FOR TWO SECONDS AFTER JB OPENED THE FRONT door, it looked like we might not make it over the threshold. I’d never seen my grandfather uncomfortable in a social situation, but Papy’s jaw was clenched so tightly that I was surprised he was able to wrench it open again to say, “Bonsoir.” But he finally managed to speak, and the two men tipped their heads to acknowledge each other before giving a formal handshake.
“Kate. Georgia,” Jean-Baptiste greeted us and, then stepping out of the way, said, “Please, Monsieur Mercier, come in.” He gestured toward the staircase. “We might as well proceed directly to the library.”
“They look like they should be going to a steeplechase or a musty old man’s club instead of to a library to discuss the re-embodiment of my immortal boyfriend,” I whispered to Georgia as we followed them into the foyer.
“Maybe that’s what old guys discuss in their leather chairs while puffing their cigars,” she responded with a grin. “And here we were imagining it was the stock market or property prices.”
The sitting room door opened and Arthur stepped into the foyer. “Bonjour, Georgia,” he said, striding eagerly toward us. He took her hand and was about to lift it to his lips before remembering which century he was in and opting for cheek-kisses instead. “How are you?”
Georgia lifted her face up for inspection. “Better, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.
“Yes. You look . . .” He was going to say “beautiful.” I could tell. But he stopped himself and said, “Much improved. I’m glad you’re healing.”
Georgia smiled flirtatiously at him and said, “That sure was sweet of you to call to check up on me this morning and leave me those messages. I’m sorry I couldn’t phone you back. I’m really trying to take it easy. To recover my health, you see.”
“Of course!” Arthur exclaimed, jamming his shoulder-length hair self-consciously behind his ears. I noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and that he was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt instead of his regular button-down and suit pants. I had to smile. Arthur was making an effort for my sister.
“I didn’t expect you to phone me back,” he said. “I was just checking in, you know. But why don’t you come back to the kitchen with me and I’ll get you something to drink. Did you have lunch? Are you hungry?”
As they walked through the door to the hallway, Georgia threw me a backward glance, wagging her eyebrows in victory before turning back to him. I could barely restrain myself from cracking up. Georgia was the queen of games. And she was obviously playing this one very carefully.
Mon ange, came a voice in my head.
“I was wondering where you were,” I said, following Papy and Jean-Baptiste up the double staircase.
I can tell you’ve discovered something—your cheeks have gone all rosy. Which, I must say, suits you, mon amour. Would it be out of place for me to tell you how utterly ravishing that makes you look?
I touched my fingertips to my cheeks and felt them flush even redder. “Yes, that is completely off-topic,” I chided jokingly, but his compliment made me feel radiant. As usual.
What did you find? he asked, amused.
“Some old auction catalogue with a sale that might have contained our thymiaterion.”
Well, that’s more than Gaspard and Bran got. They couldn’t find anything resembling the object itself, and extended the search to anything else that might bear the symbols referred to in the story. Ones that would explain how a re-embodiment is performed.
“Did they have any luck?”
None.
I walked into the library to see my grandfather shaking hands with Gaspard and then with Bran. The four men assembled around a table, and Jean-Baptiste held out a chair for me.
Papy began by placing the auction catalogue on the table. He told them that if the thymiaterion wasn’t already in a museum or other major public collection—which it couldn’t be, because he would already be familiar with it—then it must be in a private collection. He explained about the flow of Middle Eastern antiquities into the antiques market between the wars, and his theory that the piece was moved from Turkey to a European or American collection during this period.
He tapped the book with his index finger. “I own all of the records from the major auction houses during that time, and in one of them Kate found a sale that might refer to the object we seek.”
He said we! I thought, marveling once again that my grandfather was joining forces with revenants—for me.
Papy opened the catalogue and showed them the reference, then flipped back to the buyer list. “If a purchase of this nature was made for a museum or a major collector, the name would be listed. Instead, this important collection went to an anonymous buyer.”