“And me?” Vincent asks. “Does what I feel count for anything? The girl I love is offering herself up like . . .” He sighs, looking miserable as he searches for words. “Like a virgin to the dragon.”
“No, the girl you love isn’t offering herself to the dragon. This virgin”—a smile forms on my lips as I say the word—“is heading out to kick some dragon ass, not to swoon and perish.”
Vincent throws himself on me, enveloping me in his arms. “No self-sacrifice,” he breathes into my hair. “You won’t die for us.”
“Not on purpose,” I promise. “Plus, Vincent, I’m not going anywhere without you. If we go down, we’re going down together.” I lean back and attempt a smile.
His eyes are red and glassy. “Together,” he agrees, and leans down to kiss me.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Vincent says, as Ambrose struggles to get up off the bed.
“I have one good arm,” Ambrose retorts, and then grunts in pain as Charlotte pushes him back down.
“See? You can barely move,” she says. “You’ll only be a liability.”
“The fight of the decade—maybe even the century—and I won’t be there? You have got to be kidding me,” he moans.
The doctor leans over and gives him an anesthetizing shot in the arm. “We’ll give it a couple of minutes to get numb,” he says, and goes to the other side of the room to dig through some instruments.
“I’m your leader and I say no,” Vincent insists, and leaves the room.
Charlotte begins to stand, but Ambrose catches her hand before she can walk away. “Wait,” he pleads.
“You’re not going to talk me into it,” she says, giving him a warning look.
He glances at me. “Katie-Lou, you’ll give it to me straight. This is the real deal, isn’t it? What’s going to go down with Violette is happening now, right?”
I meet Charlotte’s eyes, and she gives a slight shake of her head. I exhale. “Yes.”
“Aww, man,” Ambrose groans, and closing his eyes, he lays his head back against the pillow.
“Listen, Ambrose,” says Charlotte, “we’re going to do our best to get Geneviève’s body back, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ll just slow us down if you go along. I promise we’ll do everything we can.”
Ambrose’s eyes narrow. “That’s why you think I want to go?” he asks. “Because of Geneviève?”
Charlotte gives him a confused look.
“Listen, baby.” He rubs his thumb nervously up and down the back of her hand. “You guys are walking straight into one of the most dangerous fights we’ve seen. It could be the Fight. Besides being extremely upset that I can’t have a piece of that, it’s going to make me crazy knowing you are there, possibly getting yourself killed. Possibly getting yourself destroyed.”
“Vincent and I will . . . ,” Charlotte begins to argue.
“I’m not worried about Vincent,” Ambrose says, cutting her off. “I’m worried about you.”
Here it comes, I think, and grinning, I inch slowly backward toward the door so neither of them notice I’m fleeing the scene. Not that they would anyway; they’re totally wrapped up in each other.
“I can fight as well as the rest of you,” Charlotte retorts, pulling her hand away from him and pushing her fists to her hips.
“I never said you couldn’t,” Ambrose insists.
“Then why—”
He interrupts her again. “I will stay without complaining . . .”
“You have no choice!”
“. . . if you’ll do two things.” The teasing has long left his face. He is dead serious.
I should leave but I can’t. I know I’m about to witness a historic event, and I lurk next to the door, my eyes glued to Charlotte and Ambrose.
“Okay,” Charlotte says, matching his gravity.
“Promise me you’ll come back.”
Charlotte is silent.
“And give me a kiss good-bye.”
“What?” Charlotte blurts.
“You heard me.”
She stands stock-still for a good couple of seconds before raising her fingertips to her mouth. Her eyes glitter with tears as she sits back down on the side of his bed. And taking his good hand in hers, she leans forward and kisses him. It is a slow kiss. It is a lingering kiss. It’s the kiss she’s been waiting for for years.
FORTY-EIGHT
GEORGIA IS WAITING IN THE HALLWAY AS I CREEP out of Ambrose’s room. “What’s up?” she asks, making me leap a foot into the air.
“I didn’t see you there,” I say, holding my hand to my racing heart.
“So, where’s the party?” She folds her arms across her chest.
“Why are you even awake?” I ask.
“Couldn’t sleep. And then I look out my window and see the Sex Pistols parking their cars in the drive. So I figure something’s up.”
I look at Georgia, the bed-tossed condition of her short strawberry-blond hair making her more beautiful than ever. I realize there’s a chance that after tonight I might not see her again. Throwing my arms around her neck, I squeeze her to me.