“Aww, that’s sweet. Trying to protect your zombie boyfriend. But I know you’re lying, Kate. Charles told me he was dormant. And my colleague just told me that Jean-Baptiste and company, including Vincent’s ghost, all showed up at my little get-together in the Catacombs. So let’s just drop the games and get to business.”
“I won’t take you to him,” I said, stepping backward to avoid Georgia, who he had pushed up against me.
“Oh yes, you will,” Lucien said calmly, holding up the knife. Its blade sparkled in the light of the chandelier.
Georgia cried out, “Don’t tell him, Kate. He said he was going to kill him.”
“Bitch,” Lucien growled and, grabbing Georgia by the hair, pulled her head back and held the knife to her throat.
I shook my head and whispered, “I would rather die than take you to Vincent.” But seeing the panic in Georgia’s eyes, I felt something slip inside me.
“Fine,” said Lucien. “I was hoping to take Georgia safely along with me after paying you a visit, but I’m perfectly willing to accommodate a change in plans.” The knife flashed as he drew it across Georgia’s white neck. She screamed, but he didn’t let go of her hair.
“Georgia!” I cried, horrified, as I saw drops of blood ooze out of the cut he had made.
“The longer you wait, the deeper I’ll slice,” he said. “That didn’t hurt now, darling, did it?” he asked, leering at Georgia and giving her a peck on the cheek.
Her eyes spun wildly toward me, and I yelled, “Okay, okay. Just stop and I’ll take you to him.” Lucien nodded, waiting, but placed the knife firmly next to Georgia’s straining neck.
My mind sped in a dozen different directions, grasping for ways to lead him astray. I could take him upstairs, or into one of the other rooms, but what would that do besides enrage him further?
“Move it!” Lucien demanded, and I headed through the door to the servants’ hallway, my mind still searching for a way to buy time. I walked as slowly as I could, but couldn’t come up with a plan that wouldn’t end up with my sister’s throat being slit, or more likely, both of us being killed. There was nothing I could do but plead silently with Vincent to come back, knowing that that was impossible: He was halfway across town helping his kindred.
I led them through the door into Vincent’s room, and stepped aside to let Lucien pass. He released Georgia and paced quickly over to the bed, laughing as he approached it. “Ah, Vincent. You’re looking better than ever,” he said. “Love seems to suit you. Too bad it couldn’t last.” Glancing around the room, he fixed his eyes on the fireplace.
“Sit,” he said to us, motioning with the knife to the couch. He began piling wood and kindling into the hearth and put a match to it.
With her face in her hands, my sister began weeping and lowered her head to my shoulder. “Kate, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“Shh. It doesn’t matter now. Are you okay?” I whispered. “Let me see your neck.”
She lifted her head, and I touched the knife wound. It wasn’t much more than a scratch. “It’s not that bad,” I said, wiping a drop of blood away with my finger.
“Who cares about my cut?” she whispered. “We’re never going to get out of here alive. We just saw him murder someone. What’s wrong with Vincent, anyway? Why isn’t he moving?”
“He’s kind of . . . in a coma,” I responded.
“What happened?” she asked, horrified.
“Georgia,” I said, looking at her steadily, “Lucien didn’t say anything when he brought you here? You don’t know . . . what they are?”
She shook her head, confused.
There was no way I could avoid telling her. And seeing as we might not live through the evening, I didn’t see the sense in hiding what should have been obvious by now. “Georgia, they’re not human . . . Vincent and Lucien.”
“What are they, then?”
“It’s complicated,” I began, and then, seeing tears of confusion begin to well up in her eyes, I took a breath and said, “They’re called revenants. They’re undead.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter, Georgia,” I insisted, grabbing her hands roughly and forcing her to look me in the eyes. I spoke the words slowly, as much for my benefit as for hers: “I don’t care what Vincent is. We can’t let Lucien destroy him.”
Her eyes searched my face. For once I didn’t regret being an open book. The bewilderment and fear left Georgia’s face and were replaced by a look of pure determination. My sister had always been there for me, and she was here for me now. However insane the words coming out of my mouth sounded, she didn’t doubt me for a second.
“What can we do?” she whispered. I shook my head and watched Lucien use a poker to move the logs around. The flames caught and shot up, exploding into a substantial blaze as the smell of wood fire flooded the room.
“He’s going to try to burn Vincent’s body,” I whispered back. “We can’t let him.”