by Amy Plum
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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THIRTY
THE MORNING PASSED QUICKLY, WITH THE FOUR of us wandering lazily through the little town and across the abandoned winter beach. After a lighthearted lunch, during which Geneviève banned any serious or depressing subjects, we headed to the harbor to where a sleek blue speedboat was moored between massive luxury yachts.
“Wow, I wonder whose that is,” Charlotte remarked. Then, leaping over the railing, she plopped herself down in the driver’s seat. “All aboard!” she yelled, and then cracked up when she saw my expression. “Don’t worry, Kate, it’s ours.” She patted the seat next to her. “Come on!”
We spent the next couple of hours speeding up and down the coast, the landscape shifting rapidly from magnificent beaches to vertiginous cliffs towering over the sea. Vincent leaned toward me at one point and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this ecstatically happy before.”
“It’s the closest thing I can think of to flying,” I admitted.
“To-do list with Kate,” he said to himself, looking satisfied. “More speedboats.”
After dinner that night, Vincent stood and took my hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m going out with Kate,” he told Geneviève and Charlotte. We walked down the steps from the terrace, past a covered swimming pool, and through a gate into the trees. After a minute, we reached a rocky outcrop with a perfect view of the bay.
“I’ve been coming here as long as I’ve known Jean-Baptiste,” he said, settling himself on the edge of the cliff and lifting his hand to pull me down next to him. “It’s his favorite home-away-from-home. He had it built in the 1930s, after he saw photos of Le Corbusier’s buildings. The house is amazing, but I’ve always come here—to this spot—when I needed to stop and remember what life was about.” He wrapped an arm around me and we sat quietly, our legs dangling over the side of the rocks, watching the lights of the boats shimmer on the water.
“Close your eyes and tell me what you hear,” he said, and waited.
I smiled. “Is this a game?”
“No, it’s a meditation.”
I shut my eyes and calmed my breathing, letting my senses take over. “I hear waves crashing. And the wind in the trees.”
“What do you smell?”
I switched senses. “Pine trees. Brine.”
He took my hand and ran my fingers over the stone we sat on. I responded without him asking. “Cold, smooth rock with little indentations all over, the size of my fingertips.” Opening my eyes, I breathed in the chilly sea air and tasted its pure flavor—such a change from the city air of Paris.
I felt nature move around me and through me, as my pulse slowed to the rhythm set by the crashing waves and staccato sea breeze. Our two insignificant human bodies became indecipherable from the titan agelessness of the elements around us. As we sat in silence, I knew Vincent was experiencing the same mesmerizing calm as me. Finally he spoke.
“You know how you meditate in front of paintings? Well, I do it in nature, when I need to remember that my universe isn’t fantasy fiction—that I still exist in the real world. And that my immortality isn’t some cosmic joke. This is the purest place I know. And what I feel here is the closest I’ve felt to happiness in all the years after my death.
“But now I have something that blows that feeling out of the water. Every time I need a hit of joy, I think about you. You are my solace, Kate. Just knowing that you are in this world, everything makes sense.”
He leaned forward and, smoothing my hair off my face, gave me a short, sweet kiss before continuing.
“I want us to work, Kate. That is why I’ve been searching for something—anything—to make our time together as easy as it can be. Without the pain that my regular revenant existence—that my deaths—would bring. And, although things might not look great on the surface, I do think I’ve found it.”
Although my heart leapt at his enthusiasm, a feeling of dread quashed my joy. This was going to be worse than I had imagined. Vincent was approaching the subject way too carefully, and the look in his eye said he was worried about how I would take it. Here it comes, I thought, and braced myself.
Vincent held my gaze. “You know how dying for humans satisfies a need within us? That saving people is our very purpose for being?”
I nodded, a bud of fear blossoming in my chest.
“Ancient texts call that ‘lifestyle’ the ‘Light Way,’” he said. “It is the natural order of things. It wipes the slate clean, giving us a year or so before we start feeling the pull again.
“But there is another way to assuage the need to die. It’s called the ‘Dark Way.’ It’s a temporary cure, and doesn’t bring us back to our death age. But some have been known to use it as a method to resist . . . when there is a dire enough reason to.”
I shivered, knowing that whatever it was, I didn’t want him to be doing it.
“Remember the energy transfer that Arthur got when he saved Georgia?”
“Yes.”
“Well, with the Dark Way the same principle applies, but in reverse. When a revenant kills a numa, we are temporarily infused with their energy.”
This is very, very bad, a voice inside my mind told me. Shuddering, I forced it to shut up and listen.
Vincent continued. “Historically speaking, there’s a good reason for this: If a wounded revenant is able to kill a numa in battle, the immediate power surge gives him enough strength to escape to safety. You saw how strong Arthur was after killing that numa in the alleyway. He got right up to his feet after sustaining a pretty serious wound. Since he received the numa’s energy, as well as the strength from saving Georgia, he didn’t suffer at all.”
I nodded, trying to wrap my mind around it. Even though most of the revenants’ rules for functioning sounded strange at first, they all had some sort of rational purpose behind them.
“So that’s one short-lived benefit of killing a numa. But on top of that, if the revenant hasn’t died for a while, it also alleviates that desire to die—scratching his itch, you could say.
“For one pursuing the Dark Way, killing numa on a regular, continual basis not only scratches the itch but prevents it. Completely. At least that is what Gaspard and Violette have concluded from the old texts. We don’t actually know of anyone who has tried it in recent times.”
“Why?” My voice was hollow. “Because it’s dangerous?”
“It’s not dangerous in and of itself.”
“Then why?”
“The idea itself is unappealing.” Vincent sighed deeply. He really didn’t want to talk about this. “Humans are good by nature. When we get their energy, it’s that positive power of their innate goodness that we’re infused with. Numa are evil, and so is their energy. So when we kill them, it’s the negative power of their rage that’s transferred.”
“That . . . evil . . . numa power . . . has been going into you?” I tried to hide the disgust in my voice. Vincent had been right to assume that the idea would freak me out. I wasn’t only freaked. I was deeply, intensely disturbed.
He nodded, quickly adding, “But it’s not like their character can rub off on me or anything. It won’t change me . . . make me evil or whatever. It just has these unfortunate side effects”—he touched the mottled shadow under his eyes—“but they’re not going to last. They mean my body is building up resistance.”
“Then why are you in an even more awful state this month than last?” I exploded. “If you’re building up resistance, shouldn’t it be getting better, not worse?”
“The texts say that it will work.”
“Damn the texts, Vincent.”
I rose to my feet, and Vincent followed my lead. “I have to walk,” I said, feeling like moving would disperse the storm clouds inside my head. I felt overwhelmed. And scared. And I honestly didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Vincent said, and taking my hand, he led me down the hill until we were walking on the sand, the tide lapping just a short distance from our feet. I couldn’t look at his face, and kept my gaze on our feet as we walked.
“Killing numa is an honorable thing,” he said finally. “We just don’t usually hunt them down and kill them for the pure purpose of achieving the Dark Way. But only because we are programmed to save humans—that is our primary reason for being.”
I felt so cold that my teeth were chattering, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Even if absorbing nasty”—I grimaced—“numa energy isn’t dangerous, doesn’t it worry you that all the numa in Paris are going to be after your head?”
“I pick them out when they’re on their own, and make sure that no one sees it happen. We destroy the bodies with fire, so there isn’t a trace left. As far as the numa know, their members are merely disappearing, not being slain.”
My horror was now tangible. It wasn’t just my teeth chattering—my whole body was trembling. “How long has this been going on?” I asked.
Noticing my shaking, Vincent pulled me to a stop and tried to draw me close to him, but I resisted. His forehead wrinkled in frustration. “Since just after the New Year,” he answered. “Six weeks. A few numa each week. Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard gave their approval, since they needed the surveillance work done anyway.”
“Do the others know about this?”
“One of their conditions was that I only do it while walking with the others. So, yes—Jules and Ambrose have been helping me.” Vincent looked steadily into my eyes.
“You’ve been hiding this from me because you were worried that it will change the way I think about you.” I watched him carefully.
His silence and the vulnerable look on his face confirmed my hypothesis. “So does it?” he asked.
“I’m calling this off,” I said, avoiding his question. “This is going way too far.”
“Kate, if this works, it’s our answer. I’ll be able to avoid death until . . .”
“Until I die,” I filled in the gap.
Vincent shook his head as if to banish the thought from his mind. “Isn’t the death of numa better than my own?”
“That’s not the issue. You risk being permanently dead if something goes wrong. If they catch you, they will destroy you. That is, if this Dark Way black magic doesn’t destroy you first with its scary side effects. Just look at you, Vincent. There has to be another way for us besides your single-handedly becoming the Numa Slayer.”
“Well, there’s not,” Vincent said with finality.
“What about my guérisseur, Vincent? You obviously haven’t investigated every possibility out there. And I’m not going to sit back and let you risk your immortal existence just for a chance that you and I can have a few good years together. At least you’ve got to let me search for an alternative. Something safe. As you yourself said, my life is short. Just a blip out of the centuries—who knows, the millennia, even—that you will live. You’re not going to risk all that for me.”
By this point we were facing each other on the beach, hands by our sides and fists clenched. As if echoing our emotions, the ocean wind picked up and blew a spray of seawater high in the air, showering us with ice-cold droplets that ran down my face like tears. Vincent took my hand and led me farther from the water, and then clasped my shoulders, pleading now.
“Without you, my immortal existence—as you call it—it’s just survival. That’s what it’s been so far, at least. But with you, Kate, I’m not just surviving. I’m actually living. I’d trade this one second with you”—he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against mine—“for a thousand years without you. And if I can stretch this second out to last a few decades . . . well, having my immortality extinguished seems a very fair trade.”
“I hate the thought of that energy being inside of you. And I can’t even bear the thought of what would happen if some vengeful numa caught you,” I said, determination running hot through my veins. “Finish this crazy experiment if you have to, but I will be looking for another way. If this guérisseur can’t find a solution, I’m just going to keep on searching.”
Vincent cocked his head, studying my face. “If that’s the way you feel, then we’ll both search. And when you return to the healer’s next week, I’m going with you.”
We stood for another minute—half-angry, half-relieved. Nothing had been resolved, but at least we were harboring no more secrets. So why did I feel further away from him than I ever had?
We ran back up the hill and escaped the wildly whipping ocean wind for the calm of the house. “Vincent?” I asked. “Stay with me tonight.”
I fell asleep with my fingers resting on Vincent’s cheek, and woke up twice during the night to see him lying on his back, watching the ceiling as I slept.
In the morning when I woke, he was gone. I walked into the kitchen to see him making coffee, a pan of eggs bubbling on the stove. Charlotte and Geneviève were already at the table, drinking coffee and eating croissants.
“Not even a cuddle?” I whispered as I gave him a good-morning hug in the kitchen.
“I might be supernatural, but I’m not made of steel, Kate,” he said, smiling. “And unless you changed your mind in the last twenty-four hours, I thought it safest to be in another room when you awoke.” He leaned in to give me a slow, warm kiss. “Does that make up for it?”
“For the moment,” I said, eyeing him coquettishly. He raised an eyebrow, grinning, and I took my cup of coffee from him and headed to the table.
The day passed in slow-paced luxury. We drove into Italy, turning off the coastal road to drive through rolling hills dotted with ruins of ancient villages. Stopping in the medieval hill town of Dolceaqua, Geneviève stocked up on olive oil and Charlotte on amaretti cookies before we headed to a simple but decadent lunch in a tiny five-table restaurant. Hearing the beautiful language spill effortlessly off Vincent’s tongue made me long for an extended Italian vacation with him. It was hard not to plan ahead. Hard to remember that we weren’t just a normal couple like the people sitting around us.
The weekend had gone too fast: When we got back to the house, it was already time to leave. We picked up our bags and squeezed into the Mini. “I wish we could stay another week,” I said, hugging Charlotte and Geneviève outside the airport.
“Come back whenever you can. As often as you can!” Charlotte said.
“Don’t worry,” Vincent said. “Kate won’t need much convincing.”
And waving good-bye, we made our way across the tarmac to where our plane waited to take us home. Back to reality.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
.....................................................................
THIRTY-ONE
I DRIFTED THROUGH THE NEXT DAY ON A CLOUD, my body in Paris, but my mind back in the house in Villefranche-sur-Mer. Memories of the weekend flitted in and out of my thoughts as I tried—and then stopped trying—to focus on my classes, my homework, and everything else that kept me from being where I wanted to be: with Vincent. Preferably wrapped in his arms.
As Ambrose, my Vincent-appointed guardian for the day, drove me home from school, I was so out of it that he had to tap me on the shoulder and tell me that my phone was ringing. It was Papy, and his voice was unusually tense. “Kate, do you think you could come straight to the gallery instead of going home?”
“Sure, Papy. What’s up?”
“I just need some help. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Ambrose parked across the street from the gallery and waited in the car. I walked in to find Papy talking to two men in police uniforms. He introduced me briefly. “Officers, this is my granddaughter Kate.” The men nodded, and Papy took my arm to lead me a few feet away.
“The gallery was robbed last night,” he said.
“What?” I gasped.
“It’s okay, dear. Everyth
ing was insured. It’s just very . . . bothersome. The store has never been broken into before.”
“What did they take?”
“A little bit of everything. All pieces that were easy to carry—none of my statues, thankfully.” Papy suddenly looked ten years older. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was hoping you could watch the shop while I went back to the station with the detective. They’re done with the on-site investigation. Now it’s just paperwork.”
“Sure, Papy,” I agreed, and a moment later he walked out the door with the two men, doing his little hat wave at me as they moved out of sight. I phoned Ambrose in the car to tell him that I had to gallery-sit for an hour or two, and he told me he was fine waiting—to take my time.
I looked around at the mess. The glass cases that had been broken were completely stripped of their contents. I tried to remember what they had held. Ancient jewelry, tiny Greek figurines, examples of Roman glass. It did seem quite random, as if they hadn’t known much about what they were taking, but were just interested in anything small enough to carry. Hoodlums instead of specialized art thieves, I thought.
And suddenly a tiny, red-hot needle of panic pierced my heart. I raced back to the stock closet and saw the shattered door standing open. The boxes inside were scattered, their contents dumped on the floor. I sifted through the books, looking for Immortal Love. Piece by piece, I pulled the contents of the closet out into the hallway as I searched until I was sure. The book was gone.
My thoughts returned to the week before, when Gwenhaël had told me about the numa finding the book centuries ago and making trouble for her family. A “very nasty occasion,” she had called it.
I fished around in my bag until I found the card that her son had given me. My hand shaking, I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.
“Bran, it’s Kate Mercier. I’m the one who visited your mother last week.”