Page 49 of Summer of Sacrifice

“That sounds wonderful. Would you care to split the refreshments with me?”

Seleste was taken aback by his request. Evidently, she was going to have to get used to him surprising her if she were to do as the Grimoire commanded and truly befriend him. To be fair, she thought the task would have been much harder—becoming a friend to the young lord of the house who was always scowling. Now, she was realising she’d pegged him wrong. He was reserved, certainly, but he was contemplative, not surly. It was oddly invigorating to be so wrong about someone for once. A beautiful surprise.

“I would be delighted,” Seleste finally answered with a smile. The grin he gave her in return was so sincere, so dashing, that she had to divert her attention. Looking around for glassware, she asked, “Shall I pour the lemonade?”

“Oh, I– I don’t keep any dishes or food out here.” He looked down at his hands, a hint of bashfulness there. “I’d never leave if so.” He huffed a laugh and met her gaze again. “Here.” He stepped forward and unfolded the towel of biscuits. He handed her one, then took a generous sip of the lemonade and passed the jar to her as he swallowed.

Seleste couldn’t help her eyes from going a bit wide. Yes, the Bardots had been kind enough to her, as had the staff, but it was a well-known fact those in the aristocracy believed there was something lesser about individuals with her skin colour. Namely, they thought them cursed and believed that curse could be passed on via physical contact. It was one of the reasons her family stayed hidden away within their coven in Helsvar when she was small. Mortals did not understand the love her parents had for one another. They did not act kindly toward her, or Sorscha, or Aggie. Only fair, fair Winnie. Things had improved in the last hundred and fifty years, but not much. Not enough to share a drink with a lord…

She set the jar of lemonade on the table without drinking, doing her best to smile. But Lord Bardot must have recognised something in her expression. What, she wasn’t sure.

“I don’t mind,” he said with a strange level of conviction.

“Milord, I—” She didn’t want to discuss this. “Most wouldn’t want to?—”

“It’s an absurd belief,” he cut her off. “Don’t you think?”

Seleste placed a palm against her abdomen, swallowing back the lump in her throat. Unable to speak, she merely nodded.

The lord picked up the jar and handed it to her again. Something passed between them then. Something silent and undefinable. She took the jar, her fingertips brushing his lightly as she did so. The small sip she took felt monumental. It made no sense, but she felt something in the ether shift. Something far bigger than a lord and a witch—a maid—standing in a châlet in the woods sharing a glass of lemonade.

“Thank you, milord,” she said softly as she set the jar back down on the table.

“Please, call me Cal.” He smiled again, the moment gliding away on gossamer wings to settle in her heart. He picked up the biscuits and handed her one. “Come, what I wanted to show you is over here.”

She followed him across the small, open room, past his bed—that she dutifully ignored—and stopped next to him at his desk. There sat an incredibly detailed sketch of the human lungs. Lord Bardot—Cal—unfolded her cypher notes next to it and stood back proudly.

“What is this?” she questioned, looking between him and the sketch and notes.

“Look closely,” he urged, an excitement that she knew well filling his tone. The high of solving a puzzle.

Anticipation slipped over her shoulders, giving her chills despite the stifling heat of the châlet. Seleste forgot herself entirely and slipped into his desk chair without asking permission. But neither of them made mention of it, far too engrossed in their puzzle.

Upon closer inspection, she could make out portions of her notes written into the fine lines of Cal’s sketch. Her heart began beating faster, the tantalising approach of a clue being found. “What is this?” she repeated, this time with a giddy grin.

Cal sat on the edge of the table, pointing at the parchment. “The more I looked over your notes in the study the other day, the more they began to remind me of something. I couldn’t put my finger on it. That’s why I requested to borrow them. After a few days of contemplation, I realised…” He pointed at the sketch of the lungs, tapping them with fervour. “Lungs!”

His face was so alight with excitement, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Lungs?”

“Lungs!” Cal repeated, shifting to stand and lean over her, so close she caught the scent of soap, tea, and ink, a hint of lemonade, too.

“The cypher is using letters,” he went on, “but you weren’t certain of the source exactly.” He pointed to her notes and her rudimentary sketch. “However, the direction of sea flora you went in wasn’t too far off, as the bronchi of the lungs do look quite like underwater plants out of context. It appears to me that what you have here”—he pointed to her column of A’s—“coincides with Alveoli.” He slid his finger over to the sketch of the lungs’ inner workings. “Which would mean?—”

Seleste inhaled sharply. “All these words that appear to be buds can be decoded with Alveoli!” She squealed and Cal laughed, his cheeks turning pink.

He slid in closer until she was acutely aware of how intimately near he was. “Just as these here, that you have scratched out several times…” He paused to smile at her. “Would either be decoded with Bronchi, or Bronchus, and these here would be?—”

Seleste was already looking at his open lung diagram and shouted, “Pleura!” She let out a yelp of pure thrill and clapped her hands together. “Brilliant!”

Jumping out of the chair, she snatched up all the papers, already making for the door. At the last moment, she spun back. With a bounce, Seleste planted a chaste kiss on Cal’s cheek without even thinking twice. Bounding out of his châlet, she hardly registered that he was gaping at her like a fish.

Chapter

Ten

SELESTE

“Like this,” Winnie said, gently taking the syringe from Seleste. With the pad of her thumb, she felt for the most prominent vein in the crook of Laurent’s arm. “Just here, push in the needle.”

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