“Well, it must mean you’re winning if you’re all still around.”
No one answered. And then Jules broke the silence. “Let’s just say there used to be a lot more of us.” The snake inside me constricted so tightly I couldn’t breathe.
“There also used to be a lot more of them,” called out Jean-Baptiste, who, with Gaspard, stepped down into the room. Charlotte, Ambrose, and Jules stood up, as if at attention, while Jean-Baptiste walked back and forth among them, carrying out an inspection of their body armor and weapons cases. “We’ve got everything,” he said finally, nodding at the three of them approvingly.
He took two normal-looking canes out of an umbrella stand and threw one to Gaspard. With a lightning-quick movement, Gaspard drew a sword forth from the cane and inspected its blade.
They certainly looked like a mini army, led by a fierce general. But individually, they could pass for musicians dressed for a gig—that is, if their band had a marked penchant for leather.
They led the way through double doors at the end of the gym, and up to the back courtyard where several cars, motorcycles, and scooters were parked. Jean-Baptiste climbed into a midnight blue sedan, while Jules and Charlotte took a dark-hued 4x4. Ambrose strapped his case to an enormous Ducati and started up the bike’s engine with a roar.
As the other vehicles started their motors, I clutched my arms across my chest and clenched my teeth. This isn’t my fight, I thought, it’s theirs. But I couldn’t help feeling helpless—like the damsel in distress that I never wanted to be.
I heard Vincent say, When we’re done, I’ll come back to you.
“Be careful,” I murmured.
Nothing can happen to me, the words came. My body is here with you.
“Take care of the rest of them, then,” I said.
Good-bye, Kate, mon ange.
The cars began backing up, and smoothly exiting one by one through the gates into the dark night beyond, they were gone.
Chapter Thirty-Six
GASPARD EXCUSED HIMSELF AND SAID HE WOULD be in the library, while Jeanne and I walked back up the stairs to the kitchen in silence. I watched her as she began cleaning up from the ad hoc meal. She must have seen so much over the years. And I needed a distraction. “Tell me about Vincent.”
Jeanne tucked her towel into her apron. “Let me make you a coffee first,” she said. “If you’re going to be waiting up for them to get back, you’ll need the stamina.”
“That would be great, Jeanne. Thanks. Will you have one with me?”
“No, dear, I have to go home. My family’s waiting for me.”
She has a family, I thought, wondering why I was surprised. She too divided her time between the undead and the living. For the first time, I felt a bond with her.
She set my coffee on the table with a pitcher of milk and sat down next to me. “So. What can I tell you about Vincent?” she mused. “Well, I was sixteen when I started helping my mother here, doing the laundry and ironing. That would be about”—she did the math in her head—“thirty-nine years ago.” She leaned back in her chair, squinting her eyes as if trying to see back that far. “Vincent was the same as he is today. Plus or minus a year. And they all follow the fashions of the time, of course, so as to not stand out. So his hair was a bit longer the first time I saw him. Oh, I thought he was so handsome.”
She leaned toward me with a twinkle in her eye. “Still do. Even though he’s a mere teenager and I’m now a grandmother of four.” She sat back, smiling to herself.
“Anyway, there were more revenants then. They were scattered all over Paris in buildings that Jean-Baptiste’s family owned. Now, of course, since there aren’t many revenants left here in Paris, he rents out the places. Makes an absolute fortune off his real estate.”
She sighed and paused for a moment. “Anyway, I’ve known Vincent since the 1970s and he’s always been a . . . tortured kind of boy. I’m guessing he’s told you about Hélène by now?”
I nodded, and she continued. “Well, following her death—and his own death, of course—he kind of closed down emotionally. After Jean-Baptiste found him, he took on the role of foot soldier. According to what I’ve heard, nothing was too dangerous for Vincent. He literally threw himself in harm’s way. As if saving hundreds of strangers would make up for the one person he wasn’t able to save. And it’s continued like that. He’s been like this avenging robot. A beautiful robot, mind you, but still . . .”