by Amy Plum
“That won’t be necessary,” came a deep voice from behind us. Vincent stepped through the open door, his face like the sky before a devastating storm. My captor’s partner threw himself across the room, and then staggered backward as Vincent’s fist connected with his jaw. He fell and lay motionless on the floor.
The numa holding me jerked me to his side, his hand clamped around my arm like a vise. “We’re just having a little chat with your girlfriend. No need for you to get involved.”
“Let her go,” Vincent said in a lowered voice, his quick, urgent glance at me piercing my heart with its concern. “Let both of them go. Anything you have to talk about can be discussed alone with me.”
“But you see, we don’t want you,” the numa said, his lip curling in mockery. “Not this time.”
“What issue do you have with the girl?” Vincent growled.
“You mean, besides the fact that she destroyed our former leader? But that’s of no importance now. She has information that we want.” The numa raised his free hand to my neck. “So I would advise that you stay where you are while she answers my question—or my hand might just slip.”
The feel of his skin against mine made me want to puke. With a gesture prompted more from disgust than from fear, I struggled and managed to kick him hard in the shin, but he only laughed and grabbed me tighter, pulling me firmly toward the back of the gallery, away from Vincent.
The metallic sound of a sword leaving its sheath split the air and brought my captor to a halt. Vincent’s eyes burned like coals as he lifted an evil-looking saber.
The numa started in shock, his fingers digging painfully into my skin, and sputtered, “You wouldn’t. Not in front of a human!” He glanced toward Papy, whose startled expression revealed that, though he might not have heard the rest of the repartee, he had definitely registered the last few words.
“I would, actually. With pleasure,” Vincent replied, and brought the curved sword up into the light as he took a step toward us.
The numa staggered slightly back, dragging me with him. “Why would you risk exposing us and yourself …,” he began to ask, his face contorted in confusion.
Vincent’s voice was as sharp as the steel in his hand. “Starting here and now, all rules are forgotten. On behalf of your kind, you just declared war.”
My captor weighed the situation. And then—just like that—he released his hold on me. Keeping a safe distance from Vincent’s blade, he moved toward his fallen partner, who had just begun to stir. Giving him a motivational kick, he shoved him toward the door. Pausing on the doorstep, he glared at me. “We will be seeing you again. Au revoir, Kate Mercier.” And with that, he followed his companion down into the street.
My grandfather sprang into action, slamming and dead-bolting the gallery door and pulling a thick curtain across the windows.
“What did they want?” Vincent asked urgently. He sheathed his sword and tucked it back under his coat.
“The guérisseur,” I whispered, suddenly feeling crippled by the thought that my actions—however well-meaning—had brought this upon us. Jules had been right. I had walked into their world and brought danger right back out with me.
Vincent saw my expression and reached for me, but froze as Papy’s sharp words echoed through the room. “Do not touch my granddaughter.” He approached us slowly. Carefully.
And there we stood in the low-lit gallery. Glowing dust motes spiraled upward, lit by the cracks of sunlight spilling in from the curtains’ edges. The three of us were motionless, staring at one another as the rows of ancient statues looked on. My grandfather’s face held an expression that was completely foreign to it. There was no kindness. No gentility. He stared coldly at Vincent as if he were a complete stranger.
Finally he spoke. “What are you?” The three words were crisp and concise and demanded a response.
Vincent’s eyes flickered to me. I saw how Papy was watching him and knew there wasn’t any way out. If Vincent’s sword hadn’t already alerted my grandfather that something was amiss, the numa had definitely exposed us with his words. I gave my head the slightest of nods.
“Revenant,” Vincent said, looking Papy straight in the eyes.
To my grandfather’s credit, he didn’t even flinch. “And those men who attacked Kate?”
“Numa.”
The word seemed to freeze in the air and hang suspended between the three of us before exploding on the arrow of Papy’s response. “Out.”
“Sir, I—” Vincent started, and at the same time I blurted, “But Papy—”
“Out!” My grandfather’s voice cut us off. “Get out of here. Out of my granddaughter’s life. How dare you expose Kate to mortal danger. How dare you bring these monsters through our door. Get out and stay out.”
“No!” I cried, and running to Papy, grabbed his arms and waited until his eyes lowered from Vincent to me. “Papy, no. Vincent’s …” All my arguments flashed through my mind and fell away as I realized that they were useless. Vincent was protecting me, or It’s already too late, the numa know who I am. Nothing I could say would convince Papy. Because he was right: I was in danger because of Vincent. I settled for one true statement—the only one that my grandfather couldn’t refute. “I love him.”
Papy freed his captive arms and wrapped them around me, hugging me as if he had lost me for years and then found me again. After a second, he held me away and said, tenderly but seriously, “Kate, you may think you love him. But he’s not even human.”
“He’ s not the bad guy,” I insisted. “They are.”
Papy glanced over my head at Vincent, who hadn’t moved. “I know, darling. I know about them. At least I’ve studied them, along with every other mythical character that shows up in the ancient arts. Although I wasn’t convinced that they actually existed.” His voice became cold with this last statement, and I pulled away from him to face Vincent.
Vincent’s eyes—still locked in my grandfather’s gaze—looked hollow. “Kate, your grandfather’s right. My presence in your life has put you in danger.”
I felt like someone had grabbed me by the throat. “Stop it!” I yelled. “Both of you—stop right now.” I stomped my foot, and both men started as if I had slapped them. Now that I had their attention, I began to talk.
“Papy, Vincent saved my life. He’s the one who moved me out of the way of the falling stones at the café last year. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here now for you to be fighting over.” My grandfather’s face remained hard, but his fists unclenched. Knowing he was absorbing my words, I continued.
“Grandpère,” I pleaded, “do you want me to be like I was before? Depressed? Grieving? Living in the past with no company besides my dead parents’ ghosts? Vincent not only saved my life, he helped me find my way back to the world of the living.”
“That’s quite an accomplishment for someone who is undead,” Papy said dryly.
Vincent just stood there, looking like he didn’t know what to say, but his hands were open as if he was trying to beam me support through the five feet of space that separated us. He’s not even worried about himself, I thought. All he cares about is how I come out of this. I launched myself toward him, wrapping myself around his neck, and felt his arms encircle me carefully.
“Vincent, this is my gallery, and I will ask you to leave it now,” Papy demanded.
Vincent gently unwound me from him and, taking my hand in his, turned to face Papy. “I would ask that—before you come to a conclusion—you discuss this alone with Kate. I will live by any decision the two of you make together.”
Taking my head in his hands, he kissed me lightly on the lips. “I’ll call you later,” he said softly. Then, giving Papy a polite bow, he walked to the door, flipped the lock open, and disappeared onto the street.
My tears were falling in earnest as I felt Papy’s gentle hands on my shoulders. “Ma princesse,” he said mournfully. “Whatever have you gotten yourself into?”
THIRTY-TH
REE
PAPY ORDERED ME TO SIT DOWN AND SPENT THE next fifteen minutes closing the gallery early. We were both jumpy on the walk home—waiting for the numa to double back and come for us. I felt like telling my grandfather that sending Vincent away before he could escort us safely to our house might not have been the smartest idea, but by that point I was keeping my thoughts to myself.
Then, halfway there, I saw Ambrose in a phone booth pretending to be deep in conversation, although I knew full well that he never left home without his cell phone. He winked as I walked by, and I suspected that Vincent had provided us with ample protection. When I spotted Gaspard sitting in a café reading a book, and he raised an eyebrow as we passed, I was sure of it.
Once home, Papy and I headed directly to his office. “Kate,” he said gravely, as I posed nervously on a leather armchair, “do you even know what Vincent is?”
I nodded. “I know everything, Papy. Or at least, I know a lot. But how do you know about them? You can’t tell me you just jumped from studying mythological beings to believing they exist. You didn’t even blink when Vincent told you what he was.”
My grandfather sighed, walked to his bookcase, and, after searching for a minute, pulled out the old bestiary. He laid it on the low, round table between us and opened it, flipping through until he found the right page.
“This, my dear,” he said, gesturing toward the book, “is the only record of a revenant in my entire library. I have seen them mentioned in other texts, but as soon as books or works of art concerning revenants come onto the market, they are snatched up for astronomical prices. The buyers are a secret network of private collectors using obviously fictional names and paying in cash. We antiquities dealers know to contact them if we come into possession of anything of that nature.
“None of the dealers talk about the revenant-theme collectors—not even among ourselves; our clients have made it clear that if we discuss their interest with anyone they will no longer do business with us. All literary traces of revenants have disappeared into these buyers’ collections. So of course it occurred to me that there might be a reason for the secrecy—beyond an extremely competitive market.”
I met Papy’s serious gaze with a determined look of my own. He wasn’t going to scare me, and he needed to know that.
“There are strange, mystical things occurring in our world that very few people know about. Because my profession necessitates constant detective work into the darkest corners of history, I unluckily happen to be privy to some of them. Most of my colleagues prefer to stick their heads in the sand and pretend that revenants are fictional beings. But I don’t agree with them—I suspected their existence. And after what I witnessed today, my suspicions have been confirmed.
“But Kate, these things should remain where they began—in the shadows. Not in my life, dating my granddaughter. I cannot let you see Vincent again. Your parents would have expected me to protect you, and barring you from seeing something”—he hesitated, registering the look on my face—“someone who means certain danger for you, is part of the responsibility I have accepted.”
“But Papy …,” I began, suddenly blinded by an onslaught of tears.
“You are seventeen and still under my guardianship. When you are eighteen you can do what you want, although I will hope that by then you will see things the way I do.” His words were delivered with firmness, but I saw his eyes cloud with emotion as he watched me cry. I leaned forward into his arms.
“Oh, dear Kate,” he soothed. “I hate to make you unhappy. But I would rather see you depressed than dead.”
Back in my room, I picked up my phone and stared at it for an entire minute. For the first time in almost a year I wanted to tap in the number of one of my Brooklyn friends and hear their old familiar voice at the end of the line. But even though I knew I could do that—any one of them would be forgiving enough to pick right up from where we had left off—how could I even begin to tell them about my situation? It was too incredible to describe.
Um, yeah, Claudia? I’m dating this dead guy named Vincent and Papy won’t let me see him, because if I do I might be killed by these evil zombies that are out to get him. My friends would think that my grief had driven me mad.
I shook my head in frustration and dialed Vincent’s number. His voice sounded calm, but I could tell he was as shaken up as I was.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Papy said I can’t see you anymore.” I couldn’t help my voice from wavering.
“What else could we expect? He’s a rational man.” His voice shifted from cautious to warm. Caring. “Kate … I wish I were there with you. Are you okay?”
I sniffed and pushed my palm hard against my forehead to keep the tears from coming. “I’m all right. And I see where he’s coming from. But he’s wrong.”
“He’s not wrong about the fact that I bring danger into your life.”
“The danger’s already here, Vincent. It’s too late to think of that. Those numa are after me now. So thinking about it rationally, it’s even more dangerous for me to stay away from you. Besides the fact that I don’t want to stay away from you.” My tears won out, and I began to cry. For about the thousandth time in one day.
“It’s going to be okay, Kate,” Vincent said softly.
I grabbed a tissue and breathed deeply, trying to compose myself. “I owe Papy my respect. But I just can’t obey him in this case.” Vincent didn’t respond.
Something that had been nagging at the back of my mind for the last few hours began to emerge and form into a coherent thought. The whole revenant revelation and anti-Vincent campaign by Papy had overshadowed something important. But now I began to realize the repercussions of something the numa had said, and my heart was suddenly in my throat.
“Vincent—today in the gallery. That numa said something about me killing Lucien.” I shivered, although it was about seventy degrees in my bedroom. “How could he know that? No numa were there to witness it, and only your kindred know what happened.”
“I was wondering if you had picked up on that,” Vincent responded darkly. “I’ve been discussing it with the others since I got back.”
“Could there have been a volant numa spirit accompanying Lucien who returned to tell the others what happened?”
“No—I was volant too, remember? I would have known if someone else was there.”
“Then how …”
“Only revenants knew about that. It has to be one of our own who shared the information.”
“What?” I sat there stunned, waiting for some kind of explanation.
“Ambrose and Gaspard and I have been talking about it. It’s the only answer. Somewhere in Paris, a revenant is talking to the numa. Maybe even working in conjunction with them. I’m sure of it. We all are. Not just because of this. The report I got in Berlin was that there was some sort of information leak.”
“But why?”
“I have no idea.”
“And how did the numa know that I visited the guérisseur?”
“They could have been following you. Watching you.”
“But Jules was with me. Surely he would have known if numa were around.”
Vincent hmm-ed in agreement.
“Who else knows I visited Gwenhaël?”
“Well, by now our whole house does. I discussed it with them when you and I got back from the south. And then gave them the update when you told me that she had fled after the numa came to her shop. But I doubt they’ve mentioned it to anyone else. As far as we’re concerned, until her son contacts you to say she’s back, that path’s hit a dead end.”
As he spoke, an idea came to me. I hesitated before voicing my suspicion, knowing it sounded crazy. “But let’s say it is someone in your house. Arthur made it really clear what he thought about letting a human be involved in revenant affairs when he voted me out of that meeting. And then, when he saw me in JB’s library—the day I returned the book—he said that there was information in there that huma
ns shouldn’t know about.”
“Now wait a minute, Kate,” Vincent said forcefully. “If you’re saying what I think … Arthur might not like the fact that you’re as involved as you are in our business, but he would never put you at risk. There is no way he would purposely sell you out to the numa.”
“No, you’re right,” I conceded, feeling worse about my theory sounding stupid to Vincent than I did for falsely accusing Arthur. And then I thought of something else. “Wait, Violette told me Arthur had kept in contact with numa from their past life. She said it was from a time when numa and revenants weren’t enemies.”
“What?” Vincent said, incredulous.
But I was on a roll. There was no self-editing for me by this point, no matter how weird it sounded to Vincent. “Actually, I saw Arthur talking to this really iffy-looking guy one day, at La Palette. He could totally have been a numa…. Now that I think back on it, I’m sure of it. He had that weird thing going on in the air around him.”
“What do you mean, ‘weird thing in the air’?”
“You know. They all have that kind of thing around their bodies. Like the few inches around them are in shades of gray. Like they’ve sucked all the color out of the air.”
Vincent hesitated. “You can tell who’s numa and who’s not?”
“Um, yeah. Can’t everyone?”
“No, not humans.” He thought for a second. “Could you tell with Lucien?”
“No. I don’t think so,” I admitted, trying to remember. Besides the time he had a knife pressed up against my sister’s throat, I’d only seen him in a dark nightclub.
“Then it probably has something to do with when I possessed you. Gaspard keeps asking me if you’ve had side effects.”
Impatient with this unrelated diversion, I continued my theory: “So if you told Arthur that I had been to the guérisseur, he could have passed that information on to the numa.”
“Kate …” Vincent’s voice was dark.
“No, not like that. Not on purpose. But if he is in contact with the numa, maybe he let it slip. Maybe he just mentioned it to someone. To the wrong someone.”