Once in a while one of us actually slips something into our conversation. Between, How many FF do you have in Mongolia? and How can there even be fifteen revenants in Liechtenstein when the total population is something like twenty-five? there will be a, So what’s your favorite film? or Have you ever been outside of France? At which point, we spin out into a twenty-minute conversation before one of us says, Better get back to the grind.

Our research on the legend of a Flame-finger who transformed humans into revenants to overthrow the Romans has turned up nothing. We’ve found no trace of it among the stories and “recipes” the Flame-fingers sent Bran and Siaka for the database. And Bran has found no mention of anything of the sort in his family records.

Something about the story bothers Gaspard, though, and he refuses to give up. So while Siaka sleeps at night, I fill any extra time with research in the library. Each day, Gaspard pulls out a stack of books he thinks might hold some pertinent information, and he, Bran and I scour passages about Romans and Flame-fingers for mention of a human-to-revenant formula.

Some stories are so fascinating that I forget my search and plunge in, devouring the entire book. Over the eras, bardia have repeatedly changed the course of history. Incan bardia. Egyptian bardia. Viking-era bardia. Bardia during the Atlantic slave trade. The more I read, the luckier I feel to be a part of this Machine of Fate. I begin to understand what I could be capable of...one day. When I finally step into my role of saving humans.

Once in a while, I glance up to see Gaspard watching me. But instead of chastising me for reading for enjoyment instead of searching for clues, he returns with a wistful smile to whatever text or document he is scanning.

***

Dinner serves as an unofficial meeting time for La Maison’s residents.

Odette always eats first, while we trickle into the kitchen one by one to join in on this family time. I’m even starting to enjoy it, my family-shaped hole gradually aching less, and maybe even getting smaller. Once Odette is done eating, Jeanne whisks her out into the garden for playtime so the adults can have uninterrupted conversation. Everyone shares their news over the delicious meals. And little by little the stories trickle in.

Tonight is American Night, a monthly tradition instated at Ambrose’s request. The table is piled with platters of hamburgers, fries, macaroni and cheese, and coleslaw (his mom’s recipe). This type of meal is beneath Jeanne’s skill level, but it’s clearly worth it to her to witness Ambrose’s childish delight when he walks in and lays eyes on the table.

“Georgia and I have reached the third level,” Arthur announces. He is in the midst of cutting into a hamburger, bun and all, using a fork and knife.

Ambrose looks on, horrified.