What struck Estella first after landing in Paris was that all the signs were in French and English. In the United States, everything was in English. Sometimes Spanish. But never French.

The second observation she made was that like Atlanta and JFK, the Paris airport was impossibly large and filled with people. The corridors felt as if they would go on for ages, like her legs would give out before she ever reached the baggage claim. It was a small country of travelers, all operating on different internal clocks and customs. Would her new home feel as unbearably large as these airports?

On the flight over, Jacques told her a little bit about Saint-Tourre.

“It is the name of both the village and the château.”

“Which came first, the village or château?”

He shrugged, “The people of course.”

“So…are you all aristocrats? Do you have tenants and tithes and all of that?”

Jacques chuckled at her, “Please, ask Matthieu if he is an aristocrat. I would love to see his face.” He composed himself, “But no. My father was only a successful lawyer in Paris. We were not poor by any means but we certainly were not rubbing hands with la royauté. Theodora might be the closest to an aristocrate. Her family were politicians in Byzantium but that was a long time ago. Not that she’s fallen too far from the proverbial tree. Matthieu was the furthest from aristocracy. He was a tenant farmer himself with his wife Estelle. Saint-Tourre village was their home.”

He gave Estella a curious look, “Until she and their children were murdered, that is. Then he left. Theodora talked him into coming back after the Revolution to reclaim the land. The château was built over their plot, you see. Their graves even.”

Estella gasped, “That’s horrible!” She lowered her voice when she noticed an American man in a ball cap turned to peer at her through the seats and sleeping passengers. “What happened?”

“They were murdered for being witches. Matthieu wasn’t home.” He’s never forgiven himself for that either.

“Just like my grand-mère. You know, her mother’s name was Estelle too.” Jacques was quiet while she considered the circumstances, “It’s awful. They were only living their lives and people had to come in and destroy them. I mean, why would you do that?”

“Sometimes Este, humans are worse than the monsters they dream about.”

____

Matthieu and Theodora greeted them at the airport in Paris.

She saw them first. They stood out among the humans, a little too still, a little too aware of the space they were in with their shrewd eyes taking in their surroundings.

The man, Matthieu, was not as tall as Jacques but closer to her nonno’s height. If Estella had to guess his age she would guess fifty with his slightly graying brown hair and spider lines on his face. She thought he looked kind, and maybe a little sad.

Theodora was the same height as Matthieu, but everything else about her felt bigger—her hair, her waist, her personality. She exuded big. Her presence filled the space around them at the baggage claim.—and it was warm, she felt so warm—like her grandmama.

Up close, she could see that they both had eyes like Jacques. Not the same gray color, but bright and slightly reflective. On the plane Estella notices that Jacques’s dark eyes shone under the poor lighting of the airplane lamps.

Matthieu and Theodoa had the same light to their eyes.

“Bonjour, Estella.” Theodora held her hand out for Estella to take, “Mon nomme es Theodora et c’est” waving her hand at the older man next to her, “Matthieu. May we give you a proper French greeting?”

Estella nodded cautiously, uncertain what a proper greeting required but curious all the same.

Theodora smiled, “Merci, we will give you a double cheek kiss my new friend.” Then she grasped Estella by the shoulders and firmly pressed a kiss to each cheeks. She felt warm—like her grandmama. Estella leaned her head into Theodora's chest and felt a hand come up to cradle the back of her head. “There there, cheri. There there.”

Matthieu followed the same procedure after her. Each kiss seemed to say, “We are here. You are here. Welcome. Welcome.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

__________________

The car ride to the house was off-balance and Estella could not place why. Perhaps it was the conversation—mostly provided by Theodora and Jacques who alternated describing the scenes that flew past the car window. Maybe it was Matthieu, who did not contribute to the conversation but who she felt was paying close attention. Maybe he knew Estella wasn’t listening or that his family was merely filling the silence, uncomfortable with their new charge.

Really though, it is that as a former father of six children he knew travel wore on young bodies. Estella needed to rest after such a trip, and so soon after such tragedy.

Rest. Yes, he will postpone Theodora’s tour for after a nap…and a petite dejourne.

__________________

Theodora was ahead of Matthieu—a normal place for her to be. The dark night provided the perfect cover for the house—no need to distract la petite Estella with the magnificence of her new home. No, they will see to the girl’s needs first: a bath, a meal, rest, before taking her on a tour of the house and property. Usually, Theodora preferred to take guests through the grand hall to watch their faces as they eyed the opulent displays leftover from the former owner that they left standing.

It reminded visitors of whose home they were in. So what if the gaudy gold was not to their tastes? It was useful.

But petite Estella deserves no such treatment.

No, they will lead her in through the side entrance—the one they regularly use. Formerly, it was part of the servants routine to use these side and back ways but they were the most intimate parts of the house and it fitted the three of them well.

Just because they have conserved the opulent display of certain parts of the house does not mean that they actually want to live in it.

Through the servant halls they will go.

She was right, Theodora believed, Estella did not notice the house through the thick night.

_______________

Estella noticed the outline of a large structure as the car came around the final bend in the long driveway leading from the road. The mysterious building was the first sight to really interest her since leaving the United Stated.

But no one commented on what she quickly realized was a country estate, so she didn’t mention it either. Her grandparents always told her that the smartest witch was the witch that kept their eyes open and their mouths shut.

They didn’t take Estella to the garage, instead driving the car to a single, unsupposing door around the side of the house.

Inside the kitchen greeted her. The first detail she noticed was the ceiling—she had never seen one so tall! It felt endless, that ceiling.

And so bright! with its soft wall coloring, white countertops and blue cabinets. On closer look, Estella would realized that the wall was wall-papered with polished silver detail.

A hand found her back, gently guiding her to a small staircase in the back. “Come, Estella. We will get you settled upstairs and bathed. Afterwards, you can come back down for food—Matthieu has created a lovely stew for you.”

She whirled around out of Theodora’s guiding hand, “Vampires cook?”

“Of course, how else will we fatten our meals?”

Estella gaped. Matthieu grinned. “No, we do not take from humans here but we do like to feed our friends. Jacques is not the only person to know people after all”

Jacques nudged Matthieu in the ribs, “Yeah, Theodora has had much more time than we have to make friends.”

She must have looked as if she had follow-up questions for the trio of vampires because Matthieu waved her away, “Later. Later mon amie, first you must take of yourself and then you may ask all the questions you want.”

Theodora’s hand again found her back. She guided Estella through the door and up a set of stairs illuminated by night lights and decorated with photographs—of what she was not certain, the images were too shapeless in the dim light.

Up the stairs they entered into a wide hallway. “We will show you the house in more detail tomorrow—I can see you straining to look at the walls. They are green and decorated with the faces of our loved ones and landscapes.

Just as Estella was about to ask the question “of what?” Theodora cut her off: “I will personally tell you the stories tomorrow, petite Estella.”

Stopping at the first door on the left, “this is your room” she leaned down conspiratorially, “it is closest to the kitchen.” Theodora opened the door and turned on lamp. Like the kitchen, the ceiling was high. The walls were a soft blue, “JAcques told us your room in America was blue. We thought you would like this color. Very calm, no?” Estella could only nod. The bed was a canopy and so tall she wasn’t certain how she would get into it. There was a trunk at the foot. She turned to face Theodora—to thank her, to cry—but she was alone in the middle of the room.

Theodora had not gone beyond the doorframe.

Upon seeing the suddenly distressed girl she stepped forward slowly, “Forgive me, we do not want to crowd you but if you want me to come into your room and help you settle in for bed I am more than happy to do so.”

Estella couldn’t find her voice among the tightness in her throat. Her grandparents always saw her off to bed. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure what she should do.

Theodora crossed the threshold, “Come this is the bathroom. You’ve had a long day. Let’s get you in the bath, into fresh clothes, and a little bit of food in you. Then you will rest for as long as you need. Sound good? An affirmative nod. “Good.”

Afterwards, Estella found herself in a bed as big as the ocean, swallowed by waves of pillows and blankets. Theodora left her inside the curtains, the dark swatch of bed illuminated by the soft glow of string lights.

“Here is the control for your lights. The battery should last through the night if you leave them on.” Then she patted her hand and was gone.