The morning of December thirty-first arrived with a heavy glaze of frost on the inside of the windowpanes. Nimue woke to a pale, watery grey light and the soft sound of Cinder sneezing on the pillow beside her.
She pushed herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before she turned her attention to the glass. Her breath had frozen against the pane overnight, leaving delicate crystal patterns across the surface that looked like tiny, frozen forests. When she touched one of the icy fronds with her fingertip, it melted instantly at her touch, leaving a clear smudge on the cold glass.
Jane was already in the kitchen, her hair pinned up neatly and a fresh, crusty baguette resting on the wooden cutting board. The stove was lit, and a pot of coffee steamed on the burner, filling the small apartment with a rich, roasted aroma. Jack sat at the table with a ceramic cup in his hands. His black hair, marked by the distinctive white streak of the Keith family, was still messy from sleep.
"Mama," Nimue said, padding into the room in her knitted socks. "Today is the last day?"
"Yes. The last day of the year." Jane turned from the counter and smiled at her daughter. "Tonight we say goodbye to this year, and tomorrow, a new one begins."
Nimue climbed onto a wooden chair and looked out the window. The sky remained the same dull, leaden grey it had been for weeks, but the light felt different to her. It was sharper, or perhaps it just felt newer.
"Big sister is coming?"
"Yes. With her parents. They will be here at eleven o'clock."
Nimue nodded, satisfied, and reached for a thick piece of bread.
. . .
The doorbell rang at exactly eleven. Nimue was across the room before anyone else could move, reaching for the handle, but Jane's hand covered hers just in time.
"Let me open it, ma chérie."
Jane pulled the door open to reveal a man standing in the hallway. He was tall, even taller than Jack, with broad shoulders and dark hair that curled slightly at his collar. His eyes were a warm brown, and his face was kind, marked by deep laugh lines at the corners. He wore a long charcoal wool coat over a deep blue scarf. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand and a small, wrapped box in the other.
Behind him, a woman with shimmering silver-blonde hair and sea-blue eyes smiled at them. She was beautiful in the same way Fleur was beautiful, possessing that same pale skin and delicate features. There was a grace to the way she held herself that made the narrow stairwell seem much smaller. She wore a cream-coloured coat and elegant leather gloves.
Fleur stood between them, her blonde hair falling loose over her shoulders. She was wearing a dress Nimue hadn't seen before, made of dark green fabric with a crisp white collar. Her leather boots had been polished until they shone.
"Jane," the woman said, stepping forward with a graceful smile. "Merci de nous recevoir."
(Thank you for having us.)
"Apolline." Jane stepped back, gesturing for the family to enter the warmth. "Entrez. Ce n'est pas grand, mais on se débrouille."
(It's not big, but we manage.)
Apolline laughed, a light, melodic sound that reminded Nimue of wind chimes in a garden. "C'est parfait. Nous ne voulions pas passer le réveillon seuls."
(It's perfect. We didn't want to spend New Year's Eve alone.)
The man stepped forward and offered his hand to Jack. "Philippe. Enchanté."
(Philippe. Delighted to meet you.)
Jack shook it firmly. "Jack. Bienvenue."
(Welcome.)
Nimue hadn't moved from her spot near the door. She was looking up at Apolline with wide, curious green eyes.
Apolline noticed her and smiled warmly. "Tu dois être Nimue. Fleur n'arrête pas de parler de toi."
(You must be Nimue. Fleur never stops talking about you.)
Nimue glanced at Fleur. The older girl's ears turned a deep shade of pink.
"Grande sœur Fleur," Nimue said, before she turned her gaze back to the mother. "Ta fille est belle."
(Your daughter is beautiful.)
Apolline's eyebrows rose in surprise, and beside her, Philippe let out a small, amused laugh.
"Merci," Apolline said, recovering quickly. "Elle tient ça de son père."
(Thank you. She gets that from her father.)
Philippe shook his head, his expression full of affection. "Ne la crois pas. C'est elle la belle."
(Don't believe her. She is the beautiful one.)
Jane ushered everyone toward the sitting room. The space had been tidied carefully; the pillows were fluffed and the tree had been moved slightly to make more room. Even so, it was still a tight fit for so many people. Saoirse vacated her spot on the sofa to stand by the window, while Fleur sat on the floor near the tree with her legs folded. Nimue sat right beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
Apolline took the armchair, and Philippe sat on the arm of it. His hand rested naturally on his wife's shoulder. Jane handed them glasses of wine while Jack passed a plate of biscuits around.
"Alors," Apolline said, looking around the cosy room. "Vous êtes à Paris pour quelques semaines?"
(So, you are in Paris for a few weeks?)
Jane nodded. "Nous repartons juste après le Nouvel An. Le six janvier."
(We leave just after New Year. On the sixth of January.)
"Si tôt." Apolline's eyes moved from Fleur to Nimue. "Fleur serait ravie de passer plus de temps avec ta fille. Elle n'a pas beaucoup d'amies de son âge."
(So soon. Fleur would be delighted to spend more time with your daughter. She doesn't have many friends her age.)
"Nous non plus," Jane admitted. "Nimue n'a rencontré d'autres enfants que cette année. C'est la première fois qu'elle voyage."
(Neither do we. Nimue has only met other children this year. It's the first time she has travelled.)
Philippe leaned forward, his expression curious. "Et comment trouve-t-elle Paris?"
(And how is she finding Paris?)
Nimue answered before her mother could. "Il y a des poneys. Et des lumières. Et des bateaux sur l'eau."
(There are ponies. And lights. And boats on the water.)
Philippe smiled at her. "Tu as tout vu, on dirait."
(You have seen everything, it seems.)
"Presque," Nimue said. "Il me manque la tour."
(Almost. I'm missing the tower.)
"La tour Eiffel?" Philippe asked.
(The Eiffel Tower?)
"Oui. On y va ce soir?"
(Yes. Are we going there tonight?)
Apolline looked at Jane, who shook her head slightly.
"Pas ce soir, ma chérie," Jane said. "Ce soir, on va à un hôtel. Il y aura un dîner et des feux d'artifice."
(Not tonight, darling. Tonight, we are going to a hotel. There will be dinner and fireworks.)
Nimue considered this for a moment. "Des feux d'artifice?"
(Fireworks?)
"Oui. Dans le ciel. Avec des couleurs."
(Yes. In the sky. With colours.)
"Comme la magie?"
(Like magic?)
"Un peu."
Nimue nodded and turned back to Fleur. "Tu viens?"
(You are coming?)
Fleur glanced at her mother, and Apolline smiled. "Bien sûr. Nous venons tous."
(Of course. We are all coming.)
The conversation drifted comfortably. Apolline and Jane discovered they had both attended Beauxbatons, though in different years; Apolline had been two years ahead. They exchanged the names of professors they had loved and loathed, and Philippe added occasional comments about his own schooling at a smaller academy in Lyon.
Jack asked Philippe about his work, and the Frenchman explained that he was a charmeur, an enchanter, specialising in protective enchantments for buildings. He had worked on several historical sites in Paris, including parts of the Louvre.
"Un travail fascinant," Jack said.
(Fascinating work.)
"Parfois. Parfois, c'est juste poussiéreux."
(Sometimes. Sometimes, it's just dusty.)
Nimue wasn't listening to the adults anymore. She had taken Fleur's hand and was tracing the lines on her palm, following the creases with a single finger.
"Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" Fleur whispered.
(What are you doing?)
"Je regarde."
(I'm looking.)
"Pour quoi?"
(For what?)
"Je ne sais pas encore."
(I don't know yet.)
Fleur didn't pull her hand away. She simply watched Nimue's finger move across her skin in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Cinder wandered over and sniffed Fleur's other hand. When she scratched behind his ears, the fox's amber eyes half closed in satisfaction.
Apolline noticed the scene and smiled. "Elles s'entendent bien."
(They get along well.)
Jane followed her gaze. "Oui. It's... nouveau."
(Yes. It's... new.)
"Nouveau?"
"Nimue n'a jamais été aussi... attachée à quelqu'un d'aussi vite."
(Nimue has never been so... attached to someone so quickly.)
Apolline's smile softened. "Fleur non plus. Elle parle de ta fille tout le temps. À la maison, à table, à son tuteur."
(Fleur neither. She talks about your daughter all the time. At home, at the table, to her tutor.)
Jane looked at Fleur, who was now showing Nimue how to make a shadow puppet rabbit with her hands against the wallpaper.
"Je n'ai jamais vu ça chez elle," Apolline added quietly. "Cette douceur et patience."
(I have never seen this in her. This gentleness and patience.)
Jane didn't answer. She watched her daughter trace the rabbit's shadow onto the wall and watched Fleur laugh when the ears came out crooked.
A knock on the door announced the arrival of the chauffeur. He was a tall man in a dark coat with hair turning grey at the temples, and he spoke to Jane in rapid French.
"La voiture est là," Jane announced.
(The car is here.)
They gathered their coats and scarves. Nimue helped Fleur wrap her red scarf, standing on her tiptoes to loop it around the older girl's neck. Fleur bent down to make the task easier for her.
"Merci, petite."
(Thank you, little one.)
"Je ne suis pas petite. Je suis moyenne."
(I'm not little. I'm average.)
Fleur laughed and took her hand as they headed out into the hallway.
The car was a long black sedan with leather seats that smelled of polish and something floral. Nimue sat between Fleur and Jane with Cinder in her lap. The fox pressed his nose to the window, watching the city slide past in a blur of motion. Apolline and Philippe sat across from them, facing backward. Jack took the front passenger seat, and Saoirse squeezed in next to Philippe, her knees pressed against the door.
Paris was already dark, and the streetlights glowed with a warm orange hue. The windows of apartments and shops spilled light onto the wet pavement. A light rain had begun to fall, smearing the colours of the city into soft, glowing halos.
"Où allons-nous?" Nimue asked.
(Where are we going?)
"À l'hôtel Meurice," Jane said. "It's un très bel hôtel. Très vieux et chic."
(To the Meurice hotel. It's a very beautiful hotel. Very old and chic.)
"Nimue a dit qu'elle voulait voir la tour Eiffel," Philippe said, turning to look at her. "On la verra de l'hôtel. It's toute proche."
(Nimue said she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. We will see it from the hotel. It's very close.)
Nimue looked out the window, searching the dark sky, but the tower remained hidden behind the buildings and the night.
Le Meurice stood on the Rue de Rivoli, its pale stone facade glowing under the streetlights. A doorman in a long coat and top hat opened the car door, and the sharp, clean winter air rushed in. Jane stepped out first, then Jack, and finally Nimue with Cinder still in her arms. The fox looked up at the grand hotel, his nose twitching at the new scents of beeswax and perfume.
Nimue stepped onto the red carpet and looked up. The hotel was enormous. It wasn't as tall as some of the buildings she had seen in the city centre, but it was wider and far grander, with rows of windows and iron balconies. Flags fluttered above the entrance in the breeze.
"It's grand," she said.
(It's big.)
"It's vieux," Jane said, taking her hand. "Mais très confortable."
(It's old. But very comfortable. Wait until you see the inside.)
The lobby was filled with marble and gold. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light scattering across the polished floor like fallen stars. A grand staircase curved upward, and flowers were everywhere. There were white roses, red amaryllis, and sprigs of evergreen tied with gold ribbons.
Nimue stopped walking, her mouth opening slightly in awe. Fleur stopped beside her. "Impressionnant, non?"
(Impressive, isn't it?)
Nimue nodded, unable to look away from the glittering ceiling.
Jane approached the reception desk, where the man behind it recognised her immediately. His posture straightened, and he addressed her as "Madame Keith" with a warmth that suggested more than ordinary politeness.
"Bonsoir, Madame Keith. Vos chambres sont prêtes," he said, sliding two key cards across the counter. "Deux chambres communicantes, au quatrième étage. Vue sur la rue."
(Good evening, Mrs Keith. Your rooms are ready. Two connecting rooms, on the fourth floor. Street view.)
Jane nodded. "Merci, Henri. Les bagages arriveront dans la soirée."
(Thank you, Henri. The luggage will arrive in the evening.)
Jane handed one card to Jack and kept the other. They walked toward the lifts, their footsteps muffled by the thick, plush carpet. Nimue tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mama. How did you get this room?"
Jane knelt down so her green eyes were level with Nimue's. "The hotel belongs to the Evans family. For a very long time. Your grandmother gave me the keys."
Nimue looked at the chandeliers, the marble floors, and the gold trim on the walls with a new perspective. "Are we rich?" she asked.
Jane smiled. "Oui, ma chérie. We are rich."
Nimue nodded, accepting this as simply another fact to file away, and turned to find Fleur. She tugged on the older girl's sleeve. "Tu dors dans la chambre à côté?"
(Are you sleeping in the room next door?)
"Oui. Avec mes parents."
(Yes. With my parents.)
"On peut ouvrir la porte entre les deux?" Nimue asked hopefully.
(Can we open the door between the two?)
"Je pense que oui," Fleur replied.
(I think so.)
Nimue nodded, thoroughly satisfied with the arrangement.