by Amy Plum
“Ah, thanks for the information,” I said, quickly extricating myself from what threatened to be a long and painful conversation. I waved as I left, and she waved back, calling, “Come back in two weeks. Two and a half, maybe, just to be safe.”
The next Saturday, just after noon, I was lying in Vincent’s room when I got a call from Ambrose. “Guess who I ran into, Katie-Lou? Or who ran into me, rather, and has appropriated my café table until I agree to comply with her wishes.”
I smiled. “Pass Georgia the phone.”
My sister’s voice, complete with fake Southern accent, came across the line. “Hi, little sister. My lunch date bailed, but fortunately I ran into this hunk o’ burnin’ love, and he has gallantly offered to escort me around town today. I hadn’t planned on doing anything really, but I figure it would be a waste not to show him off.”
I could hear Ambrose’s voice from behind her. “I told you I was busy today. No offense, but I have other things to do than take you to an afternoon-long artist-studio tour.”
“Oh shush,” I heard my sister chide. “You know you want to. With all the cute hip art chicks we’ll meet, you’ll be thanking me in a few hours.”
I laughed. “Where are you?”
“At the Café Sainte-Lucie. Oh, and Ambrose said you would all come along to Sebastien’s gig tonight.” Damn. I had totally forgotten to tell Vincent about the concert.
“I did not!” I heard Ambrose’s retort. “I only said I would ask Vincent….”
“Tell Vincent Ambrose wants to go,” Georgia said, ignoring him. “Oh, and tell Jules and Arthur to come too. Seb’s group’s opening for a really good British band. I can get everyone in.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s anywhere near Denfert,” I said, recalling the numa-infested neighborhood where Lucien’s club had been.
“Nope. It’s on rue des Martyrs near all the other live-music venues. Just south of Montmartre,” she responded. “Ambrose wants the phone back.”
“I just want to make it clear that I didn’t commit us to anything,” Ambrose boomed in his baritone voice. My phone beeped as another call came through. It was from Georgia’s number. I put Ambrose on hold.
“I wasn’t through talking.” I heard her giggle as Ambrose grabbed her phone away. “Just make sure you’re there. Nine p.m. Divans du Monde,” she yelled as both her and Ambrose’s numbers disappeared off my screen.
“You think Ambrose is safe in the hands of your force-of-nature sister?” asked Vincent from across the room. I was lying on his couch with a Modern European Society textbook propped on my chest. It was a part of my deal with Papy and Mamie: I could spend most of the weekend at Vincent’s house as long as I got my homework done.
Since I had no clue what I would do after high school, I had forbidden Vincent to bring up the topic. But I assumed it would include some sort of higher education. And now that I had a good reason to stay in Paris, I needed to keep my grades up to have my choice of universities. Even so, a year and a half seemed a lifetime away, and with Vincent nearby, it was hard to stay focused.
“Georgia’s just manipulated us into going to hear her boyfriend’s band tonight,” I said, settling back into my history book.
“Great idea,” Vincent responded, looking back down at his laptop. “Arthur and Violette need to learn to loosen up.”
I didn’t mention that Georgia had left Violette out of the invitation—purposely, I was sure. Maybe a night out with Georgia would clear things up between the two—if they could both remain civil throughout the evening. I thought of their opposing personalities and squirmed.
“Besides, I haven’t met Georgia’s new man yet,” Vincent continued. “I should have already checked him out by now for numa connections.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. “Besides his tragic hipness, he seems pretty harmless,” I said, turning a page in my book. I gave him a playful grin and said, “Come here for a second.”
“Oh no you don’t,” he responded, his lips curving mischievously. “I have to finish this email to Charlotte, and you have to finish your European history.”
“But dating you is like having my own walking, talking history book. I don’t need to study. I didn’t even research my last two papers. I just sat back and listened to you talk.”
“Yeah, well, your teacher might find it a bit suspicious if you dragged me along to feed you answers on the exam.”
“Hey—that’s a really great idea!” I said, meaning it. “What if you’re volant during finals?”
Vincent shook his head in despair and turned back to his screen.
“No, really, come here just for a minute,” I said innocently. “I have a really important question about the Second World War.”
“Okay,” he sighed. He pressed send and closed the laptop, then came over to sit next to me. It had been only a few days since his last dormancy, and already the dark circles were starting to form under his eyes. His fatigue lent an air of fragility to his normally bursting-with-vitality demeanor. It made me want to protect him from whatever was hurting him. As if reading my mind, he eyed me carefully. “So … what’s the question?”
Tearing my eyes from his face, I glanced back at the page for inspiration. “So I’m reading about the Resistance fighters who would ride their bikes from Paris out to you guys—the Maquis—in the countryside to pass you orders from the central command.”
Vincent nodded. “It was dangerous. Messengers were sometimes caught. So they chose people who wouldn’t be suspected by the German soldiers. Women and children were often given the job.” He hesitated. “So what’s your question?”
“It’s kind of specific,” I said, playing for time as I searched for something to ask. His proximity was what I wanted, but it sure didn’t help me focus.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed, and a doubtful smile formed on his lips.
“Um, did you Maquis guys ever get lonely while you were hiding out in the forests and planning ambushes on the Germans?” I reached out my hand and began playing with the back of his hair as I slowly pulled his face toward mine.
“What does this have to do with your homework?” he asked skeptically.
“Nothing,” I replied. “I was just wondering what would have happened if I had been this sexy Resistance messenger who came from Paris to meet you in the woods. At night.”
“Kate,” Vincent said, eyes wide with amused bewilderment. “This is the lamest procrastination scheme I have ever heard. It almost counts as entrapment.”
“So, I ride up on my old wartime bike to your camp,” I continued, ignoring his protest. “Keep in mind, you haven’t seen another human for weeks. What do you do, soldier boy?” I said, doing my best Greta Garbo impersonation.
Vincent leapt on me, pushing me backward onto the couch and kissing me enthusiastically all over as I dissolved into a fit of hysterics.
TWENTY-ONE
VIOLETTE AND ARTHUR WERE WAITING FOR US next to the club’s front door. Dressed appropriately for a night out, Arthur, for once, looked his original age. He wore a band T-shirt lent to him by Vincent, over some black jeans. Without his regular button-up shirt and ascot, he was actually pretty hot. Too bad he’s an aristocratic snob, I thought as I saw Georgia look him over appreciatively, managing to completely ignore Violette’s presence as she did.
The little revenant walked up to me and kissed my cheeks. “We have not had a movie date in a whole week!” she said, reprimanding me with a joking smile.
“I know. We have to plan something soon.”
She glanced at Vincent, who was standing next to me talking to Arthur, and then back to me. From her expression, I could tell she wanted to ask me something. I took a step away from him and lowered my voice. “Yes?”
“I had been thinking about that book you found at your Papy’s place. The Immortal Love one. Gaspard actually has a copy of it, but it’s missing. Do you happen to have it?”
I felt my face redden. Damn! Once I had gotten what I
needed from it, I had totally forgotten about the book. Why can’t I just tell her? Because I’ d look like a thief. “No,” I answered.
“Paris’s revenants use Jean-Baptiste’s collection like a lending library: They never leave a note when they take things. It’s so frustrating!” Violette actually stomped her foot like a spoiled child, and I had to press my lips together hard not to laugh.
“Come on!” my sister yelled from where the bouncer was checking his list. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s go,” Vincent said, taking my hand as the bouncer held the door open and we filed into the darkened room.
Our group stood near the front of a packed room, watching Sebastien’s band play on a raised stage draped with leopard-skin curtains. Between us and the band were a pack of teenage girls, dancing and watching the musicians adoringly.
Jules had brought a date—some gorgeous foreign model-looking type. They had walked in soon after we arrived, her cattish eyes looking sleepy as she poutily scanned the crowd from the protection of his arm.
“This is Giulianna,” he offered, introducing her as I joined them at the bar.
“Ciao,” she said, and turned to order a drink.
As Jules gave me cheek-kisses, he whispered, “She has nothing on you, of course, Kates. It’s just that you’re so very … taken.” He winked and put his arm around the Italian bombshell, leaning in to yell his order to the bartender.
“You okay, Ambrose?” I asked, picking up the Perriers I had bought. He leaned tiredly against the bar with a tomato juice in one hand.
“Gonna be dormant later tonight,” he said. “Plus, I think I’ve met my match with your sister. I haven’t felt this exhausted in decades.”
I gave him a knowing smile and carried the drinks back to where Vincent stood with Georgia. “I see some friends,” she said. “Be back in a few.” And she disappeared into the crowd.
Vincent looked tense as I handed him his drink. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s just that I always feel exposed when we go places like this without someone volant along to scope out the surrounding area.” He tried to look more relaxed and even started nodding along to the music, but I could tell he was worried.
“It’s a safe enough neighborhood, isn’t it?”
“Normally I would say yes. But it seems like we’ve been playing without any rules lately.” He caught my look. “Don’t worry—I’m sure everything’s fine.”
When I had filled Georgia in about all things revenant after the fateful showdown with Lucien, she had sworn not to tell a soul. I knew their secret was safe with her. Although my sister had her faults, when she made me a promise, I knew she would keep it. And as far as my hanging out with a group of immortals, all she cared about was that they were nice to me.
So when Georgia introduced everyone after the show, it was clear that Sebastien didn’t have a clue what Vincent was. And Vincent, after almost a century of practice, was a pro at acting human.
Georgia gave me a happy check-it-out-our-boyfriends-get-along look. I turned to say good-bye to Jules and Giulianna, who were leaving with a tired-looking Ambrose, and then checked my watch. It was almost midnight. In a few short hours he would be lying on his bed, stone-cold dead. No wonder he hadn’t brought a date.
The bartender locked the front door behind them and began cleaning up as we stood around and waited for Sebastien to unplug amps and finish things up with his band. “I know you wanted to go out after, but it’s taking them forever,” I finally told my sister. “I think we’re all ready to leave.”
“Just a sec,” Georgia said. She skipped over to where Sebastien and his group were working, gave him an enthusiastic kiss, and began making arrangements. I glanced around to see Violette and Arthur standing against the wall, looking like they’d rather be anywhere except here. If they had enjoyed the evening, they sure weren’t letting it show. As we made our way to the back door, they followed silently behind.
“So I’m meeting Seb and his band at a bar just a few blocks away. Wanna come?” Georgia asked, directing the question at me and Vincent and ignoring the fact that the others were even with us.
“What do you feel like, Kate?” Vincent asked, putting his arm around me as we exited the building and began walking down the tiny cobblestone alleyway toward the main street.
“I’m pretty tired,” I admitted.
“We’ll walk you to the bar and wait till Sebastien arrives,” Vincent said, throwing his free arm around my sister.
“I won’t say no to a revenant escort,” she said, “not that this neighborhood’s dangerous or anything.”
“I beg to differ,” came Violette’s voice from just behind.
We turned to see four dark shapes walking toward us down the alley. A wave of ice-cold fear washed over me. Numa. After two months of near invisibility, here they were, looking larger than life as they bore down on us with a steady but rapid pace.
Vincent and Arthur drew their swords from their coats so quickly that I didn’t even see them move. It’s a good thing it’s winter, I thought. Where would you hide a two-foot rapier wearing shorts and flip-flops?
Vincent handed me his sword and drew another from inside his coat, before shrugging off the garment and throwing it to one side. I saw Violette’s blade flash under the lone streetlight as she dropped her down-filled coat to the ground. She too had come prepared.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Georgia start to panic as she tried the doors of the adjoining buildings, pulling forcefully at their handles. She shrieked a curse as she realized that everything was locked. “Stay behind us,” I yelled with a shaking voice, just as the first two numa arrived and began swinging their swords at Vincent and Arthur.
I knew what I was supposed to do. We had gone over it in my weaponry lessons. As the least experienced, I was expected to act as the second line of defense. If forced, I should fight. If not, I should stand behind Vincent or anyone else who had already been doing this for several lifetimes. I held my sword in front of me, bouncing nervously on the balls of my feet, ready to spring if I needed to. Be calm, I thought, pushing the fear into a far corner of my mind. Get into the rhythm.
Vincent had led his numa to one side of the alleyway and was fighting it with a fury that made my blood feel like it was shooting instead of flowing through my veins. Once again, I saw him as the avenging angel that he had been for much of the last century.
Violette had faced off with another numa, using the same martial arts skills I had seen Charlotte practice to make up for the drawback of her tiny frame. Her assailant was struggling just to keep up. She would have the advantage in no time.
Arthur was fighting the other two numa, using himself as a shield to keep them away from me and Georgia. I assumed that his strategy was to stall until either Violette or Vincent could dispatch their foe and join him to even up the odds. He seemed to be succeeding until, with one concerted effort, the two attackers pushed past his blade and leapt by him to land right in front of me.
I held up my sword just in time to meet the numa’s as it crashed down toward my head, and then jumped aside to let him follow through. His blade slid down mine, and the tip smashed the ground. Arthur dashed past me toward Georgia, following the second numa who had gone straight for her. I didn’t have time to glance her way but knew that Arthur could defend her better than I could. I had my own numa to concentrate on, and only two seconds to skip backward away from him as he recovered his balance.
I can’t do this. As the thought flashed through my mind, I had a panic-induced out-of-body experience. I felt like I was up in the air looking down at myself: a teenage girl standing in an alleyway brandishing a sword at a man almost twice her size. I can’t, I thought again. I’m too afraid to move.
My enemy righted himself and started toward me. I looked up into his cold, murderous eyes, and that was all it took. I felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart thumping in my chest. And suddenly I
was in the zone. With a yell that I didn’t realize was coming from my own throat until it stopped, I began moving, slashing, dancing backward and leaning from side to side to avoid his flying sword before lunging back toward him and chopping at his torso. He was able to match each of my moves, but I also met his.
Time stood still as our battle raged on, until all of a sudden my foe was down on the ground. Vincent stood behind him, his sword run through the numa’s chest.
I instinctively swung around, my sword held before me as I scanned the alleyway for any remaining danger. Violette stood a few yards away, pushing her foot against a crumpled heap on the ground, using her weight as leverage to pull her sword out of the motionless body. Vincent had taken out his own enemy as well as mine.
And Georgia was sitting curled up in a little ball inside a doorway, as Arthur dragged himself down, back to the wall, into a sitting position next to her. He held his upper arm in his hand, blood flowing freely through a large tear in his shirt at his shoulder. He kicked at something next to his foot, and his slain numa’s dismembered head rolled away, settling to rest against its body.
I ran to Georgia as she uncurled. As if in a daze, she stretched a hand toward Arthur. “Are you okay?”
He looked surprisingly strong for being badly wounded as he glowered at the decapitated body. “I’ll be fine,” he growled.
The others rushed over. Vincent took a look at the wound and then pulled off his T-shirt and wrapped it around Arthur’s shoulder, binding it tightly underneath the arm.
Violette smoothed her hand comfortingly through Arthur’s hair and pulled out her phone. “Jean-Baptiste? They are back in action. We have four dead numa here—up near Montmartre. Should we just leave them, or do you want to send someone for the bodies?”