“Yes,” he said with his lips. But his eyes were telling a different story. He would do anything to destroy this enemy. It was clear that his own safety wasn’t his priority.
“I’m sorry I have to leave you like this,” Vincent said, drawing me to him and brushing his lips against mine. Every point of contact with his body seemed to trigger a shower of fiery sparks inside me. Is danger an aphrodisiac? I wondered. I’d rather him be safe than have a Fourth of July celebration in my nerve endings. But since I didn’t have a say, I grabbed him tighter and responded to his kiss.
Too soon, he pulled away. “I have to go.”
“I know. Good night, Vincent. Please be safe.”
“Good night, mon ange.”
I knocked softly on Georgia’s bedroom door. It opened violently a second later, and my sister stood there looking like a Fury. “What the hell was that about?” she raged, slamming the door shut behind me.
I perched on the edge of her bed while she threw herself belly-down onto a fluffy white rug in the middle of her floor and stared at me.
“I’m sorry Vincent embarrassed you in front of Papy and Mamie. But from what he’s told me, Lucien does sound like really bad news.”
Georgia almost spit her reply. “Oh yeah? What exactly does he say?”
“He said that Lucien’s kind of in a . . . Mafia type of organization.” I tried to remember how Vincent had described the numa that night in the Marais restaurant. “And that his colleagues are involved in all sorts of illegal dealings.”
“Like what?”
“Prostitution, drugs—”
“Oh, give me a break!” Georgia rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen Lucien. He’s an entrepreneur. He’s got bars and clubs all over France. Why in the world would he even need to be involved in stuff like that?” She looked at me with distaste.
“I really don’t think Vincent would make that up,” I replied.
“Yeah?” she asked bitterly. “How’s he know him?”
“He doesn’t,” I lied. The last thing I wanted to do was to make some sort of link between Vincent and Lucien with Georgia and me in the middle. “He just knows his reputation.”
I paused, weighing how far I should go. “He said there’s even talk of Lucien’s associates being involved in murders.”
Georgia looked shocked for a moment, and then shook her head. “I’m sure that in the world that Lucien moves in, there have got to be some shady dealings. It must go with the territory. But to suggest that he could work with murderers . . . I’m sorry, I just don’t believe it.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to believe it. But do you have to see him again?”
“Kate, we’re barely even seeing each other. It’s not serious. We only see each other out in public. I’m sure he dates other people, and so do I. No big deal!”
“Well, if it’s not a big deal, and there’s even the slightest chance that he’s bad news, then why don’t you just . . . you know . . . ditch him? Please, Georgia. I don’t want to worry about you.”
For a split second after hearing my pleading voice she looked uncertain, and then a stubborn look stole over her pretty face. “I don’t have to see him again. But I’m going to see him again. I don’t believe a word you or Vincent has said about him. And why are you and your new boyfriend getting all involved in my private life anyway?”
I knew I couldn’t say a thing that would change her mind. And how would I say it, anyway? “The reason my boyfriend hates yours is because Vincent’s a good zombie and Lucien’s a bad zombie?” I could only hope she would lose interest in Lucien before anything bad happened.
She was really mad now. Her light dusting of freckles was becoming mottled by angry red patches. I knew my sister, and when she got to this point, there was no more reasoning with her. I began to stand, but she sprang up and beat me to the door. Opening it, she pointed to the hallway. “Go.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
THE NEXT DAY GEORGIA LEFT FOR SCHOOL BEFORE I even got to the breakfast table. From behind his newspaper, Papy asked tiredly, “Are you girls on World War Four now, or is it Five?”
I didn’t see her between classes, and she disappeared afterward. My sister was avoiding me, and that hurt. But I knew I had done the right thing by warning her about Lucien. Vincent had said that nothing might happen to her. But in these circumstances, “might,” for me, was too big a word.
I headed to Jean-Baptiste’s on the way home, texting Vincent from the street, and the gates were opening by the time I arrived. He was waiting for me, the same worried look on his face as he had worn when he left me last night.
“Any news?” I asked as we walked to his room.