Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

A Grave Anniversary

Modern Day (One year after the events of Belle Morte.)

I sat on the winter-hardened ground in the gardens of Belle Morte, and stared at my sister's grave. A year had passed since she died, and there was still no headstone – neither me or Mum could find the right one or the right words to put on it. Instead, the place where the headstone should be was marked out by smooth white pebbles that Ysanne had provided at my request. A large bouquet of pink roses was propped against the pebbles; I didn't need to check the plastic-sealed card to know that they were from Mum.

"I miss you so much," I whispered.

I pressed my hand to the cold ground, flattening the frost-stiffened blades of grass. The white pebbles gleamed under the moonlight, and above the grave, the great oak tree looked like a shadowy hand, clutching at the sky.

Footsteps sounded softly behind me, and I knew it was Edmond without needing to look.

"How has it been a whole year already?" I asked, as he sat beside me.

Edmond took my hand – the one currently sporting the emerald engagement ring he'd given me at Christmas.

"I don't even know if this is the right day to call the anniversary of her death," I said, staring at the grave.

I'd initially considered this her anniversary because, twelve months ago, it was the night that I'd finally put her out of her misery and ended her rabid life. But the sister that I'd known and loved had died weeks before, at the hands of Etienne, the man I'd once considered a friend. Before he'd betrayed me and I'd cut off his head in revenge.

"You hoped longer than any of us that she could be saved, so for you, this is the right anniversary," Edmond said.

The velvet richness of his voice, that faded French lilt that I loved so much was like a warm blanket settling over my shoulders.

"I miss her so much that it feels like a physical ache, right here," I said, touching the place where my heart no longer beat. "But I'm so angry too." Tears pricked my eyes. "I'm angry at the role she played in all this. She must have known that Etienne would hurt people to get what he wanted, and she helped him anyway. I'm angry that there's so much about her that I obviously didn't know, and I'm angry at her for being capable of things that I never imagined she would be."

Emotion knotted up my throat, making it hard to speak.

"And I'm angry at myself for being angry with her, because what good does it do now? She's dead. She's never coming back. The man she loved, the man she was willing to sacrifice everything for – he's dead too, at my hands."

Edmond said nothing, just listened.

"Do you know what one of the worst parts is?" I continued. "In some ways, I feel like it's actually better that she's dead, because this way I don't ever have to confront her for what she did. It's easier to think of June my sister and June the rabid as two separate people, but if she'd lived, if she'd become a normal vampire instead of a rabid, I would have had to face the reality of who she was and what she was willing to do. And I don't know if I'd have been strong enough for that. But what kind of person is glad that their sister died?"

"You're not glad that she died. You're glad that you never had to see someone you loved standing on the opposite side of a battle-line in the sand. That's not the same thing," Edmond said.

"Isn't it?"

"No. You will never stop loving June, but that doesn't change your anger at the choices she made. You could have blamed Etienne for her actions. You could have said he manipulated her, and to an extent, he did. But June still made her own choices, however bad they were. It's natural to feel angry and betrayed about something like that. It's natural to feel some measure of relief that you never had to confront her over it," Edmond insisted. His thumb stroked the back of my hand.