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God.
“You,” I breathe. “It’s you. Are you and Eleanor… sisters?”
“Twins run in your family,” she says simply.
She sinks to her heels next to me, and she pulls me to her and hums, rocking rocking rocking me, and I think she’s singing a gypsy song and I’m confounded and stunned and still.
“Did you know that sons must pay for the sins of their fathers?” she asks, and then she hums again, and again and again. “Roma believe that, and it is true. Roma beliefs are different from yours, but we know. We know.”
“What do you know?” I ask her the question as I slightly pull away, trying to look at her face.
“We know what you don’t want to see,” she replies. “We know the things that aren’t explainable, the things that don’t seem possible. We know things happen that are bigger than us, more powerful than us. And sometimes, a sacrifice must be made for that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask and I’m afraid, so so afraid, so afraid that I want to break free and run.
“A sacrifice is something you give,” she looks at me, her dark eyes so cold and flat. “You give it willingly, to save something important.”
“I know what a sacrifice is,” I tell her. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“Everything, my girl. Everything.”
I break free from her grasp and I run, and she doesn’t follow.
Chapter Twelve
I summon all of my courage and I open the doors to Eleanor’s office.
She sits at her desk, sharp and stern in her tightly buttoned sweater and she stares over her reading glasses at me as I approach.
“Grandmother,” I say hesitantly, and she waits like a serpent on a rock.
“Yes?” her eyebrow arches.
“Will you tell me the story of our family?”
She is silent as she puts her book down and stares at me, examining me.
“You’ve been speaking to Sabine?”
I nod. “Is she your sister?”
Eleanor looks out the window and for a moment just a moment, I see the young girl in her face, the one that was in the locket. She looks softer for a second, then she hardens as she looks at me once more.
“Yes.”
“So we’re all related?”
“All?” She raises her eyebrow again.
“Me, Dare, Olivia, Finn….”
There’s something in her eyes something something something, but then it’s gone and she shakes her head and she denies everything.
“You’re still troubled, child. Olivia died when she was young. I don’t know who ‘Dare’ is.”
“He’s her son,” I cry out, and my fingers shake. “I know him. I knew him. I was raised with him.”
“You’re so troubled, girl,” Eleanor says, and her voice is softer now, softer.
