M. Rose - The Secret Language of Stones

What would it be like to disappear into that blackness? To feel the shock of cold water swiftly surround me? To sink into the river’s murky, colorless depths?

Would I find Jean Luc then? Finally? On the other side? And what a nasty joke if he looked at me like a stranger, proving I’d imagined him. Why continue living with this question of sanity? So what if all those women did need my help. If I was a fraud, I wasn’t helping them anyway.

I leaned over the railing. The river looked even more sinister. A snake waiting for her next feeding.

The sound of far-off footsteps advanced. To the right, far in the distance, a figure approached. A few more steps and I made out a woman. A few more and her gait became familiar. Clouds shifted in the night sky, and her namesake, la lune , shone down, illuminating the color of her hair and then her very features.

“Maman?”

She reached me and pulled me close to her. “I came to take you home.”

“To the Palais?”

“No, to Cannes. It’s too dangerous in Paris for you.”

“I’m careful. The sirens warn us and the shelter at the Palais is very safe.”

“Yes, the war is hazardous, but I meant what you are doing with the talismans and how it is affecting you. That’s the true and real danger.”

“No, I can’t leave my job.”

“But I can see it in your eyes, mon ange .” It was what her grandmother called her, “my angel.”

“How did you find me? I didn’t tell anyone I went out.”

My mother gave me her most beguiling smile. The one that said everything: I love you. You know who I am. You know what I can do. We are mother and daughter-how can you even wonder?

“But why now?”

“You haven’t finished working out the message in the painting?”

“No.”

“And you’re questioning everything you should be embracing. It’s all a gift, Opaline, but you’re being tortured.”

“A gift? You mean the voices?”

She nodded.

“Some gift. I think I’m becoming as crazy as the owl lady who used to live next door to us in Cannes.” I hadn’t thought of Madame Sorette in so long. Our delightful but crazy neighbor who kept an aviary of almost a hundred owls she believed were all Greek gods.

My mother laughed at the memory. Deep throated and velvety. My father always said my mother seemed sensual even when she buttered bread. He was right. If there were any men around, they would have come running at the sound of that laugh, like dogs sniffing out a bitch in heat.

“You need to come home so I can teach you how to use your talents. Every Daughter of La Lune is born with them, but only through training can you control them.”

“How do you know what’s happening to me?”

“I studied. I trained. And lest you think I’m so prescient, Anna wrote me, Opaline. Mystics like her can help, of course, but not teach. You need to come home. This Jean Luc is torturing you, isn’t he?”

“I didn’t tell Anna about Jean Luc.”

“No, you didn’t.” She smiled again.

“You think he’s real?”

“I don’t know. I can’t travel your threads.”

“Threads?”

“I wish I’d convinced you to study with me when we had the chance instead of rushing through the lessons now. La Lune taught me that each of us has silver or gold threads that tie us to other realms. On them, we can travel past this plane and go back and forth to other planes. I believe you are walking out into time and encountering all these lost souls who need help in cutting their threads and moving on. None of us can walk on one another’s threads, though. You can’t on mine; I can’t on your sisters’. But I can see them-” She took my hands and pressed her fingertips to mine. “I can feel them here, Opaline.”

As she spoke, I became conscious of a slight warmth where our fingertips touched.

“I can’t come home, not yet. I have to stay here and help the widows and mothers as long as the war rages. I would be selfish to leave. I feel as if what I’m supposed to do here isn’t finished.”

My mother’s silence lasted for a full minute.

“But so far sweet Anna hasn’t helped. Are you sure you won’t come home with me?”

I nodded.

“Always so stubborn. So stubborn. You know I can’t stay here and train you. I have the twins and Jadine to take care of. Please, reconsider.”

At that moment, the sirens screamed. I looked around in a panic. There was nowhere to go. We were too far from either bank. Maybe it was all for the best. If the bombs fell on us, if they took us, then I’d go to Jean Luc in whatever place he was and we could be together. My mother was a fully evolved witch; she’d most likely be able to keep herself safe no matter where she was.

The first bomb hit deep in the city to the right. Close enough that we could feel the vibration through our feet. A huge explosion of orange-red flames and smoke filled the sky.

Grabbing my hand, my mother pulled me. I resisted. I wanted to stay. To watch the fireworks, to tempt fate.

“Opaline,” she yelled just as the second bomb hit not as far away. The bridge shook as the sound echoed through the canyon of the city streets. The lights were brighter, this one much closer.

My mother screamed my name, tightened her grip, and dragged me, using an inhuman force I couldn’t withstand. She ran, towing me with her to the end of the bridge just as the third bomb hit the far end of Pont Neuf. The explosion rocked the ground. We went flying. Thrown by the power of the blast. Incredibly, my mother never let go of my hand, and we landed more softly than seemed possible on a patch of grass quite close to a large plane tree.

Gasping for breath, I sat on the ground, the trunk of the tree at my back, looking at my mother. At her disheveled hair, dirt-streaked face, ripped duster. Smiling at me, she shook her head.

“You were born stubborn, Opaline. The next time I tell you to come with me, you come. Do you understand? We’re going home.”

Even there, sitting under the sky smoky from the bombs, hearing the cries of people who were scared and hurt, not knowing what would happen next, I remained sure. I shook my head.

“I can’t.”

“Then you are going to go on suffering.”

I stood. Stumbled. I’d twisted my ankle in my fall. “I’m going back to the Palais,” I said. “Do you want to come with me? I’m sure Anna would be happy to put you up.”

“No, I’m going to your great-grandmother’s. I want to see how she is. Why don’t you come with me? I brought something I need to give you. It’s there with my bags.”

The maison remained undamaged. Grand-mère and all the soldiers were awake and drinking champagne-celebrating, they said, that they’d survived this most recent encounter with Bertha.

I retired to my room, my mother to another. I undressed, turned off the light, and climbed into my bed. On the bridge I hadn’t been frightened. But now, with all quiet once again, with the smooth cool sheets pulled up and the down pillows under my head, I began to shake.

And then I heard a knock on the door.

“ Entrez ,” I called out, expecting my great-grandmother had sent her maid to make sure I didn’t need anything.

The door opened, and in the pale yellow light from the hallway I saw my mother. Her long wavy auburn hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She wore a peach-colored dressing gown cut low. The lamplight in the hallway illuminated the ruby necklace encircling her pale peach skin and set the stones on fire. I’d never seen them glowing like they were then-like embers, I thought, about to burst into flames.

Stepping into the room, my mother switched on the bedside lamp and then sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, she smoothed my hair.