“Let me stay with you till then,” I asked. “I’ll come find you when Jean-Baptiste kicks me out,” I told Charlotte.
“’kay!” she said with an encouraging smile, and shut the door behind her.
I turned to Vincent. But before I could open my mouth to speak, he stole my words. “I know,” he said. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
WE WERE ON OUR OWN. FINALLY. AND WHAT should have been a terrifying situation—me . . . alone in an old castle . . . sitting next to someone I had just discovered was a monster—well, it wasn’t terrifying at all. Incredibly, it seemed more awkward than anything.
I sat facing him on his bed, this boy who seemed to be on the verge of death. Even in his feeble state he was beautiful. I had every reason to be afraid, but instead I was gripped by the strangest emotion. I felt like protecting him.
“So . . . ,” Vincent said.
“So . . . you’re immortal?”
“’fraid so.”
He looked tired and worried, and for the first time, very vulnerable. I suddenly felt like I held all the power in my hands. Which, concerning us, I suppose I did.
“How’s that make you feel?” he asked.
“Um. It’s a lot to take in all at once. But it definitely explains things.” I felt his fingers clutch my own. “Is the reason I’m not afraid right now because you’re holding my hand?”
“What do you mean?” he said with an uneven smile.
“It’s one of your superpowers, isn’t it? What is it? The Tranquilizing Touch or something?”
“Superpowers!” He chuckled. “Um. Yeah, Miss Perceptive. How did you figure that one out?”
“Charlotte used it on me earlier. And I doubt I could have gotten through this informational meeting without the few hits you gave me.”
The corners of his mouth curved slightly. His fingers loosened and then curved back around my hand. “I see. And no, even though I’m touching you, I’m not doing the ‘Tranquilizing Touch’ as you call it. It doesn’t happen every time I touch you. I have to will it. But at the moment, you seem to be managing fine on your own.”
I glanced at his bedside table and saw that my photo had been placed downward. Resting on top of it was the letter I had written to him the day before. It already seemed like years ago.
“You got my note,” I said.
“Yeah. It helped explain why you went all stalker on me.” He laughed. “I still can’t believe that Jean-Baptiste let you in. It’s just as much his fault that you found me as my own for bringing you here the first time. I’m definitely not letting him hold that one over my head. How you managed to convince him to let you past the front door, I will never understand.”
Vincent’s laugh was edged with something that sounded like victory. “You’re amazing,” he said, his eyes radiating warmth. I sat there basking in it, until he closed them and laid his head back against the pillow.
“Are you okay?” I asked, worried.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just feeling really weak. Do you mind giving me something from that table?” He nodded toward a folding tray set up next to the head of his bed, holding an array of fruits and nuts.
I picked up a plate of dates and then sat back down next to him with it.
“Thanks,” he said, touching my hand again before picking up a fruit and popping it into his mouth.
“So the necklace was for Charlotte,” I said, watching his face carefully.
He grinned. “See? Girl friend. Not girlfriend. Just someone I’ve known for what . . . the last half century?”
“Not that it matters,” I said quickly, embarrassed.
“Of course not,” Vincent said, faking a serious look and nodding solemnly.
I looked down at my hands. “You said it takes a while to recover from . . . whatever. When will you be up and about?”
“It depends on what condition you’re in when you become dormant. I wasn’t injured or anything, so by tonight I’ll be as good as new. Better, actually.”
I could tell he was trying to lighten the mood, but he looked so exhausted I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Oh, Vincent.”
“It’s not bad, really, Kate. It’s actually good to have some downtime . . . to recharge a little, since after this I won’t sleep again for weeks.”
My frown made him stop. “We don’t need to talk about this now. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m the one who’s worried about you. How—how are you?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Well, if you’re not doing the calming thing and I haven’t freaked out and run screaming from your house, I guess I’m doing pretty well.”
“Amazing,” he said again.
“Okay, stop it with the flattery,” I teased. “Save it for the next victim you draw helplessly into your lair.”
Vincent’s laugh was cut short by the sound of the door opening. I turned to see Jean-Baptiste striding into the room, with Gaspard trailing along in his wake.