Page 16 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“It is not deep,” he notes while dabbing antiseptic on the cut. I hiss at the sting, my toes curling involuntarily. His nostrils flare in response. “But you should not walk barefoot out here. There are many hazards.”

“No kidding,” I mutter, watching his hands work. His movements are efficient, practiced. The bandage he applies is perfectly even, not too tight, nor too loose. “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Or something.” He secures the bandage and looks up at me. Those grey eyes are disconcerting for reasons I can’t begin to put into words. “You are the grandson.”

It’s not a question.

My stomach tightens.

“How do you know that?”

“Alberte’s cottage has been empty for many years. The village has been curious about who would finally claim it.” He closes the first aid kit with a soft click. “You do not look like him.”

I blink, a bit surprised. “You knew my grandfather?”

“I knew of him.” Camille rises to his feet fluidly, brushing invisible dust from his trousers. “Everyone here knew of Alberte Legrand.”

There’s something in the way he says my grandfather’s name—a weight, a history I don’t understand. I push myself up, wincing as I put weight on my bandaged foot.

“Thank you for the first aid,” I say, trying to ignore the strange vibe this guy gives off. “I’m Ryan, by the way.”

“Ryan,” he repeats my name slowly, as if tasting it. “You are American.”

“Well, yeah. I’m sure that’s obvious.”

His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but something close to it. “You will need many things for this place. The roof, for example. It leaks.”

I glance up at the cottage. From here, I can see the sagging roofline and the moss growing in the gutters.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“There is a hardware store in the village. They can order materials for you.” He pauses. “I can show you, if you like.”

The offer should feel generous, but there’s something far too calculating in his gaze that makes me hesitate. I don’t know this man. I don’t know why he’s being helpful. My experience has taught me that strangers don’t offer assistance without wanting something in return.

“I can find it myself,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “But thank you for the offer.”

“As you wish.” He steps back, creating distance between us. “But the store is closed on Tuesdays. And today is Tuesday.”

Of course it is. I resist the urge to laugh at my own bad luck.

“Then I’ll go tomorrow.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of the slightness of my frame compared to his. “Thanks again for the bandage.”

Camille studies me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “The cottage has been neglected for many years. Some of the damage may be… structural.” He chooses his words carefully. “Be careful where you step.”

With that cryptic warning, he turns and walks back toward the gap in the wall. I watch his retreating figure, trying to make sense of this weird encounter.

His warning about the structure hangs in the air between us like a question mark.

“Hey!” I call out before I can stop myself. “What do you mean by structural damage? Is it dangerous?”

He pauses but doesn’t turn around. “The foundation has shifted. The walls are… unstable in places. Your grandfather made… modifications that I’m not sure will hold up against the test of time.”

My stomach knots at his change of tone. “What kind of modifications?”

For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then he glances over his shoulder, eyes catching the light again.

“Alberte Legrand was not a typical man. His cottage reflects that.” He tracks the movement of my throat as I swallow, then adds, “There are spaces that perhaps should not be opened.”