Page 86 of The Beautiful Ones

“That is your privilege as her brother.”

He almost smiled.

“Will you write?”

“If you give me somewhere to send the letters.”

“I will.” He rested one hand upon the trunk. “Tell Sweden that one Lebon tried to do better.”

“Do better first.”

“You sound like her.”

“She learned it from me.”

This time he did smile.

The ship’s bell rang.

I embraced him and went aboard without looking back until the sailors had drawn in the gangplank. Lucien remained upon the wharf, one hand raised, growing smaller as the tide carried us into the James.

Beyond Norfolk, Virginia opened green and beautiful beneath the morning. No blue smoke marked the place where Le Champ des Fleurs had stood. No ivory carriage waited upon the river road. For the first time in days, the air smelled only of salt, tar and living water.

Then a blue butterfly settled upon the rail beside me.

Its wings were the color of Cécile’s voice when it existed only in her mind.

I did not ask whether it had come as a warning or farewell. I opened my hand, and it stepped onto my palm.

The ship turned toward the sea.

Behind us, Le Champ des Fleurs was gone.

The Beautiful Ones were not.

And in Virginia, two guilty houses still kept their doors closed.