Page 162 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Probably both.

“You feeling okay down there?”

His expression turns homicidal. “Excellent.”

“I was just checking.”

“Leave.”

“No.”

“Ryan.”

“Camille.”

Henri watches us, his amusement returning. “How interesting.”

“Nothing about this is interesting,” Camille snaps at him.

“I disagree.” Henri’s attention returns to me. “You care for him.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m currently pretty pissed at him.”

Henri leans back, humming. “You should not be here.”

I almost laugh. “That’s what Camille keeps saying.”

“I mean France.”

That catches me off guard. “What?”

“Not like this.” His voice remains eerily gentle. “You arrived alone. You took possession of a neglected little house belonging to a grandfather who should have done considerably more for you while he was alive, and no one thought to make proper arrangements.”

I blink. “Proper arrangements?”

“Family.”

Huh? “What family?”

“Me,” Henri states.

Camille jerks upright. “No.”

Henri does not even look at him, but I do, and the alarm on Camille’s face tells me this conversation is going somewhere even he did not anticipate.

I turn back to Henri. “You?”

Henri nods. “You are Alberte’s grandson.”

“I mean, yeah. Technically.”

“There is nothing technical about it, Ryan. You should come with me.”

Oh, holy fuck, what? “Come with you where?” I ask, trying to keep the horror out of my voice.

“Home.”

My eyebrows rise. “H-home…?”