𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑. paul lahote ✓

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗

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A MAN NAMED JANVIER

AFTER ALEC'S LAST LETTER, AUGUSTINE HAD MORE QUESTIONS ON HER MIND THAN BEFORE.

Of course Alec was the type to be cryptic when it served him well, and of course the part he wasn't cryptic about was his reminder that the offer was still on the table. Augustine had thought that maybe the Volturi had let it go— that Aro himself had forgotten his offer to the young girl to join their ranks. Only now, it seemed as though they hadn't.

And when Carlisle's name was mentioned, she knew she had to press the blond man for answers. Which is how she found herself in his office once again, shoving the page of cursive writing in front of his face with a, "you need to read this shit, Carlisle."

"Language," he reminded her lightly, but took the letter from her regardless. She rolled her eyes at his antics, nervously tapping her feet against the floorboards as she watched his eyes skim over its contents. When he was finished, his eyebrows were furrowed together. "Interesting..."

Her left eye twitched. "'Interesting?' What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's interesting that Alec thinks turning to an old friend of mine will help us find a solution," he muttered out, eyes retreating back to the page once more.

She threw her hands at her sides. "Who is this Janvier person, anyways?"

He took a seat at his desk, gesturing for her to take the empty chair across from him. She sat, legs pulled onto the chair so she could sit cross-legged. "Do you remember when I told you I once knew someone with your abilities? Someone who could also manipulate matter?"

"Let me guess; that's Janvier?" she deduced, earning a simple nod from Carlisle.

"He passed through Italy during my stay with the Volturi, stayed long enough that I once called him my closest friend," he told her, reaching over to unlock a drawer to his right. He dug through its contents, fishing out what looked like a thick piece of parchment, and slid it her way. "He drew this as a parting gift, and I've yet to see him since. It's been hundreds of years."

On the parchment in some sort of granite pencil was an illustration of who she assumed was Carlisle next to a man she didn't recognize. He had longer hair that was down to his shoulders that was shaded in a dark grey, owlish eyes that really seemed to stare at her, and it seemed as though he willingly drew himself with a barely there smirk.

Augustine traced her fingers over the drawing, marvelling in it. "He's a damn good artist," she observed with a small smile. It was a miracle the parchment was still intact, after all these years.

"That's another thing that you share in common with him," Carlisle said, taking back the parchment from her when she handed it back. "Do you know what Janvier means in French?"

The ravenette pursed her lips, shaking her head. Despite her father being of French descent, she was far too young to actually learn anything from him and June Dubois was only French through her late marriage to Ernest. She couldn't speak a lick of the language other than a simple Bonjour. "No clue, but something tells me you do."