Chapter 22: XXII:

“Ah! Come. The food can cool while we greet your family.” Estella led Oliver from the kitchen down a hallway he had not seen yet. The wall here was full length wallpaper colored a soft lavender with gray fleur-de-lis designs and decorated with pastoral paintings.

His first time in the entry hall, Oliver had been too focused on where he needed to be—the Archives–that he hadn’t paid much attention to the room. Now, retracing his steps with Estella, he noticed the imposing burgundy walls filled with large, painted scenes from literature and myths. There was Gawain, there was Saturn, and more.

Were other rooms in the house so heavy fisted?

Another ring.

Estella rolled her shoulders back, held her chin high as she opened the door. His family had been allowed to come straight to the house.

On the other side stood one man of average height with three women surrounding him.

“Bonjour, bienvenue chez moi,” Estella greeted the family before repeating in English, “Hellow, welcome to my home. Saint-Tourre is pleased to assist you in this difficult time.”

She stepped aside as she said this last part, creating space for Oliver who was bouncing on the balls of his feet behind her. He quickly launched himself at his father who caught him with equal enthusiasm. His mother (Estella guessed) reached out her arms in tenderness towards her son while the smallest of the group waited for no space and instead jumped on father and son, arms wide around them.

The third woman, Estella noticed, stood back and watched. Her eyes were a deep brown that absorbed the sun. This must be Hannah, the human. She lacked the ethereal quality that marked supernatural beings but still, she looked charming.

They all looked appealing, actually. Dressed as though they were in their Sunday best. It made Estella smile. Oliver showed up here in trousers and a wrinkled button up shirt, clearly worn from travel.

She waited for the mass of limbs to begin to unwind before clearing her throat. “Monsieur Morris, will you introduce us please?” Oliver’s eyebrows knitted together at her request, the formality of French never did translate quite so well into English, especially for Americans.

“Of course, Mademoiselle…” his voice trailed off.

Estella’s smile widened. Since arriving at Saint-Tourre, Oliver had only called her by her first name, formality feeling unnecessary. Or perhaps she was lonely, but still.

She held out her hand, “Mademoiselle Saint-Tourre.” When the father’s hand wrapped around her’s, she encased with with her other hand. “But you all may call me Miss de Luca, or even Estella if you would like.”

Oliver seemed to fight back a smile while his father provided a large one willingly and took over the introductions.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss de Luca. I am Mr Morris’s father, John Becker.” His voice was like Theodora’s: both held onto a slight accent from their youth. He had impossibly dark, blue eyes and golden hair sat on top of a wide forehead and square jaw.

"Willkommen, Herr Becker.”

His eyes, which had been wide with excitement, expanded in surprise, “Please, Monsieur or simply, ‘John’ will do. I left Germany behind long ago.”

“Very well, Monsieur Becker.”

“This is my wife, Eva.”

“And please, call me Eva.” Estella smiled at the auburn haired woman, feeling out of step as John continued with his introductions. In the witch culture she was raised in, the matriarch was always prime of place in the introductions but John just moved right on.

“This is our daughter, Annette, and practically our other daughter, Hannah.”

Neither woman was tall and both appeared close to her age. The shortest of the two stepped forward, her dark blond hair swinging around her shoulders as she held out her hand, “I’m Annette.”

Amused, Estella took her hand in both of hers in greeting, “Pleased to meet you.”

“And I’m Hannah—bonjour.” The French was clumsy, but Estella admired the effort. While her experience with the United States education system was brief, it left a lasting impression of disregard for other languages and cultures.

“Bonjour, Hannah. Donc. Oliver and I worked on a special treat to welcome you all to Saint-Tourre. Let’s get you settled into your rooms. When you are ready, reconvene at the foot of the stairs here. Come.”

The Becker family remained silent as they followed Estella through the halls of Saint-Tourre, the tall bright walls of the second floor drawing attention at every step. Outside of the Archives, it had been near constant chatter with Oliver but now he was silent too. She felt like she was intruding on a private moment despite the fact that it was her duty to see them to their rooms. But the truth was, if she was reunited with her family in the middle of a crisis, she wouldn’t want an outsider watching either.

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Maybe she should be talking, describing the artwork on the walls and the architecture that they passed—it’s what Theodora would do if she was here.

She took a deep breath and broke into a story about the original owner of the manor, a nouveau riche who built a fortune in trade just in time for the French Revolution to reclaim his land.

Estella left them at their doors. Down the hall and around the corner in her family quarters, she ducked into her bedroom and grabbed the petition she wrote earlier before returning to the kitchen. She placed the chicken fricassee in the middle of the buffet table, set the potatoes to one side, and risotto to another. She had no bread suitable for vampires, so she set a small plate of rolls at the very end and left a note labeled, ‘For Hannah only.’

With the food displayed and the table set, Estella returned to the entry hall to wait and daydream about the day she would be reunited with own family. She imagined herself throwing her arms around Jacques the same way Annette tackled Oliver.

____

“Ah! Miss de Luca, your home is marvelous! So many wonderful pieces of art fill the walls.” It was Eva Becker, coming down ahead of the rest of her family. When she reached Estella, she gripped her hand. “We should have said so when you took us to our rooms earlier, but we were so overwhelmed! It’s all so gorgeous. And the flowers in our rooms! And gift baskets! Oliver said you collected them yourself? We were confused at first, as you know, we don’t eat, so imagine our surprise when he told us we could eat the treats you left us. Annette bit right into one to find out. That’s the real gift. It brought tears to our eyes and I had to come right down to see you.”

Estella did not doubt the sincerity of Mrs Becker’s enthusiasm. She didn’t take one breath in her whole speech and tears pooled in her eyes as she squeezed Estella’s hand.

Before she could get her emotional barings to respond to Eva’s speech, the rest of the family came down and followed suit. John pumped her hand wildly and Annette actually threw her arms around her neck. Only Hannah gave her a reasonable ‘thank you’ for her room and basket.

Oliver stood a few steps above them and watched, a grin stretched across his face.

Estella glared at him over his sister’s head—really, the young woman must be no more than five feet tall. Surely he could intervene and redirect his family’s attention.

He merely winked at her. Traitor.

“Annette,” cut in Hannah’s low voice, “babe, I think you’re suffocating her.”

God and the saints bless Hannah, who lightly tugged her girlfriend’s arm. The suggestion also grabbed the attention of Eva and John who stepped back with their daughter.

Estella scooted away too and nervously straightened her skirt. She wasn’t used to such affection from strangers. “Yes, well, you’re welcome. Now before we proceed to the treat Oliver and I prepared for you, I need you all to sign your petition for asylum. Once signed, I can send it to the Commission and we’ll hear if they have accepted the month time frame or negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” asked Oliver.

She bobbed her head, “The Commission reserves the right to limit the length of your asylum.”

“But it’s already so short! A month is hardly any time at all.”

“I know. I argued for the full month on the grounds of my inadequacy to provide you counsel and the high probability of your support from the witches’ councils.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing else for us to do but sign it?”

“Not right now.” She held the documents out to Eva first, along with Jacques’s best fountain pen that she stole from his desk the day he left.

The older woman took it with great care before looking at her husband. “May we read it first?”

“Of course. Out loud if you would like.”

Eva read slowly, cautiously going over the formulaic language and clauses written up by a person with no experience in such matters, only knowledge gained over a kitchen table.

Estella had to admit, hearing it spoken by someone else, she thought she didn’t do that bad.

Apparently, neither did the Beckers. The only question came from Oliver about the final clause in the petition. He asked with narrowed eyes, “Why would we need to move our asylum elsewhere?”

She kept her face steady, but the tap-tap-tap from earlier echoed in her ears. “It is merely a precaution. Nothing more.”

A tense silence settled between them.

“Okay!” Burst Annette, “please, can we sign it now?”

One by one, each family member endorsed the petition—Oliver last of them all. When she took back the document from him their hands brushed briefly and her breathing hitched.

His eyebrows furrowed as if to ask, “What are you up to?” And she desperately did not want to answer.

Turning to the rest of the family, Estella brightly smiled but did not miss the curious expressions at her and Oliver’s brief exchange. “Come.”

She led them back through the halls towards the kitchen, except instead of leading them to the bright room where she and Oliver prepared their meal, Estella turned left into a formal dining room. The walls were split horizontally with shiplap on the lower half and bright, patterned wallpaper on the top. The table was long and dark and appeared to be hand carved.

“Is that…” Annette started to ask slowly, walking towards a full buffet table that lined one side of the room. “...for us?”

“I thought Hannah would be hungry and wanted to give you all the option to eat with her. Oliver was the perfect assistant.”

Oliver glared at her, “Quite a simple explanation for someone who gave an impassioned speech about the significance of food as a sign of safety and compassion this morning.”

The Beckers said nothing as they wandered over to the buffet table. Eva silently ran her fingers along the edge of the serving dishes.

Estella decided now was a good time to leave.

“When you are done with your meal, leave the dishes. They’ll be taken care of for you—and ring this bell. It will notify me that you are finished and we can meet at the top of the stairs. I will show you the Archives then and give you an introduction.”

“You're not eating with us?” Oliver asked.

She smiled at him, “Not this time. There is much I need to do now.” She got one foot out the door before he spoke again, “What about a plate? Do you want us to make you a plate?”

Estella blinked at him and laid her hand on the doorway, she almost wanted to sit down with them. “That isn’t necessary but thank you.” She waved her hand at the family, most of whom were eagerly flipping their eyes between her and Oliver, “Now eat. I will see you later.”