by Amy Plum
“Mamie!” Georgia exclaimed, gasping, as my eyes filled with tears. But although they hurt, my grandmother’s words only poured kerosene on a flame of doubt that had already been threatening to spark into a full-on bonfire. Though Violette had planned to kill Vincent and overthrow the revenants, everything had come to a head because of my actions.
No one had mentioned it at La Maison. Vincent falling prey to Violette was completely her fault in the revenants’ minds. But I couldn’t help but wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn’t precipitated their showdown. I was going to have to live with that question. And the guilt.
Seeing my face, Mamie rose from her chair and came over to place a comforting hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to say it like that,” she conceded. “But we are all in this mess together now. The numa know who we are and where we live.” She paused and turned to Papy. “That’s why it seems to me that ordering our granddaughters to stay away from their revenant friends at this point in time would do more harm than good.”
“But, Emilie! How can you say that?” Papy exclaimed, rising to his feet.
“Because I have just returned from a long discussion with the head of France’s bardia, Monsieur Grimod de la Reynière.”
Papy’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “So that’s where you’ve been!” He stared incredulously at me and Georgia, looking like he couldn’t take much more.
Mamie continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And the two of us, along with his companion, a very knowledgeable historian, discussed the most prudent way of moving forward.”
My grandfather sank back into his seat with an expression like he had been slapped. “And that would be . . . ,” he prompted.
“It so happens that Monsieur Grimod had already set up a system where Kate would be escorted wherever she went. However, yesterday she and Georgia managed to elude that system by leaving school during a time the revenants thought they were safe.” Mamie threw me a look of disapproval, but I was already feeling so depressed and guilty that it didn’t have any effect.
“He too feels that if the numa had no knowledge of Kate or Georgia, the best course of action would be keeping them away from the revenants.”
Now I was the one who felt slapped. “How can he say that after he was the one who asked me to come back and talk to Vincent when we were broken up?”
“He admitted that to me, Kate,” Mamie responded. “He said that it was bad judgment on his part. That he was only thinking of Vincent because he had never seen him that distraught before. That one thinks of one’s own child in such circumstances, and that he was remiss to have not considered you and your safety.”
Papy gave a kind of harrumphing noise, signaling his displeasure.
“In any case, what is done is done, and we both agreed that at this point you are safer near the revenants than away from them. Actually, we all are. Monsieur Grimod says that at this moment Violette is intent upon war and they should consider any of their allies or contacts at risk, even though it is doubtful that she will maintain an interest in you girls now that she has Vincent.”
So. Jean-Baptiste hadn’t told Mamie that Violette could use me as bait to make Vincent obey her every whim. That was the real worry as far as I was concerned—the only reason she would be concerned with me in the least.
“Jean-Baptiste promised me that Kate and Georgia will have revenants watching them twenty-four/seven.” She turned to us. “Don’t worry, girls, you won’t even know that they’re there.”
“He’s assigning them both full-time bodyguards?” Papy asked, confused.
“Believe me, Antoine, Monsieur Grimod has a lot of revenants at his service. This will barely put a dent in his numbers. What do you feel about it?”
Papy glanced between the three of us, and then, crossing his arms over his chest, he exhaled a long, sad sigh. “Ma princesse,” he said, facing me. “I know that Vincent and his kind are here to help humanity. That he’s one of the good guys. If it weren’t for the fact that being close to him and his kindred put you in danger, I would count it an honor to be associated with them. But your safety means the world to me, and that changes everything in my mind.”
My grandfather paused, thinking. “If we asked you to relinquish Vincent and his kind, would you do it?” he asked me.
I couldn’t look him in the eyes. Massaging my forehead with my fingertips for a few seconds, I admitted, “No.”
“A truthful answer,” Mamie said. “Because of that I would rather we collaborate with Jean-Baptiste to keep you safe than to restrict you from seeing them like your Papy did.” My grandfather began to disagree, and Mamie put a hand up to signal peace. “Quite reasonably, darling, I don’t blame you for it one bit. But that drove Kate into their camp without our awareness.”
Papy sat back, defeated.
“Although it is the opposite of my natural inclinations,” my grandmother continued, “I feel it is best that you stay under the revenants’ protective care—as long as we know where you are at all times.” She turned to my grandfather. “Antoine, can you find your way to agreeing with me?”
My grandfather sat there looking miserable. “I don’t like it, but it makes sense. There’s no question the revenants can protect the girls better than we can. I will agree to this as a short-term plan, but I want you all to know that I feel very much backed into a corner, and that it is not what I wanted in the least.”
“We all know that,” Mamie allowed, and then turned to us. “Girls, do we have your word that you will not try to shake off your guards like you did yesterday—or leave the house like today, unless you are accompanied?”
Georgia and I agreed.
“Well, then. We have an understanding.”
I went to hug my grandmother, and when I leaned over I whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry, Mamie.”
“So am I, dear Katya,” she replied. From the troubled look in her eyes, I knew she wasn’t talking about my actions. She was sorry that I had lost Vincent, but even sorrier that I had met him in the first place.
TEN
I AWOKE THINKING, DAY TWO. VINCENT’S SECOND day as a disembodied spirit, and we were no closer to freeing him from Violette.
Ugh. Violette. Just her name made me sick, a word evoking a tiny, delicate purple flower. Change a few letters, though, and you had “Violent.” “Violate.” The desire for revenge flared inside me. I wanted to hurt her. To repay her for the betrayal and murder she had inflicted on the bardia and on me.
I swallowed the lump of bitterness in my throat and tasted bile. All my life, I had never really hated anyone. Okay, I had hated my parents’ killer—a drunk driver—but she had been an abstract, anonymous person who I never met. Now my hatred had a face. A name. And I felt its venom burning in my veins.
It actually felt good. Because when I focused on revenge, it made me forget my despair. The horrifying emptiness and sorrow I had been feeling—the knowledge that I would never touch Vincent’s hand, face, mouth again, never hear his low voice calling me his pet names—was temporarily submerged by the loathing I felt for the person who had done this to him.
Stop, I commanded myself. Giving in to my hatred wasn’t going to do anything for Vincent, only for me. And even if I did manage to pay Violette back, I would still be left with my loss. I had to think beyond my rage.
Yesterday, in Jeanne’s room, I had resolved to find a solution. There had to be something I could do. Some kind of secret I could uncover to free Vincent. Maybe even to bring him back. My thoughts raced with possibilities. There could be hope for him. For us!
But as quickly as the thought occurred to me, a come-to-your-senses-Kate reality check snatched away my optimism. Revenants could regenerate injured or severed body parts, but not a whole body. And if there was any way they could, Vincent’s kindred would already know about it.
Maybe not, I told myself. Maybe Bran knew something the bardia didn’t. At the very least, there had to be a way to free Vincent from his
bond to Violette. I was going to try. That resolution propelled me out of bed and into my clothes, and when I looked at my phone and saw Jules’s text, I was ready.
I am once again embodied, and able to give you an update. Unfortunately the update is that there is no news. JB thinks it’s best if you and G spend the day here. I’m off to hunt for Vincent. Your escorts are waiting downstairs.
I tapped on Georgia’s door. “Entrez,” she called. To my surprise, my sister was awake, dressed, and fully made up. The terrible swelling on her face had gone down, and with the expert job she had done with concealer, all you could see was a few mottled yellow marks along her cheek and jawline.
I nodded at her clock. “Eight a.m. Saturday. Any other day I would think you had just gotten home from your night out. But since I witnessed you in your pajamas last night . . .”
“We’re going to La Morgue, right?” she asked. Peering into her dresser mirror, she sprayed some mousse on her fingers and ran them through her hair.
“La Morgue?” I asked.
“I mean La Maison, of course,” she said with a wry smile. “Slip of the tongue. All those dead guys, you know.”
I shook my head, bemused. “Yes, actually. Jules texted that JB thought we should spend the day there.”
“Hmm. I kind of figured he would,” she said, applying one last swipe of blusher and turning to me. “So . . . let’s go?”
Mamie was waiting in the kitchen. She raised an eyebrow when she saw us come to the table fully dressed. “I take it you have heard of today’s invitation to ‘La Maison,’ as you call it.” She set the press coffeemaker on the table and, pouring herself a cup, sat down.
“Your Papy went early to the gallery, and Monsieur Grimod just phoned. We both agree it’s best if you girls spend the day in the protection of his house—while Violette is on the loose in Paris, of course,” she said.
Her voice was calm, but she was clutching her tiny espresso cup so tightly I was surprised the handle didn’t pop off. She knew she was doing the right thing but didn’t like it one bit. I gave her a little hug and tossed back a glass of grapefruit juice while Georgia gulped down some black coffee. “Can we take these with us?” I asked, holding up a croissant.
“Of course. I’ll walk you girls downstairs,” Mamie said, standing and smoothing her skirt briskly before shooing us toward the door.
“Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” I asked. Her exaggerated show of calmness was freaking me out.
“Monsieur Grimod invited me as well, but I would prefer to stay here and work rather than sit around someone else’s house all day. He promised to have his people watch our building, just as he has for your Papy’s gallery. So don’t worry about us,” she said.
Ambrose and Arthur were waiting outside our door. “Bonjour, Madame Mercier,” they called, and she smiled graciously at them. “What polite boys,” she said approvingly, and stood at the door watching us until we turned a corner and I lost sight of her.
Arthur offered Georgia his arm, but she pretended she didn’t notice, pointing at a movie poster on the side of the news kiosk and chatting with him about the latest Hollywood blockbusters. Ambrose chuckled and winked at me, “Your sister’s driving the poor guy crazy.” He bit into the croissant that Georgia had given him, devouring half the pastry in one bite.
“Yeah, that’s her forte,” I commented drily. “So—update. I mean, Jules gave me a no-news update, but give me details of the non-news.” I nibbled the end of my own flaky croissant and licked the crumbs off my lips.
“We’ve been out all night, combing Paris for Violette and company. No luck,” he said, looking bothered. “It’s like she just disappeared. Jules is still on it, though, along with Charlotte, Geneviève, and the entirety of Paris’s revenants.”
“Besides you and Arthur,” I pointed out.
“And Franck, volant.” He gestured to the air above us. “Yeah, the three of us were tagged to watch you and defend La Maison against any ‘surprise attack.’” He accented these last two words with finger quotes, obviously annoyed to be left out of the action.
“Well, once we get Georgia to La Maison, I can go with you to join the hunt. I’m sure that with all of the security you guys have, Arthur can hold down the fort.”
Ambrose looked doubtful. “Yeah, you might want to ask Gaspard about that,” he responded, clearly thinking it was a bad idea.
“So Gaspard isn’t out with the search parties?” I asked.
“No. He and JB are questioning Bizarro Man,” he replied. “Trying to find a way to detach Vincent from Violette, and pry any other guérisseur secrets out of him.”
So, JB and Gaspard were thinking along the same lines as I: Bran might know something that could help Vincent. A little balloon of hope inflated in my chest. I felt like running the rest of the way to La Maison, but Arthur and Ambrose acted like we had all the time in the world.
We hadn’t walked two blocks when Arthur stopped suddenly and glanced behind us. “Numa,” he said. “Franck says that there were two in the park across from the Mercier home. He didn’t spot them until they started following us.”
“Don’t look back,” Ambrose said, as I did just that. A pair of young guys in hoodies, looking totally normal except for the colorless numa aura encircling them, were turning out of the park and onto the rue du Bac. They weren’t even trying to hide the fact that they were trailing us, and they met my gaze unwaveringly.
“Flight or fight?” Ambrose asked Arthur, smiling widely as he patted the leather sheath strapped to his waist under his long coat.
An elderly woman supported on the arm of a uniformed home-care worker hobbled slowly past us toward the numa. Arthur raised one eyebrow. “With human witnesses? You’re not really asking me that question,” he responded. “Either we walk faster to avoid a confrontation, or we wait to find out what they want.”
Arthur and Ambrose turned and pulled together, creating a defensive wall in front of me and Georgia. Just as quickly, the numa turned and crossed the street to walk down a tiny side alley, acting like they had never seen us. But before they were out of sight, one of them turned and, smirking, saluted us.
“Oh-kaaay,” Ambrose drawled, staring after the numa in confusion.
“That was a warning,” Arthur said. “They only wanted us to know they were there. Let’s go.” He held his arm out again, and this time Georgia quickly took it. Ambrose wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder, and we walked at a hurried pace to La Maison.
Gaspard met us at the front door. “Franck came ahead to inform us of your visiting party,” he said, bustling us all inside. “Who knows what game those numa were playing? We’ve had no word from—or sign of—their leader.”
We walked into the front hallway and Ambrose lurked just inside the door, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, showing his displeasure at being excluded from the action. I knew what he was feeling; I felt the same.
“Gaspard,” I said, taking the older revenant aside, “have you discovered anything from Bran that will help Vincent?”
“Unfortunately, no, Kate. But we aren’t done discussing the matter.”
I felt my little balloon of hope pop and wither. But I wasn’t done trying. “I know you promised my grandparents to protect us,” I continued. “But I think the best way of doing that is letting me go with Ambrose to join the hunt teams. Two more people could really help the search.”
Gaspard began shaking his head, but I continued. “You know I can defend myself now. I’ll suit up just in case, though, and promise to stay out of the action if there is any.”
“If Kate’s going, I’m going, too. I’m sure I can fight just as well as she can,” Georgia piped up.
Ambrose stared at her bug-eyed for a minute and then started laughing so hard that he was wiping away tears.
A flush of red crept from my sister’s neck up her face. “What?” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, but that’s about the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” he
gasped, playfully punching Georgia on the shoulder. “You . . . fighting? Girl, you crack me up.”
“In fact, I was going to ask Gaspard today if he would start training me,” she said, stubbornly folding her arms across her chest.
That sent Ambrose into another fit of giggles. Seeing how mad he was making my sister, he covered his mouth and turned away.
“I would be honored to train you, my dear,” replied Gaspard. “But today is not the day to start. I have more pressing matters to attend to, and Kate must actually come with me.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Bran has been asking for you in particular, my dear. You seem to be a comfort to him. Since you met his mother, he sees you as a kind of living bond with her.”
Arthur spoke up. “If Georgia would accept a lesser master for her first lesson, I would be pleased to instruct her in fight training.”
“A very good idea,” replied Gaspard, and, turning, he started his way up the staircase toward the library. I began to follow him, but paused as I heard Ambrose cackle, “Now this is something I have got to see.” He clapped Georgia across the shoulders and shook her playfully. “Mind if I come watch?”
“Has this all been decided without my consent?” Georgia said frostily. “I asked for Gaspard. He’s the fight master.”
A light glimmered in Arthur’s eye, and lowering himself to one knee in front of Georgia, he took her hands in his. “Ma chère mademoiselle, may I have the sincere pleasure of being the one you choose to introduce you to the art of combat? I would consider it the greatest honor.”
She glanced at where I stood watching halfway up the staircase, lifting her eyebrows as if to ask my opinion. I shrugged, stifling a laugh.
Returning her gaze to the ancient revenant on his knee in front of her, Georgia stared doubtfully at Arthur for a moment, and then smiled. “Well, crap. When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” And she lifted him up from his kneeling position and placed her hand lightly on his arm.
