The Collector of Dying Breaths Read Free Page B

the second story of the house where she had grown up. Where her grandparents had lived. And her great-grandparents. And all the generations before them. There were windows here that faced the landscaped courtyard and offered a view of the darkened workshop. So many L’Etoiles had lived and worked here. And now it was just her and Robbie. Only the two of them.
    When they were young, their father had built them a miniature perfumer’s organ, just like the grand one where generations of L’Etoiles had sat and created the house’s great creations. Shaped very much like the full-size organ, it had three shelves filled with amber bottles of essences, absolutes and scented oils. Everything a perfumer needed. For hours, she and Robbie played a game of their own invention, trying to capture concepts in fragrance. They made the Scent of Loyalty, the Scent of Lies, the Scent of Us Forever, the Scent of Rain and the Scent of Loneliness.
    Robbie had claimed the Scent of Us Forever—with its combination of cinnamon, carnation, jasmine, patchouli and a little pepper—as his signature and always wore the spicy perfume. He said he’d been inspired by the tricks they played on each other and their parents and grandparents. The mysterious fragrance suggested getting in trouble. Going where they weren’t supposed to. Doing dangerous things in the name of adventure. It was an homage to the two of them against the world. Against their mother, whose manic-depressive moods were a constant source of anxiety for each of them. Against their father, who never seemed to be able to make a success of anything and had put the House of L’Etoile into debt.
    Robbie’s awful coughing had finally stopped. The nurse came out and told Jac that her brother was sleeping, and she should get something to eat, then try to nap and get some rest.
    Jac had another idea. She might not be able to mix any magic in, but a fresh version of the Scent of Us Forever might cheer Robbie up. She walked to the end of the hall, down the steps, through the French doors in the living room and outside into the courtyard. Here she and Robbie had built forts and played elaborate games of hide-and-seek. It was chilly and damp today, but in the spring the garden would be scented by roses, lilacs and hyacinths— jacinthe , the flower she was named after. Now there were only green aromas mixed in with the smell of wet tree bark.
    She’d meant to go directly across to the workshop, but instead she walked between the two boxwood pyramids and into the labyrinth.
    Here two-hundred-year-old cypresses were pruned into impenetrable walls. So tall a man couldn’t see over them. The puzzle of warrens and dead ends was so complicated anyone without prior knowledge of how to navigate the maze was lost. But Jac and Robbie knew the route by heart.
    At the maze’s center, two stone sphinxes waited for her. Once in a fit of laughter, she and Robbie had named them Pain and Chocolat—after their favorite breakfast croissant.
    Centered between the sphinxes was a stone bench. Jac sat. This had been her sanctuary as a girl. Where she fled to escape an angry parent or nanny, this green room was her hiding place. Here she was safe from everyone but Robbie. And she never minded when he came to keep her company.
    Jac felt tears threatening again. Knew they wouldn’t help. Forced herself to hold them back. She inhaled the sharp, clean smell, braced herself and stood.
    The ambient light from the courtyard illuminated the workshop. Robbie had taken sick more than two weeks ago, so it had been at least that long since the room had been ventilated. The air was heavy with a particular mélange of aromas that she knew so well. Each perfume studio had its own signature combination of smells created by the predominant notes that house or that nose gravitated to.
    These smells, here in the workshop, signified home to Jac in a way nothing else did—for both good and bad.
    This was where she’d sat at her