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H”—or as Silvie heard it for the first few years, “Cue Vaitch”. Unlike Viv, she never spoke of the Daughters at all.
    Now that Silvie knew what she was seeing, both women became recognizable. Blythe sat beside the young boy with her legs outstretched and lips puckered, in a playful Betty Boop pose. Her orange cotton skirt was bunched at the knees to reveal long tanned calves. She was still a brunette then, with long wavy hair to her waist, and a low-cut peasant blouse that accentuated the majestic, braless globes of her breasts.
    Vivian was freckled with a frothy ginger halo. She stood in the back row between two young men, holding a tambourine to her midriff and head thrown back, grinning at the young man to her left with such unabashed affection that it made Silvina’s eyes sting. The focus of Viv’s attention had one hand resting on the headstock of a guitar. With his other hand, he was making bunny ears behind her head. Silvie wondered if the guitarist had been her boyfriend. She wondered if he knew that Viv was dead.
    “Are you all right, Silvie?”
    She pressed knuckles to her lower eyelids. “Overtired, a little emotional, I’ll be okay.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh gosh, it’s twenty past twelve, and I haven’t finished packing.”
    “Then I shall take my leave now.” He picked up a briefcase and stuffed the documents inside. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride to the station in the morning? I’m coming into the city anyway.”
    “No, thank you. I’ve booked a cab, it’s all arranged.” Silvina pressed the photograph to her heart as she walked Alphonse to the door.
    “I do not want you to worry about TPA, FST, VAT or any other acronyms, while you are away,” he said. Her strain must have showed, for he added, “Give no more thought to Blythe. She will come around.”
    “I hope so. I thought she was upset because I’d be missing the strategy sessions. When we first landed the Toulouse contract, she said, ‘This is fabulous, you’ll be able to visit my old stomping grounds.’ But since Viv died, she refuses to talk about the place, and she’s not happy about me going there.”
    “She’s right you should be careful, but you are a grown woman. The seventies were a strange decade, even in Algeria. It was the middle child between peace-and-love sixties and economic hostage-taking of the eighties. Perhaps she fears exposure of some muscular enjoyment from her past.”
    “I hope that’s all it is.” She lifted Alphonse’s overcoat off a hanger and handed it to him. She looked at the photo again. “Please give Claire-Elise my deepest thanks. I feel like a part of me knows Reine du Ciel already.”
    “She will be happy to hear that.”
    “Was your wife one of the Daughters?”
    He stopped buttoning his coat. “I don’t know. She was a Cerabornes, of course.”
    “I don’t know that word.”
    “Cerabornes is her family name and the name of the village nearest Reine du Ciel . Her parents owned the grocery store. They helped to sell and ship the produce that Claire-Elise and her friends grew. Their ancestors have lived in those mountains for at least a thousand years.”
    “I would love to know more. Do you think Claire-Elise might agree to meet me for an espresso one day?”
    “If she did, it would be magnificent.” He kissed Silvie on both cheeks, then rummaged through his pockets and pressed a tiny glass bottle into her hand. It was a second Courvoisier. “Save this for a night when the wind blows cold and la maison de la montagne feels ready to share her secrets. Bonne chance , my friend.”

CHAPTER TWO
    Talmont Castle
The Duchy of Aquitaine
SUMMER, A.D. 1141
    A small, stout fishing boat slipped through the pre-dawn waters of a quiet cove, sails down. The vessel was in need of paint, the man and boy on deck, in need of sleep. Their gazes swept the nearby shallows.
    “When hunting the serpent,” the man was saying, “first thing one must find is a good wreck. The