Chapter 13

I tried to enjoy my day with Addie. I really did.

Except, every time I looked at her, I was reminded my sister was a vampire. The word played in my head like a broken record. Vampire. Vampire. Vampire.

I watched her when she thought I wasn't looking, trying to pinpoint the differences in the version of her I'd seen at Christmastime and this one. Her hair was redder. Her skin, while pale, was brighter. Every move she made was smoother, even when overstimulated or nervous.

Once, she moved to hold the metro car door open for me, and I swore she blurred for a moment—moving faster than I could comprehend. When I blinked at her in shock, she only tilted her head, as if she had no idea what was unsettling about the situation. I waved her off.

Vampire. Vampire. Vampire.

Like every prepubescent teenage girl, I went through a phase when I thought vampires were the coolest thing ever. I had posters on my wall and was convinced one would fall in love with me when I turned seventeen, and I'd never have to grow old.

Then, in seventh grade, I did a class project on the largest stars in the universe, fell head over heels in love with astronomy, and forgot all about my obsession with vampires.

But while the things I loved about the universe were tangible and easily explained through science, vampires were never supposed to exist.

And yet, Addie was one.

She bought me a chocolate hazelnut crepe in the Place des Vosges, and we sat on a bench to watch the fountain. A too-warm breeze rippled through the trees.

"So," she said. "Are we ever going to talk about you?"

I flinched, almost dropping my crepe. "What is there to talk about?"

Addie frowned. "A lot."

I shook my head. "There's not."

"Okay. Let's start with Jackson."

"I'd rather not." I refused to look at my sister, focusing on the toddlers playing around the fountain. Their mother was a step behind them, ready to swoop in and save them from danger if needed. The boy splashed water at the girl. They both screamed, the noise cutting through the serenity of the park. I frowned and crossed my arms.

"Indy," Addie scolded. "You aren't going to heal from your trauma if you don't let yourself feel any of it."

"Says you," I retorted. "Talked to Donna lately?"

To my surprise, Addie didn't even flinch at the mention of her ex-fiancée—the one who left her at the altar. She only raised an eyebrow at me. "You're deflecting."

I groaned and took a bite out of my crepe. "I hate that you're all emotionally wise now. Give me back my hot mess sister."

Addie laughed, the sound like bells. Another vampire thing, I presumed. Her voice had never sounded so…ethereal. "You came to me in what seemed an awful lot like a cry for help." She held her arms wide, crepe in one hand. "This is me helping."

I wrinkled my nose. "Great, so you think I'm a basket case."

"Indy-"

"I'm not ready," I interrupted her with a desperate cry. "I can't talk about this yet. It hurts too much."

Understanding filled Addie's eyes, and she nodded solemnly. "Okay."

We left the conversation there.

Hours later, I strolled through the Musée d'Orsay with Addie. She chatted about various sculptures and a few of the impressionist paintings. Apparently, there wasn't much to do for those who lived in Paris, other than visit the same museums over and over again. When I mentioned that to her, though, she nearly bit my head off with a comment about culture and history—something Arizona didn't have, apparently.

I didn't view our home with as much disdain as Addie did. She saw it as the place that trapped her for twenty-five years, and truthfully, I thought she purposefully suppressed a lot of the good memories she had of the place in favor of the dark ones.

Sure, it was hot in Phoenix, and the air smelled like dirt. But there was an observatory up north in Flagstaff—a dark sky city—where I'd seen some of the most beautiful stars. I went back regularly to stargaze and learn all I could. Lowell Observatory was where Pluto was discovered; Addie had long grown tired of hearing me rant about how Pluto deserved to be a planet, but she went with me every time, regardless.

We went to the Grand Canyon when I was six and she was nine, and Addie had a wonderful time frolicking along the edges of the canyon and giving our mother heart palpitations.

For all the bad times she remembered, there were good ones too.

"Oh, I love this one," Addie pointed, walking a few steps ahead to point out a painting in a gold frame.

I blinked in surprise at the oil on canvas painting of a naked woman lying back on a bed, her vulva on full display. "Okay, Addie, I know I like women, but-"

My sister burst into laughter, shaking her head. "It was painted in 1866 by Gustave Courbet, and it's called L'Origine du monde ."

"Which translates to?" I scrunched my eyebrows together.

"The origin of the world," Addie said proudly, inclining her chin.

I eyed the painting a moment longer, nodding slowly as the appreciation of what it portrayed sank into me. I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm not usually one to give two shits about paintings, but I like this one."

Addie grinned. "I knew you would."

"Although," I added. "I am partial to the Big Bang theory. It's amazing how one tiny little fireball became a hundred billion galaxies, all with a trillion stars, you know? But, I guess a woman's womb is just as cool."

"You should have been an astronomer," Addie said, continuing on our path.

I shrugged. "Nursing is a perfectly respectable profession."

"Of course it is," Addie said. "But does it make you happy?"

"Sure."

"Sure?"

"Happy enough," I hedged.

"Indy, were you happy?" Addie stopped walking again and tilted her head. Her voice was much too serious.

I ignored the flip of my stomach and straightened my shoulders. "I was doing what I was supposed to; of course, I was happy."

Addie, thankfully, dropped the subject after that.

We went to dinner at a small café near the museum called Le Royal Orsay . Addie laughed off my sarcastic comment about the name being original. We sat next to each other at a tiny table outside beneath a dingy red awning. I passed Addie the menu without bothering to look at it; she knew me well enough to order what I liked.

While we waited for food, she talked more about her life. I was grateful for her chatter, since I was nowhere near ready to acknowledge the mess mine had become.

The more I listened, though, the more guilt and grief sank into me.

My sister had a life here she was proud of—a life she would live for the rest of eternity. I had never seen her so happy, and she'd never been this eager to talk about herself, or at all.

Yet, the cost of this life was her own.

I couldn't pull my mind away from that, images flashing in my mind of Eliza at Sophie's house. The memories seemed tinged with red. She killed my sister. She took her life away. And while most of me hated her, a small, irrational part of me also hated Addie for getting herself into this situation. She didn't have to come to Paris. She didn't have to fall in love with a vampire.

She didn't have to die.

She didn't have to leave me behind.

I nudged my soggy french fries around on my plate. Addie had stepped away to use the restroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

She told me she was a vampire because she wanted me to know why she would stop calling, stop coming home, and eventually disappear altogether. The realization of that weighed heavily on me. I'd never known a life without Addie, and I never wanted to.

She was my best friend. My big sister. My everything.

"Hey, you ready to get going?" Addie returned to the table. "Sophie and Willa will meet us at the Champ de Mars to watch the Eiffel Tower glitter."

"Sure," I said distractedly, tucking my phone into my bag. Halfway into the movement, I paused. "No."

"Okay," Addie said, sinking into her seat. "We can wait a while; the tower sparkles every hour, so we'll catch the next one. Are you feeling okay?"

"No," I said.

"What's wrong?"

Everything.

My sister died, and I wasn't there for her. My sister was going to leave me behind.

I looked up into Addie's smooth, cocoa-colored eyes and took a deep breath. "Make me a vampire."