her off, about telling her not to worry too much about it for now but that’s exactly what her grandparents had done and look at where they are now: lying in a coroner’s office waiting to be put six feet under.

He took a deep breath, “It means you will likely live with your feet in two worlds: witch and vampire.”

“Both?”

“There are stories of children who get bitten but not changed. They become a sort of hybrid. A half-existence. One half witch. One half vampire.”

Her mouth fell open into a rosy ‘O’.

“Mais,” But, “we have a few years to prepare for that, I think. The more pressing matter is why someone would do this to you.”

“Oh, I know.” She ducked her head, “Or at least I know what grandmama and grandpapa said.”

“And what did they say?” He was skeptical about any piece of information the two passed on. It all seemed to be shrouded in half-truths and vagaries.

“That he was after my blood.”

Jacques sneered, “I’m sure he was.”