The suite was vast and elegant, smelling faintly of beeswax polish and the lingering sweet scent of lilies from a nearby porcelain vase. In the sitting area, plush velvet sofas and heavy armchairs were arranged around a marble fireplace where logs sat ready to be lit.
A massive crystal chandelier draped from the ornate ceiling, its countless facets catching the pale winter light, while the tall windows offered a sweeping view of the Rue de Rivoli. Below, cars crawled through the grey afternoon like a slow-moving stream of metal, their distant horns muffled by the thick expensive glass.
There were two bedrooms, one grand with gold leaf accents and the other more modest, along with a spacious bathroom featuring a heavy claw-foot tub and a separate glass-walled shower.
Cinder jumped from Nimue's arms and hurried toward the window, his claws skidding slightly on the polished parquet floor. He pressed his wet nose to the glass and wagged his russet tail in excitement.
Nimue followed him, pressing her face against the cold pane. "Look! The street! The cars!"
Saoirse dropped her travel bag by the door and stretched her arms wide, her black hair with its stark white streak messy from the journey. "I will take the small bedroom."
"Of course," Jane said, nodding as she adjusted her gloves.
Jack walked to the fireplace, knelt on the rug, and lit the logs with a quick, practiced flick of his wand. The flames caught instantly, crackling with life as a comforting warmth began to spread through the room, chasing away the December chill.
The Delacours arrived a few minutes later. Philippe carried their two small leather suitcases while Apolline held Fleur's hand. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the sheer grandeur of the suite, the light from the chandelier reflecting in her pupils.
"C'est magnifique," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
(It's magnificent.)
"Nimue, laisse Fleur regarder par la fenêtre," Jane said, placing a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder.
(Nimue, let Fleur look out the window.)
Nimue stepped aside to let the older girl take her place at the glass. Fleur looked down at the busy street, then up at the expansive, leaden sky and across the grey rooftops of Paris.
"On est haut," she said softly.
(We are high up.)
"Troisième étage," Nimue replied, as if that specific fact explained everything in the world.
(Third floor.)
Fleur smiled and turned away from the view. She looked at Nimue, then at the crackling fire in the hearth.
"La tour Eiffel," Nimue whispered.
Fleur came to stand beside her. "Oui. Elle clignote toutes les heures. Ce sera bientôt l'heure."
(Yes. It sparkles every hour. It will be time soon.)
Nimue pressed her palm to the cold glass, her breath leaving a small, fading cloud of fog on the surface. "Grande sœur."
"Oui."
"Merci d'être venue."
(Thank you for coming.)
Fleur looked at her. Nimue's face was reflected clearly in the window, her green eyes bright against the backdrop of the emerging city lights.
"Merci de nous avoir invités," Fleur said, her voice warm.
(Thank you for inviting us.)
Nimue took her hand firmly. "C'est normal. Tu es ma grande sœur."
(It's normal. You are my big sister.)
. . .
The connecting door between the two rooms stood open. Nimue had checked it three times already, pushing it with her palm to make sure it wouldn't close on its own.
"Elle ne va pas se fermer," Fleur said from her place in the armchair, watching the younger girl test the heavy brass hinges again.
(It's not going to close.)
"Je veux être sûre."
(I want to be sure.)
Cinder had already claimed a spot on the bed nearest the window. He lay stretched across the crisp white duvet, his russet fur vibrant against the pale fabric. His amber eyes tracked Nimue's movements across the room.
Jane came through the connecting door. Her hair was pinned up perfectly, and a dark green dress had replaced her travelling clothes. She looked at Nimue, who was still in her rumpled day clothes, and raised an eyebrow. "Tu n'es pas prête, ma chérie."
(You aren't ready, ma chérie.)
"Je me prépare."
(I'm getting ready.)
"Prépare-toi plus vite. Le dîner est dans une heure."
(Get ready faster. Dinner is in an hour.)
Nimue looked at Fleur. The older girl was already wearing a pale blue dress that matched the shade of her eyes, with a silver clip holding her blonde hair in place. She looked like something from a department store window, perfect, poised, and almost untouchable.
"Tu es belle," Nimue said, staring.
(You are beautiful.)
Fleur's ear tips went pink. "Merci. Toi aussi, tu seras belle quand tu te seras changée."
(Thank you. You will also be beautiful when you have changed.)
Nimue looked down at her thick wool sweater and leggings, which bore a small chocolate spot from breakfast.
"Viens," Jane said, taking her hand. "Je t'ai apporté une robe."
(Come. I brought you a dress.)
The dress was dark green, the colour of the Keith family crest, with long sleeves and a skirt that flared out wide when Nimue spun around. Jane brushed the girl's white hair until it shone like silk and pulled it back with two silver clips.
Nimue looked at herself in the tall mirror. The girl looking back had bright green eyes, snowy hair, and the small crescent moon mark behind her left ear. "Good," she said, nodding in satisfaction.
Jane smiled and kissed the top of her head.
The dining room of Le Meurice was a hall of gold and crystal. Chandeliers hung low over tables draped in white linen, and the windows faced the Rue de Rivoli, where the streetlamps glowed a warm orange. A pianist played in the corner, a slow, lilting melody that Nimue didn't recognise.
Their table was near the window, large enough for all eight of them. Jack held Nimue's chair while she climbed onto the plush cushion. Fleur sat beside her, followed by Apolline and Philippe. Jane sat across from Nimue, with Saoirse and Jack on either side. A waiter appeared with menus as tall as Nimue's arm.
"Je te lirai," Fleur say, leaning in.
(I will read to you.)
She took the menu and scanned the first page, her brow furrowing slightly. "Il y a beaucoup de mots."
(There are many words.)
"Je veux du steak," Nimue said firmly.
(I want steak.)
Fleur looked at her with amusement. "Tu veux toujours du steak."
(You always want steak.)
"Parce que c'est bon."
(Because it's good.)
Apolline leaned over with a smile. "Elles se disputent déjà?"
(They are already arguing?)
"Non," Nimue said. "On discute."
(No. We're discussing.)
Philippe laughed, the sound deep and hearty. "C'est la même chose."
(It's the same thing.)
The meal arrived in meticulous courses. First came a soup, pale green and smooth with a swirl of rich cream. Nimue ate it carefully, dipping her spoon without spilling a single drop. Fleur watched her and then copied her precise movements.
Then came the steak Nimue had wanted, served with buttery mashed potatoes and crisp green beans. She cut the meat into small pieces with the same careful method she had used at the apartment and pushed three pieces onto Fleur's plate.
Fleur didn't protest this time. She simply ate them.
Between courses, the adults talked easily. Jane and Apolline discussed Beauxbatons, comparing retired professors and the quality of the food in the Grand Salon. Philippe asked Jack about the Keith estate, and Jack described the ancient manor and the grounds that stretched for miles through the English countryside.
Saoirse told a story about a market in Morocco where a merchant had tried to sell her a rug that turned out to be a sleeping magic carpet. It had flown her across the square before she could climb off.
"Tu es montée dessus?" Apolline asked, both horrified and fascinated.
(You got on it?)
"Je ne savais pas qu'il volait!"
(I didn't know it could fly!)
Nimue only listened with half an ear. Her attention was on Fleur's hands. The older girl's fingers were long and pale, and she wore a thin silver ring on her right hand with a tiny blue stone that caught the candlelight.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Nimue asked, reaching out to touch the ring.
(What's this?)
"Un cadeau de ma grand-mère." She turned her hand so Nimue could see the detail. "Elle me l'a donnée quand j'avais cinq ans."
(A gift from my grandmother. She gave it to me when I was five.)
"Elle est jolie."
(It's pretty.)
"Merci."
Nimue looked at her own hands, which were small and bare. She wore the silver warding bracelet Elara had given her, but no rings.
"Je veux une bague," she announced.
(I want a ring.)
Jane looked up from her conversation. "Quand tu seras plus âgée, ma chérie."
(When you are older, my darling.)
"Quand j'aurai cinq ans?"
(When I am five?)
"Peut-être. On verra."
(Maybe. We will see.)
Nimue filed that information away for later.
Dessert arrived after the silver plates were cleared. It was a small dark chocolate cake for each person, topped with a delicate piece of gold leaf. Nimue had never seen gold on food before and touched it with her finger.
"Ça se mange?"
(Do you eat it?)
"Oui," Fleur said. "C'est très fin. Ça fond sur la langue."
(Yes. It's very thin. It melts on the tongue.)
Nimue put the gold leaf in her mouth. It didn't taste like anything, but the texture was strange, both papery and soft. She ate the rest of her cake in three bites. Fleur ate hers more slowly, savouring every forkful. Nimue watched her and then looked at her own empty plate.
"Tu veux le reste du mien?" Fleur asked.
(Do you want the rest of mine?)
Nimue nodded, and Fleur pushed her plate across the table. Nimue finished it happily.
. . .
After dinner, they gathered in the grand lobby. The pianist had been replaced by a small ensemble, a violin, a cello, and an accordion, playing music that made Nimue's feet want to move
"On danse?" Philippe asked, offering his hand to Apolline.
(Shall we dance?)
"Toujours."
(Always.)
They moved to the small space near the piano, where other couples had already gathered. Philippe's hand rested on Apolline's waist, and they turned slowly together in the golden light.
Saoirse looked at Jack. "Are you dancing?
"No."
"Pity." She shrugged and walked toward the bar.
Jane sat on a velvet sofa near the window, watching the dancers. Nimue climbed onto the cushion beside her mother and leaned against her arm. "You are not dancing, Mama?"
"I'm tired. And your feet are too small to dance with me."
Fleur stood nearby with her hands behind her back, her head tilted as she watched the couples. Nimue slid off the sofa and walked over to her, holding out her small hand.
"Danse avec moi, grande sœur."
(Dance with me, big sister.)
Fleur looked at the small hand, then at the dancers, and back at Nimue. "Je ne sais pas danser avec quelqu'un d'aussi petit."
(I don't know how to dance with someone so small.)
"Tu tiens mes mains. Et on tourne."
(You hold my hands. And we turn.)
Fleur hesitated for a moment before taking Nimue's hands in hers. They turned slowly. Fleur stepped back while Nimue stepped forward, their movements slightly uncoordinated but steady.
"Regarde-moi, pas tes pieds," Fleur said, guiding her.
(Look at me, not your feet.)
Nimue looked up. Fleur's blue eyes were steady, and her mouth was curved into a small smile. "Comme ça," she said.
(Like this.)
They turned again. Nimue stumbled once when her foot caught on her green dress, but Fleur held her upright with practiced grace. "Encore," Nimue said.
They turned until Nimue was dizzy and her white hair spun around her face. Finally, she stopped and pressed her forehead against Fleur's chest. "Tu danses bien," she murmured.
(You dance well.)
"Tu n'as pas marché sur mes pieds."
(You did not step on my feet.)
"Je sais."
(I know.)
. .
The crowd in the lobby thinned as midnight approached. Some guests went outside while others gathered near the tall windows. Nimue and the others walked through the lobby toward the grand staircase.
"On va où?" Nimue asked.
(Where are we going?)
"En haut, il y a une terrasse d'où on pourra voir les feux d'artifice."
(Upstairs, there is a terrace where we can see the fireworks.)
Nimue took Fleur's hand, and they climbed the stairs together with Cinder trotting behind on his leash, his amber eyes wide at the festive noise. The terrace was on the sixth floor, a wide stone balcony with iron railings and potted evergreens wrapped in twinkling white lights.
Nimue ran to the railing and pressed her face between the bars. The city stretched out below her, a sea of dark buildings and golden lights. The Seine was a black ribbon cutting through the centre of it all.
"Là," Fleur said, pointing a finger. "La tour Eiffel."
(There. The Eiffel Tower.)
The tower stood in the distance, lit like a golden skeleton against the night. Its lights flickered and pulsed.
"Elle clignote," Nimue whispered.
(It's sparkling.)
"Toutes les heures. Regarde."
(Every hour. Watch.)
They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the tower sparkle in the distance. The adults gathered behind them, and Philippe checked his watch. "Encore vingt minutes."
(Twenty more minutes.)
Apolline handed Nimue a cup of hot chocolate. The cup felt warm even through her gloves. Nimue took a sip and then held it toward Fleur. "Tu veux?"
(Do you want some?)
Fleur shook her head. "It's pour toi."
(It's for you.)
"On peut partager."
(We can share.)
Fleur took a small sip and handed it back.
As the minutes passed, the crowd on the terrace grew larger. Nimue leaned against the railing, her head starting to feel heavy. "Fatiguée?" Jane asked, coming to stand behind her.
"Non."
"Your eyes say otherwise."
Nimue rubbed her eyes with the back of her glove. "I want to see the fireworks."
"You will see them. Then you can sleep."
Nimue nodded and turned back to the view. Fleur's hand found hers in the dark, their fingers lacing together inside their gloves. Nimue looked at their joined hands and then at Fleur's face, which was lit by the distant city lights.
"Grande sœur."
"Oui."
"Je suis contente que tu sois là."
(I'm happy you are here.)
Fleur squeezed her hand. "Moi aussi."
(Me too.)
A murmur ran through the crowd as people began to count down together.
"Dix... neuf... huit..."
(Ten... nine... eight...)
Nimue's eyes widened, and she pressed closer to the railing.
"...sept... six... cinq..."
(...seven...six...five...)
The tower went dark.
"...quatre... trois... deux... un..."
(...four... three... two... one...)
Light exploded from the base of the tower in silver, gold, and blue, shooting into the sky and bursting into massive flowers of colour. The crowd cheered as champagne corks popped with a sharp sound. Nimue gasped.
The fireworks climbed higher, filling the sky with cascading light in every shade imaginable. The sound reached them a moment later, a series of deep booms that shook the glass doors of the terrace. Fleur pulled Nimue back from the railing just a step to be safe, her arm wrapping around the girl's shoulders.
"Tu vois?" she said over the noise.
(You see?)
Nimue nodded, her eyes reflecting the vibrant, shifting colours. "Bonne année, grande sœur."
(Happy New Year, big sister.)
Fleur looked down at her, her face lit by flashes of gold and blue brilliance. "Bonne année, Nimue."
(Happy New Year, Nimue.)
The display lasted for ten minutes, but Nimue lost all track of time. She watched until the last burst faded and the tower was re-lit, sparkling once more. The crowd began to stream back inside, but Nimue didn't move.
"Fini," Fleur said gently.
(Finished.)
"Encore?"
"Pas avant l'année prochaine."
(Not until next year.)
Nimue considered this. "C'est long."
(That's a long time.)
Fleur laughed and took her hand. "Viens, il fait froid."
(Come, it's cold.)
They walked back inside, where the lobby was warm and bright. The staff were handing out champagne to the adults, and Jane took a glass but set it down without drinking.
"Nimue. Tu veux aller te coucher?"
(Nimue. Do you want to go to bed?)
Nimue shook her head, though her eyes were drooping.
"Je vais la mettre au lit," Jane said to Apolline.
(I will put her to bed.)
"On va se promener un peu," Apolline replied. "Fleur n'est pas fatiguée."
(We will walk a little. Fleur is not tired.)
Fleur looked at Nimue and then at her mother. "Je peux rester avec elle?"
(Can I stay with her?)
Apolline hesitated but then nodded. "Un petit moment. Mais ne la réveille pas."
(A short while. But don't wake her.)
Jane carried Nimue to the hotel room. The girl's head rested on her mother's shoulder, her green eyes already half closed. One of her shoes had fallen off somewhere in the carpeted corridor. Jane laid her on the bed, pulled off the remaining shoe, and slipped her out of the velvet dress and into a soft nightgown. Cinder jumped onto the bed and curled at her feet.
Fleur stood in the doorway, watching quietly. "Tu veux t'asseoir avec elle?" Jane asked.
(Do you want to sit with her?)
Fleur nodded, and Jane pulled a chair close to the bed before leaving and closing the door. Fleur sat with her hands in her lap, watching Nimue breathe.
"Tu dors?" she whispered.
(Are you asleep?)
Nimue's eyes opened just a crack. "Non."
"Tes parents ont dit que tu partais le six janvier."
(Your parents said you are leaving on the sixth of January.)
"Oui."
"Je peux revenir avant?"
(Can I come back before then?)
"Oui." Nimue's eyes opened wider. "Demain?"
(Tomorrow?)
"Peut-être."
(Maybe.)
Nimue reached out from under the blanket and found Fleur's hand. "Tu restes un peu?"
(Will you stay a while?)
Fleur looked at the door and then back at Nimue.
"Un peu."
She pulled the chair closer and rested her arm on the blanket so Nimue could hold her hand easily. The room was quiet, with only the distant sound of scattered fireworks from across the city. Nimue's hand relaxed, and her breathing deepened into sleep.
Fleur didn't move. She sat in the chair, watching the girl dream. The clock on the nightstand read 12:47. Fleur leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.
Jane found them an hour later. Fleur was asleep in the chair, her head tilted to one side, while Nimue had curled toward her in her sleep, her small fingers still wrapped around the older girl's. Jane stood in the doorway, her hand over her mouth.
Saoirse appeared behind her and looked over her shoulder. "Well," she whispered.
"Don't wake them," Jane said softly.
She took a blanket from the other bed and draped it gently over Fleur's shoulders before turning off the light and closing the door.