Taking my hand, she led me out of the kitchen to her room down the hall. It was one she used on the rare occasion when she needed to spend the night, and I had never been inside.
Walking across the carpeted floor, she switched on a frilly lamp and picked up an object sitting next to it. Returning, she placed it in my hand. It was a heart-shaped locket made of crystal and silver.
I fingered the tiny bauble. A sprig of flowers was engraved into the silver side, and I ran my finger over the delicately grooved metal. “Forget-me-nots,” said Jeanne, and it felt like a hand clenched my heart and squeezed tightly. Vincent’s body was gone, but I would not forget him. Or would I? Would his face start disappearing from my mind like my parents’ had, replaced by the images of them preserved in photographs?
I turned the locket over to the crystal side. Through the transparent glass I spotted something dark enclosed within and held it up to the light. It was a single lock of raven black hair.
EIGHT
“IS THIS VINCENT’S?” I GASPED.
Jeanne nodded.
“Where did you get it?” Stunned, I rolled the strange bauble around in my hand.
“The locket is from Gaspard’s collection of memento mori,” Jeanne responded. “He said I could give it to you.”
“No, this,” I said, holding it up to indicate what was inside the crystal prison. “Why do you have a lock of Vincent’s hair?”
Jeanne thought a moment, and then said, “It’ll be easier to show you.” She gestured to a corner table that held an assortment of beautifully crafted silver and enamel boxes and candles in simple pierced-tin holders.
“It’s a ritual my mother taught me when I took her place. A practice her mother had passed to her. We’ve always felt a special responsibility for our revenants. It makes us feel better to think we’ve got some say in their survival. I’m not a religious woman, Kate. But I do say prayers every day for my wards.”
I picked up a tiny box from the front of the table and opened the embossed lid. A lock of red hair sat nestled inside the rich blue velvet lining. “Charles,” I breathed.
“He’s the one I’ve been thinking of most, recently,” Jeanne said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “If ever a boy needed a candle lit for him, it’s that one.” She touched a box covered in a blue-and-green leafy mosaic. “That’s Vincent’s,” she said. I picked it up and opened the lid to see the empty cushioned interior.
“Now that I’ve given you my little token of Vincent, I expect you to take over my prayers for his well-being,” Jeanne said.
“I will,” I promised.
Satisfied, she nodded to the back of the table, where dozens of the delicate boxes were lined up side by side and stacked on top of each other. “Even when they’re gone, I can’t bring myself to get rid of their boxes. Neither could my mother or even hers.”
I shuddered. Those stacks must represent Jean-Baptiste’s kindred destroyed by numa.
“Vincent’s still here on this earth, sweet girl,” she said, “even if only in spirit. You’ve got to be brave.”
Only in spirit. Those words, along with Jeanne’s expression of heartbroken pity, drove home the fact that this lock of hair constituted Vincent’s only earthly remains. He was a phantom now. Immaterial. What could the future hold for a girl and a ghost? The great big empty space in my chest ached, and would keep on aching, until I could touch him again. Which will never happen because he’s gone, I reminded myself.
Isn’t that what Vincent was trying to tell me when he disappeared? And he had been right . . . except for his conclusion: I will always be near. I’ll always be watching out for you. From now on, the only thing I can do for you is try to keep you safe.
I pressed hard on my chest, as if that would help the pain go away. In my other hand I clenched the locket tightly. No, I thought. I refuse to accept the scenario Vincent described: continuing my life as if he no longer exists, while he watches over me like a stalker guardian angel. I will not live out that tragedy.
And, abruptly, my thoughts turned to my parents and the great love they had shared. It had practically radiated from them, rubbing off on everyone nearby, making all around them happy. Filling others with hope.
I could have had a love like that with Vincent. I had felt it. There had been something right about us: It was bigger than just two people in love. When we were together, it had been like one of nature’s true and rare beauties; like an impossible beam of sunlight piercing through black clouds, bathing the patch of earth before you in gold. Together, Vincent and I had created something beautiful.
And, with that thought, something hardened inside me. A refusal. A rejection of the fate being shoved onto me. Even though I had no idea what form it would take, I would find a solution. Because a solution must exist.