Bloodlender: The Bloodlender Trilogy, #1

By Zoe Perrenoud

An ancient magic. A secret garden. A deadly curse.

Haunted by her father's unsolved murder, all sixteen-year-old Sophie wants is to keep a low profile. Instead, there's a dangerous magic stirring in her veins… and she has no idea how to stop it.

After she accidentally puts her mother in a coma, Sophie is forced to move in with the elusive Delville family, whose historic French manor holds secrets even darker than hers. Their son, Gauthier, is dying from a mysterious illness, while deep in the abandoned garden, old ghosts are stirring.

As she struggles to control her powers, Sophie learns that she is Gauthier's last hope. But when new evidence about her father's death threatens to shatter their growing bond, she faces the ultimate dilemma: get revenge or save the boy she's falling for…

…that is, if her blood doesn't kill them both first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoe Perrenoud
• Release date: Mar 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9789998789302

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The day my father was murdered, I made him a promise.

Not that I knew something was going to happen to him. None of us did. We had lunch at a bistro by the opera house. Roast chicken and chocolate mousse. He tried to hold my hand on the way home, but I told him I was too old for that. Maman was in one of her moods, marching ahead like we didn’t even know each other.

‘Why’s she mad at us?’ I asked Papa.

He sighed. ‘No reason. Best to leave your mother alone when she’s like this.’

‘But she hates it when I get mad. How come she gets away with it?’

‘Because it’s important we keep her happy.’

‘I don’t care if she’s happy.’

Papa’s gaze hardened. ‘You don’t mean that.’

I did mean it, with a ten-year-old’s flair for the dramatic, but he sounded disappointed, so I said I was sorry. Let him take my hand and squeeze it hard.

‘Sophie, promise me you’ll always mind your mother,’ he said. ‘Promise me you’ll keep each other safe.’

An odd request, but Papa said strange things sometimes. I gave him my word so we could hurry up and go home. I didn’t think about it again until after he was gone, when the concept of safety no longer existed and the notion that my mother might protect me against anything made me want to laugh and scream at the same time.

We fell apart in different ways over the next six years. While I struggled to fill the hole in my heart, Maman acted as if Papa had left us of his own accord. She stopped saying his name and channelled her grief into a tight-knit set of rules designed to control my every waking hour. No more birthday parties. No more school plays. I had to text her as soon as I got out of class and again when I boarded the bus home. She knew every timetable by heart, every number in my phone. I argued and cursed and slammed my bedroom door more times than I could count, but I never broke my promise. I toed the line as close to the edge as I dared.

One day, I told myself. One day, she’ll have to let you go.

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Rain splattered the windowpane of my bedroom. With a wary glance at the clouds outside, I pulled on the only dress I owned, a simple navy piece with deep pockets. I knew what I wanted to see in the mirror. A pretty mouth brought to life with a practised slash of crimson lipstick. Tousled curls bouncing around a pair of tanned shoulders. Sleek black fabric without a single crease of excess material to hide behind, but it wouldn’t matter because my hands wouldn’t be shaking, would they?

Instead, the chest of the girl in the mirror rose and fell. Good luck with that, she seemed to say. I snapped a pic, sent it to my best friend Mariam, and played with an old tube of tinted lip gloss while I waited for a reply. Seconds later, my phone rang.

‘You already know what I think,’ Mariam said.

‘It’s the best I can do.’

‘Oh, Sophie. Come on.’

An edge crept into my tone. ‘I’m talking about the dress.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘Eric’s a nice guy. Didn’t we agree you’d be happy for me?’

Mariam ignored me. ‘What does your mum say?’

I checked my watch and stuck my head into the corridor. Silence, save for the ticking of the kitchen clock downstairs. ‘She hasn’t come home yet.’

‘But it’s seven o’clock.’

‘I know.’

I did know. A part of me had been aware of the odd lack of movement inside the house, but I’d kept dragging my thoughts back to Eric and what might or might not happen tonight. You mean, if those pockets don’t get in the way? My stomach filled with butterflies, immediately squashed by the mental image of my mother lying face-down in a ditch somewhere.

‘She’ll be back soon.’ I kept my voice steady. ‘She’s driving me to the cinema.’

‘Wow.’ Mariam sounded genuinely impressed. ‘Generous.’

‘She wouldn’t let me go otherwise.’

I looked at my watch again. I wanted to hang up and go downstairs and eat something before Maman came home, even if arguing on an empty stomach was easier. She’d pretend to forget, or find some excuse, but I wouldn’t let her. Not this time.

My fingers gripped the phone. ‘I need this, Mar.’

A pause, followed by a small sigh. ‘I know.’

‘I won’t do anything stupid.’

‘I know.’

We left it at that. She didn’t wish me luck and I didn’t mention the condom hidden away in my bag. I’d bought it that morning from the vending machine in the girls’ toilets, heart racing the whole time. I wasn’t going to use it. I just wanted to have it. I wanted to be one of those girls who has one just in case, because just in case implies there’s at least a chance. One day. Maybe.

But not tonight, with my eleven o’clock curfew. Not with Maman breathing down my neck and down my phone, which I wasn’t allowed to turn off anyway, not even inside the cinema.

Maman, who hadn’t come home.

I settled at the kitchen table with a plate of bread and cheese, out of habit rather than hunger. Fourteen text messages and six attempted calls later, I still hadn’t eaten anything.

‘Where are you?’ I muttered.

The hands of the kitchen clock moved at the pace of a cat stretching first one way and then the other, evading its owner’s hand. The film started in half an hour. You should text him. But what if Maman walked in? Eric wouldn’t have to know how close I’d come to cancelling.

I tried calling her again. Nothing.

Ten excruciating minutes passed. Then five more. With shaking fingers, I pulled up Eric’s number. Maybe he wouldn’t answer. If I could leave a message–

‘Hey.’ The sound of his warm voice sent a shiver across the back of my neck. ‘Where are you?’

I swallowed hard. ‘At home.’

‘Why? The film’s about to start.’

‘My mum’s not back. She’s supposed to drive me.’

Eric groaned. ‘You’re sixteen years old, Sophie. Take a taxi.’

‘You don’t understand. I can’t just–’

‘I already paid for the tickets.’

Silence stretched between us. He was right. Of course, he was. The girl with the bright lipstick and the black dress – the girl who carried that condom just in case – she wouldn’t think twice. My foot twitched, but I didn’t get up. Instead, I willed Eric to say the right thing. Part of me wanted him to tell me to stick to my mother’s rules. That doing so wouldn’t make me weird, or childish, or weak. When he didn’t, I sighed and said the words I’d been so desperate to avoid.

‘I don’t think I’m going to make it. I’m sorry, Eric.’

‘Forget it,’ he muttered. ‘See you at school.’

The line went dead. There. Over before anything could happen. For a few glorious days, I’d let myself believe someone cared. A boy could like me in spite of my plain wardrobe and bookish tastes. Me, the girl who wore dresses with pockets. The girl with the dead father and crazy mother.

The freak.

I closed my eyes against the sting of tears and felt it then. A faint buzz beneath my skin. A crackle, as if someone had sparked an ember in my blood. It had been happening a lot lately, whenever Maman and I couldn’t agree. I reached for a slice of cheese and took a vengeful bite, hoping to calm my nerves, and gagged on the saltiness. The streetlamp outside our house blinked on and filled the kitchen with sallow light. If she can’t be bothered to call, how can she expect me to–

My phone rang. I snatched it up so fast I didn’t see the number. ‘What’s going on? I’ve been worried sick!’

‘Sophie? Alain Delville speaking.’

My spine tingled, but not in a good way. Merde. I’d had a few run-ins with Angélique, the floor manager of the bank where Maman worked, but never the big boss himself.

‘I know Monsieur Delville likes her,’ Angélique had said after my mother had mistaken a client’s umbrella for a gun and triggered the alarm system last month, ‘but this is her final warning. She needs to get herself under control.’

‘I’ve been trying to reach your mother,’ Alain said before I could ask what she’d done this time. ‘Is she home?’

‘Not yet. Is something wrong?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. She got into a fight with a client and left in the middle of her shift. Now Angélique’s threatening to resign if I don’t f–’

I didn’t hear the rest of his words. Maman’s job didn’t pay much, but it kept her busy. She couldn’t spend her days policing me when there were files waiting to be put away. I was getting ready to beg when the front door creaked.

‘I think that’s her,’ I said. ‘Let me check and call you back.’

I tiptoed to the kitchen doorway. At the end of the hall, Maman dropped her handbag on the floor and leaned against the wall, her breathing erratic. A steady stream of muttered curses tumbled from her lips.

‘You’re late,’ I said.

Her shriek made my ears ring. ‘Sophie! Don’t scare me!’

‘Where were you? I missed my date with Eric.’

Rain had slicked her brown hair to her forehead and shoulders. Shadows hugged her tired eyes and a smudge of lipstick marred her chin. For a second, she stared at her feet, as if hoping they might offer an apology in her stead. Then her gaze darkened and she shook her head.

‘Never mind that. We’ve got bigger problems.’

‘Clearly.’ I took a step towards her. ‘Alain Delville called. What happened, Maman?’

She ignored me and busied herself with her coat. I glared at her. If I’d been the one to walk through that door even five minutes late, all hell would have broken loose.

‘Where’s your phone?’ I asked.

‘Battery’s dead.’

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘Not now, Sophie.’

Heat rose to fill my cheeks. ‘Yes, now! This was supposed to be my night! You promised–’

‘Ssh! Quiet!’

A car drove past outside with a splash. Maman’s eyes snapped to the front door. She rammed her key into the lock and turned it twice. When I reached for her arm, she pulled away and peered out of the window.

‘That black Audi. I’ve never seen it before.’ She shook her head. ‘Too obvious. That’s what they want me to think, which means they’re in the red Toyota by the Drouots’ house. They can’t fool me.’

Uh oh. ‘Maman, what’s going on? Who’s trying to fool you?’

‘The men. They’re always men.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Come on. Not all men–’

‘His men. He’s been watching us.’

She drew the curtains shut so fast they almost ripped. Before I could ask who he was, she stormed off towards the kitchen, where I found her shoving cutlery and cans of food into an old reusable shopping bag.

I stepped in before she could open the fridge. ‘Talk to me, Maman. You always want to know what I’m doing – well, guess what? It works both ways. You can’t disappear like that. I was worried sick.’

‘You should be.’ She pushed past me and grabbed her favourite mixing bowl from the cupboard. ‘They’ve come back and they’re watching the house. We have to move.’

‘Nobody’s moving anywhere. Tell me what happened at work.’

Maman clutched the bowl to her chest. ‘There were two of them. They said they wanted to talk about a loan, but then they started asking questions. Personal questions. I told them I didn’t like what they were doing and they should piss off. Angélique overheard. She wanted me to apologise but I couldn’t. Not to them. So I left.’

‘You need to call Monsieur Delville and beg him to take you back.’

My mother shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. They–’

The buzz in my blood rose to a steady roar. ‘Stop it! There’s no they! Nobody’s trying to hurt us! You need to make things right, Maman. Now.’

The mixing bowl hit the counter with a bang. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but I can see you’re confused.’ A wildness had crept into my mother’s eyes, a streak of raw panic that made me recoil. ‘They were asking about you, Sophie. Your father–’

My hands curled into fists. ‘Leave Papa out of this.’

‘–warned me about them. He said this day would come.’

‘Shut up!’

I pictured Eric in the darkened cinema, an empty seat beside him. I shouldn’t be here. I should be getting my first kiss and wondering if just in case might actually happen, like everybody else my age on a Friday night. Life isn’t fair, remember? I thought I’d learned that lesson, but it never seemed to hurt any less.

I took a deep breath, then another. Then one more. ‘You need to get your job back, Maman.’ An argument formed in my mind. I pushed it away, but it crept right back. Fine. I was done playing nice. ‘If you don’t, I’ll have to open the workshop and sell Papa’s watches. Is that what you want?’

So much time had passed since the police had closed their investigation and the padlock had been placed on the outhouse at the end of our garden. So many years of grief, rage, and unanswered questions. The thought of entering that building again made me nauseous.

Maman paused over her half-packed shopping bag. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘I will if I have to.’

‘You don’t know how to make those watches work.’

‘Please,’ I scoffed. ‘Papa taught me everything he knew.’

A slight exaggeration, but Maman went quiet. She blinked at the supplies in front of her and the remains of my dinner on the table. Snap out of it, I willed her. Let’s get some sleep and forget this ever happened. She looked ready to give in when a shadow rippled over her features. Her gaze darkened and she stared straight at me, as if seeing me for the very first time.

‘I doubt that,’ she murmured, ‘but it would be good to know.’

‘Know what?’

‘How much he showed you. What you can really do.’

‘With Papa’s watches?’ I sighed. ‘I’ll take one to pieces in the morning. We should go to bed.’

Maman’s frown deepened. ‘They might leave us alone if they realise you’re nothing like him. We wouldn’t have to worry about them again.’

‘That’s not–’

‘Hold out your arm.’

‘Why?’

Her brown eyes bore into mine. ‘I’ve kept you safe, haven’t I? All these years?’

I pressed my lips together. How many parties and school outings had I missed? How many more dates would I have to turn down until there was no one left in Vichy willing to ask me out? You can’t let her do this to you anymore. I was gearing up to say it when Maman’s fingers found my wrist. Her ice-cold grip sent shivers up my arm. She reached inside the shopping bag.

‘What–’

‘Don’t move,’ she whispered.

The searing pain came out of the blue, a deep slash of fire across my inner forearm. Blood welled under the knife’s blade. I tried to whimper, scream, anything, but a lump had lodged itself in my throat. It took what felt like forever to force my way around it.

‘Maman, stop!’

I yanked my arm away before she could strike again, but it was too late. The spark in my veins ignited into a blazing inferno. I felt it spread, followed by a crackling in my ears – watched it trickle down my skin in streams of crimson lava, hissing.

My blood was on fire.

‘So that’s what it looks like.’ Maman dropped the bloody knife. ‘All that time you spent with your father, sharing secrets. I should have known you’d be one of them.’

‘O-one of who?’

Nothing made sense. No matter how hard I pressed my palm to the cut, the blood wouldn’t stop. The sight of it made me sway. I’d never needed stitches before, but this looked deep. Even if I could get to the hospital, what would I tell the doctor? That my mother had tried to kill me?

The smell of burning flesh hit my nose. I let go of the wound with a yelp. ‘What the hell?!’

A drop of my blood hit the kitchen floor and sizzled. Then a second one fell and exploded in a shower of sparks. I looked at my mother, hoping for a hint this was some sort of a joke, but her gaze was riveted to the tiny red flame that had blossomed on the wooden floorboard.

‘Interesting,’ she said.

Interesting?? I kicked at the flame, to no avail. Stop! Think, Sophie... But the house was on fire and there was no time to think. Jaw clenched against the pain, I ran to the sink and yanked the tap open. Cold water hit the searing blood on my arm in a blinding cloud of steam. With my free hand, I splashed as much liquid as I could towards the floor. The water evaporated with a hiss before it reached the fire.

Merde.

‘He said it was special, but I never imagined it could be so bright.’ Maman crouched to examine the flames. ‘Like poppies.’

‘Don’t touch it!’

‘Do you think–’

‘We need to get out of here! Run!’

I opened the back door and stumbled into the garden. A trail of flaming drops followed, hissing into the damp grass. Maybe the rain-sodden ground would stop them. If it didn’t... I paused in the middle of the unkempt lawn to check on my arm and nearly choked on a scream.

The blood seeping from my wound was glowing.

‘What’s happening to me?’

No answer. I turned, but Maman wasn’t there.

‘Sophie!’

Beyond the open door, the flames had grown and spread across the floorboards in a wall of crimson light. A metallic stench filled the air, carried by a billow of smoke. In the midst of it all, trapped against the kitchen counters, my mother was sinking to her knees, face frozen in shock. I knew that look. I’d seen it six years ago, when she’d followed me into Papa’s workshop and seen the pool of blood on the concrete floor.

‘Maman! Snap out of it! You need to move!’

I reached for my phone and found nothing but those deep, empty pockets. A sharp crack split the air and a plume of flames filled the kitchen doorway, spreading to the frame. Huddled on the ground, my mother whimpered and buried her head in her arms.

‘Hold on!’ I shouted. ‘I’m going to get help!’

Never mind the burning blood on my arm. Never mind the questions – so many – begging for my attention. I rounded the side of the house and pushed open the gate, sparks flying behind me. My hand found the wound and pressed hard. Heat seared my fingers, but I couldn’t let go. I had to stop the flow. Had to somehow contain the situation, before it got any worse. I’d almost reached the neighbours’ driveway when I saw him.

A man, sitting behind the wheel of a red Toyota. Watching me.

‘Hey, you! Quit staring and help!’

I let go of the cut and gestured to the rising smoke, but the man’s gaze snapped to my arm. To the glowing drops of blood running down my flesh like a trail of liquid embers.

The corners of his mouth curled upwards.

Everything inside me froze. Ice-cold terror swept through my limbs, snuffing the fire in its wake. I tried to deny what was happening, or at least turn it into a joke, but my lips wouldn’t move. The man opened his door and stepped onto the pavement. The bulk of his frame filled the gap between his car and the neighbours’ hedge. His shaven head gleamed under the glare of the streetlight, but the shadows around his deep-sunken eyes hid their true colour. He brought his hands together and made the bones of his fingers crack.

A whimper climbed up my throat. ‘It’s not–’

‘Sophie, is that you? What’s going on? What’s that smell?’

Our neighbour, Madame Drouot, stepped out of her house and peered down the driveway, a battered old housecoat thrown over her shoulders. In the moment it took me to realise she couldn’t see the man because of the hedge, a door slammed shut and the Toyota’s engine started with a roar. The car tore away from the pavement, tyres screeching, and disappeared down the street before I could find my voice.

‘Salaud!’ I shouted.

Madame Drouot gasped. With a jolt, I scrambled to cover my arm, but there was no need. Ordinary blood coated my hand and forearm. The sparks had vanished, along with the glow.

The fire in my house, however, had not.

Smoke billowed from the building, where the flames had spread to the entrance, red tongues licking the curtains Maman had pulled shut earlier. The sound of breaking glass reached our ears. All I could do was point and shake.

‘Maman! She’s still in there!’

Madame Drouot blinked at the hedge dividing our properties and gave a startled cry when she spotted the smoke. ‘Gilles,’ she shouted. ‘Call the fire brigade!’

Her husband stuck his head out of the window, took one look at our house, and disappeared again. I tried to run for our gate, but a pair of surprisingly strong arms wrapped around me and held me tight. The distant wail of sirens filled the air. Too far. Too slow.

‘Let me go!’

‘It’s dangerous, Sophie,’ Madame Drouot said. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

I sank into a heap on the pavement and tried not to picture Maman’s huddled form wrapped in flames. Wave after wave of cold sent uncontrollable shivers through my body. I reached for the heat in my veins, but it was gone. An eternity passed before a scarlet fire engine blared its way up the street. Silhouettes filed out one by one, shouting orders. A hose hissed to life, followed by a second.

‘They’re going to get her out,’ Madame Drouot murmured beside me. ‘She’s going to be alright.’

More vehicles. People crowded around me, touching my arm, asking questions. I tried to push them away. I needed to get up and help the firemen. Fix this mess so we could carry on with our lives. Pretend none of this had ever happened. I would have given anything to turn back time and go to bed upset about a missed first date.

But a deep-seated weariness held my limbs in lockdown. I could only shiver, helpless, as a faint but chilling realisation trickled through the fog in my brain. After years of paranoid ramblings and false alarms, my mother’s worst fears had come true. Something had happened, something irreversible. The fire. The red Toyota. The strange man’s smile. My shimmering blood. Even if Maman survived, there was no going back.

So much for keeping each other safe.

CHAPTER TWO

A fly crawled up the glass, its tiny black tongue probing for specks of food. My finger hovered over the button to open the window. A single push, one brief moment of confusion followed by fresh air and the big, wide world.

Freedom. But would that save the creature or kill it?

A flash of red caught my eye and I jumped, muscles tensing, but it was only a kid’s bike, discarded on the pavement. I blinked against the afternoon sun. My aunt’s blue Renault Espace turned into a winding suburban road lined with whitewashed villas. Around us, open gardens had given way to fancy fences and stone walls. There wasn’t a blade of grass out of place. No hint of graffiti on the local bus shelter. I wondered if we’d gone too far, but Tante Adèle kept on driving up the hill and into the shadow of a neatly trimmed hedge. The city of Vichy sprawled to our right, hugged by the steel blue ribbon of the River Allier.

At last, my aunt stopped the car outside an ornate iron gate and kept the engine idling. She let go of the leather steering wheel and gave the swell of her pregnant belly an absent-minded stroke. A wisp of dark brown hair had fallen out of its bun, but she made no attempt to brush it back. The sight reminded me of Maman.

I blinked and focused on the entrance to the property. ‘Are you sure this is it?’

‘Yes. Rue des Épines, last house on the left.’

The gate’s intricate metal curlicues had been twisted to look like vines, its handle shaped like a leaf. A gravel drive snaked away between bushes covered in fat white blooms, but the house wasn’t visible from the road. On the gatepost, a weathered plaque welcomed visitors to Les Rosiers.

A whistle escaped Tante Adèle’s lips. ‘Lucky girl.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

Silence, cut short by the angry buzz of the fly. It smacked against the glass, once, twice. Fine, if that’s what you want. I lowered the window and watched the insect fly away. A heady scent of flowers and cut grass drifted in on a gust of spring breeze.

My aunt shifted in her seat. ‘Sophie, please. Don’t make this any more difficult–’

‘Difficult for who? You or me?’

‘We talked about this. You know I’d keep you if I could.’

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. ‘You could try harder.’

Tante Adèle sighed. ‘Go ring the bell. I’ll get your bags.’

‘What am I supposed to say?’

‘Announce yourself. They’re expecting you.’

Whatever the Delvilles were expecting, they were going to be disappointed. I didn’t belong in a place like this, with people like them, no matter how welcome Alain Delville tried to make me feel.

Amidst the chaos of the fire, I’d forgotten to call him back. He must have found Tante Adèle’s number through one of his many connections. My aunt had blushed when she’d picked up the phone and realised who she was speaking to. Everyone in Vichy had heard of the Delvilles. With their sprawling estate and fancy cars, they were practically royalty.

I fiddled with