We hadn’t walked two blocks when Arthur stopped suddenly and glanced behind us. “Numa,” he said. “Franck says that there were two in the park across from the Mercier home. He didn’t spot them until they started following us.”
“Don’t look back,” Ambrose said, as I did just that. A pair of young guys in hoodies, looking totally normal except for the colorless numa aura encircling them, were turning out of the park and onto the rue du Bac. They weren’t even trying to hide the fact that they were trailing us, and they met my gaze unwaveringly.
“Flight or fight?” Ambrose asked Arthur, smiling widely as he patted the leather sheath strapped to his waist under his long coat.
An elderly woman supported on the arm of a uniformed home-care worker hobbled slowly past us toward the numa. Arthur raised one eyebrow. “With human witnesses? You’re not really asking me that question,” he responded. “Either we walk faster to avoid a confrontation, or we wait to find out what they want.”
Arthur and Ambrose turned and pulled together, creating a defensive wall in front of me and Georgia. Just as quickly, the numa turned and crossed the street to walk down a tiny side alley, acting like they had never seen us. But before they were out of sight, one of them turned and, smirking, saluted us.
“Oh-kaaay,” Ambrose drawled, staring after the numa in confusion.
“That was a warning,” Arthur said. “They only wanted us to know they were there. Let’s go.” He held his arm out again, and this time Georgia quickly took it. Ambrose wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder, and we walked at a hurried pace to La Maison.
Gaspard met us at the front door. “Franck came ahead to inform us of your visiting party,” he said, bustling us all inside. “Who knows what game those numa were playing? We’ve had no word from—or sign of—their leader.”
We walked into the front hallway and Ambrose lurked just inside the door, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, showing his displeasure at being excluded from the action. I knew what he was feeling; I felt the same.
“Gaspard,” I said, taking the older revenant aside, “have you discovered anything from Bran that will help Vincent?”
“Unfortunately, no, Kate. But we aren’t done discussing the matter.”
I felt my little balloon of hope pop and wither. But I wasn’t done trying. “I know you promised my grandparents to protect us,” I continued. “But I think the best way of doing that is letting me go with Ambrose to join the hunt teams. Two more people could really help the search.”
Gaspard began shaking his head, but I continued. “You know I can defend myself now. I’ll suit up just in case, though, and promise to stay out of the action if there is any.”
“If Kate’s going, I’m going, too. I’m sure I can fight just as well as she can,” Georgia piped up.
Ambrose stared at her bug-eyed for a minute and then started laughing so hard that he was wiping away tears.
A flush of red crept from my sister’s neck up her face. “What?” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, but that’s about the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” he gasped, playfully punching Georgia on the shoulder. “You . . . fighting? Girl, you crack me up.”
“In fact, I was going to ask Gaspard today if he would start training me,” she said, stubbornly folding her arms across her chest.
That sent Ambrose into another fit of giggles. Seeing how mad he was making my sister, he covered his mouth and turned away.
“I would be honored to train you, my dear,” replied Gaspard. “But today is not the day to start. I have more pressing matters to attend to, and Kate must actually come with me.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Bran has been asking for you in particular, my dear. You seem to be a comfort to him. Since you met his mother, he sees you as a kind of living bond with her.”
Arthur spoke up. “If Georgia would accept a lesser master for her first lesson, I would be pleased to instruct her in fight training.”
“A very good idea,” replied Gaspard, and, turning, he started his way up the staircase toward the library. I began to follow him, but paused as I heard Ambrose cackle, “Now this is something I have got to see.” He clapped Georgia across the shoulders and shook her playfully. “Mind if I come watch?”
“Has this all been decided without my consent?” Georgia said frostily. “I asked for Gaspard. He’s the fight master.”
A light glimmered in Arthur’s eye, and lowering himself to one knee in front of Georgia, he took her hands in his. “Ma chère mademoiselle, may I have the sincere pleasure of being the one you choose to introduce you to the art of combat? I would consider it the greatest honor.”
She glanced at where I stood watching halfway up the staircase, lifting her eyebrows as if to ask my opinion. I shrugged, stifling a laugh.