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Ezekiel offered to cut the turkey, asserting that Corin had done everything else and deserved a respite after all the hard work he put into the night’s meal. Corin accepted Ezekiel’s offer, and everyone ate and talked in companionable merriment. The discussion soon turned to Ezekiel’s theatre career.

“You’re an opera singer?” Violette asked in surprise.

“I am,” Ezekiel replied, sipping his wine.

“Can I guess your vocal range?” Violette tilted her head. “Judging by how deep your voice is”—she tapped her chin in thought—“low baritone?”

“Close. Bass-baritone.” Ezekiel nodded to Prudence. “The opera is how I met Prudence.”

Prudence smiled at Ezekiel. “I was one of the talent agents holding auditions for Gounod’s Faust.”

“I didn’t see that opera, but I know the story of Faust,” Violette said. “Which part did you play, Mr. Blair?”

Ezekiel feigned a dastardly sneer and curled one end of his mustache around his finger. “Why, the diabolic Méphistophélès, of course.” He rose from his seat, cleared his throat, and began to sing “Le veau d’or”—The Golden Calf.

“Must you?” Corin cut in with a wince.

Angela gave Corin a disapproving look. “I’d like to hear him sing.”

“Think of our neighbors, Angéline. We don’t wish to disturb them, do we?”

“The walls are soundproof,” Angela replied in a sardonic tone.

Corin groaned. “Fine.”

Angela beamed at Ezekiel. “Go on.”

Ezekiel flashed Angela a twinkly-eyed look, then proceeded with the villainous Méphistophélès’s gleefully scornful aria. He circled the table as he sang and playacted the sinister devil who tempted Faust, accentuating his performance with dramatic gestures and poses. Angela, Violette, and Prudence relished the enactment, but Corin just closed his eyes and massaged his temples. Ezekiel teased the older vampire by looming behind Corin’s chair, as if serenading him. Corin waved a dismissive hand, and Ezekiel moved on with a smirk. He ended the song with a flourish of his arm and bowed to the table.

Everyone applauded. Even Corin gave a reluctant clap. “That was … loud, but serviceable.”

Angela rolled her eyes and turned to Ezekiel. “What Uncle Corin means to say is you were fantastic, and we wish we could’ve seen you on stage.”

Ezekiel gave a second bow, then returned to his seat. “Thank you, thank you. You’re all too kind. How about you, Ms. Dufrêne?”

Violette paused in eating her mashed potatoes. “What about me?”

“You know about vocal ranges—came quite close to classifying mine—so I assume that means you’ve had vocal training yourself.”

Violette waved her hand in protest. “Oh, no, I can’t sing at all. I only took like three lessons in middle school, and I was awful. Honestly, I’m not very talented. All I can do is draw.”

“Now, now, drawing is a praiseworthy skill,” Corin interjected. “I certainly can’t draw. That’s why I study art rather than make it myself. So be proud of your talent, Violette.”

Violette blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Lacroix.”

“Please, call me Corin.” He folded his hands on the table. “You mentioned at the museum you were a freelance illustrator, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve done artwork for adds, character and background designs, interior book illustrations, and a lot of other things.”

“Which medium do you draw in?” Prudence asked.

“I prefer quill pen or colored pencils, but I learned most drawing mediums while I was in art school. I got my BFA in illustration in New York City with a minor in graphic design.”

“New York City? But your family is still in France, yes?”

Violette’s expression wilted, and she rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh, no … no, um … I don’t have any family left back in France. We were raised by my grandparents, and they passed away some years ago.”

Corin regarded Violette with a concerned look. “And your parents?”

“Well, my mother died of breast cancer when I was ten, and my father … my father …” Violette lowered her eyes and hunched her shoulders. “My father was never in the picture.”

Angela’s empathy was open—with such pleasant company, there was no risk of her being overwhelmed by her companions’ emotions—and she sensed a spike of dread in Violette at the mention of her father. Was she afraid of him? No, this didn’t quite feel like that sort of fear. It was more akin to the fear of exposure—of having a grave secret revealed. Was Violette hiding something about her father? Perhaps she was ashamed of him—was afraid they’d judge her for who he was or something he did. This piqued Angela’s curiosity, but she didn’t want Violette to feel uncomfortable.

Also, learning about Violette’s deceased family members made Angela think of the passing of her own parents and Fiona. Her chest tightened. “I’m sorry about your mother and grandparents. My parents also died when I was very young, and my grandmother passed away seven years ago.”

Violette shared a commiserating look with Angela, then gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I sure killed the atmosphere, didn’t I? Sorry about that.” Violette looked around the table. “I really do appreciate being invited tonight. The holidays are pretty miserable without … anyone to spend them with.”

“Of course,” Corin said, giving Violette a warm smile. “We’d love to have you again.”

Angela gave Corin an appreciative look. It seemed his suspicion of Violette had waned.

Ezekiel stroked his beard. “Who did you mean when you said ‘we?’”

Violette frowned in confusion. “Pardon?”

“A moment ago, you said, ‘we were raised by my grandparents.’ Who else were you speaking of?”

“Oh, me and my sister.”

“And where is she?” Prudence asked.

Violette shrugged. “Gone.”

Prudence touched her chest. “Your sister too? Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Then Violette’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “Oh, you thought … No, my sister didn’t pass away. She’s just not in my life anymore. We had a nasty falling out over … um … personal stuff.”

There was that sensation of fearful reservation again, quivering through Angela’s empathic connection. Violette was just as anxious about sharing information regarding her sister as she was about her father. If her father and sister are not in her life, it’s not worth it to press her on a subject that upsets her this much, Angela thought. “Well, your sister’s loss is our gain, because we’re happy to have you tonight.”

Violette’s expression warmed. “Thanks.”

Angela leaned forward in her chair. “If you’re free tomorrow, Ezekiel’s giving Uncle Corin and me a tour of his art and antique dealership.”

Violette frowned. “Ezekiel?”

Ezekiel pointed to himself. “It’s my middle name. Angela prefers it to my given name.”

“It does have a Biblical flair,” Prudence acknowledged, “but I’m still partial to ‘Edgar.’”

“Will you be joining us tomorrow at the dealership, Prudence?” Corin asked, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

Prudence cupped Corin’s hand. “Of course.”

“And you, Violette?” Ezekiel asked. “You’re more than welcome to accompany us to Bloodstone Antiquities.”

Violette considered the invitation. “Okay, if you don’t mind me tagging along.”

“The more the merrier, as I always say.”

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