Charlotte starts crying, and I pull her in toward me so that she’s sobbing into my chest. My eyes meet JB’s.
“I’m ordering an immediate general alert,” he says, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin and rising from his chair. “We’ll have the entirety of our Paris kindred out on the street looking for him. I promise, Charlotte. We’ll find your brother.”
But we find no trace of Charles or the numa, and two days later Lucien calls with an ultimatum. He has killed Charles and left his body in the Catacombs. If we don’t come get it that night, he will wait until Charles is volant and destroy his body, damning Charles to eternal disembodiment.
We know it’s a trap. But we go anyway. And although we manage to kill a few numa and rescue Charles’s body, Lucien uses the setup to act upon an even more diabolical scheme. He uses Kate’s sister to get into La Maison, and drags the girls to where Vincent’s body lies dormant and empty—his spirit is volant at the Catacombs with us.
What Lucien doesn’t plan on is Kate. Kate, who overcomes her fear and horror to fight him. Kate, who lets Vincent possess her in order to combine his strength with hers, and kill the numa chief. By the time Ambrose and I get there, Lucien is headless and about to be charbroiled in Vincent’s own fireplace.
Kate is adopted into the house. She has finally won not only JB’s full approval, but his welcome, and what I both hope and dread most comes true. My fear that Kate will be harmed by the numa is replaced by the fear of how I will react seeing Kate practically every day.
TWELVE
“SHE’S A NATURAL,” GASPARD SAYS AS WE WATCH Kate float through the double doors into the ballroom wearing a floor-length, pewter-colored gown that makes her look like a princess from JB’s time. And man, does the eighteenth century suit her well.
“A natural what?” I ask him, unable to tear my eyes from her.
“Fighting,” he replies. “She started training with me just weeks ago, and she’s already got all of the basics down. I show her a move twice, and she has it mastered. The rhythm of the fight is in her blood.”
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” I say, and set out across the ballroom toward her, drawn to her like a bee to a flower in full bloom. Ambrose is playing Louis Armstrong, and couples flood to the middle of the room to take advantage of the danceable beat.
Kate is so lost in the scene, she doesn’t even see me approach. I’ve attended Jean-Baptiste’s balls for years, and I still find them breathtaking. This year he’s done the room up in silver and white, and the entire space is illuminated by candles—candelabras gleaming on the side tables and the chandelier prisms glowing like diamonds.
I stand just behind her without her noticing, and our proximity makes my pulse work overtime. “How’s your dance card look?” I murmur from just behind her.
She jumps, and seeing me, breaks into a wide grin. “Double-check your century, Jules. No dance cards.”
I sweep her out onto the floor and, folding her in my arms under the glow of the chandeliers, I allow myself complete freedom. I hold nothing back, knowing that she won’t take me seriously. “Kate, my dear, the candlelight does suit you so.” She blushes and I savor my reward, brushing her cheek with my fingertip. Her skin is petal soft, and shock waves from the illicit touch course through my body. She glances up at me, questioning, but I give her an overblown wink and she just laughs.
I take her hand in mine and place my other hand on her back, and pull her to me until our bodies touch. I feel more alive than I ever have—like myself times ten. With Kate in my arms I feel like a better person. Capable of anything.
She is close enough that I feel her breath on my neck, and closing my eyes, I let my lips brush the crown of her head. Her hair smells like coconut, and suddenly that’s my favorite scent. I squeeze her and she laughs and looks up at me. “Jules, you incorrigible rake,” she scolds, and then gives me a smile that makes me feel we’re in zero gravity. Floating inches above the floor. Weightless and timeless, and I wish this song would last forever.
I know how ineffectual my actions are, but I do them on purpose—to punish myself. I deserve the pain that closeness to her brings. I want to hold her like this every day. I want to be the focus of her radiant smile. I let myself pretend for the duration of the song, and when it is over I touch her face again and imagine that we are together.
My ploy—speaking only the truth—works so well that even after pressing her to me, holding her close, whispering flattery in her ear, Vincent only smiles at me and Geneviève makes an off-the-cuff remark to Kate that I’m harmless.
It’s with a feeling of despair that I return her to his arms. I want him to be angry. I want him to challenge me. Because then the truth will be out and I won’t have to hide my feelings. But he trusts me too much to suspect me. And I love him too much to hurt him.