As we rode the car down, I couldn’t help but ask, “So how did you get a key to the museum? And access through the employee’s entrance?”
“I am an employee,” said Mr. Gold, as we exited the elevator. “I am officially the head curator of antiquities, but I’m not around very much. If the same staff sees me over long periods of time, things would seem rather . . . questionable, wouldn’t they?”
We trailed behind him down several low-lit corridors, and stopped before a double door with a sign marked ARCHIVES. Gold typed a code into a keypad and inserted another key into the lock.
“Securing a substantial donation to the museum—to the tune of several hundreds of millions of dollars—unsurprisingly convinced the museum to give me private access to this entire area.” He opened the door and flicked on a light switch.
Before us was an enormous warehouse-size space, beautifully decorated with scattered columns and frescoed walls. Everything was individually spotlit, with additional lighting glowing from panels in the walls and floor. I shivered in astonished delight, and glanced at Papy to gauge his reaction. My grandfather looked like he had died and gone to antiquity-dealer heaven.
This was the secret collection of revenant art. It must have held thousands of objects ranging from small pieces of jewelry mounted in cases against the wall to giant marble statues of heroes carrying massive weapons and wearing nothing but the signum bardia on cords around their neck.
“You are three of the only humans to have visited this important historical collection,” Mr. Gold said with a wry smile. “Although I occasionally have revenant visitors drop by on appointment. How much do you know about revenant history?” he asked me.
“Vincent has told me some stories. And Gaspard has mentioned things from time to time. But my overall comprehension is probably pretty lacking.”
You’re being modest, Vincent said. I happen to know you’ve read everything you can get your hands on.
I didn’t respond. The less Mr. Gold thought I knew, the more he would tell me.
We walked slowly toward the other end of the large hall. Though Jules, Papy, and Bran were looking around as we walked, they were all listening in on our conversation.
“Well, considering the project we are about to undertake, it would be useful to give you a quick history of both revenants and our guérisseur friends.” His voice took on a storytelling pitch, and I could tell he had told this tale before, although I guessed it was to new revenants, and not to human outsiders.
“Ever since man existed, there have been bardia and numa. But in ancient times they were worshiped as heroes and reviled as demons. Both lived among humans as either their guardians or, in the case of numa, dangerous but effective allies for men who sought power at any cost.
“Before modern medicine, healers, known in France as guérisseurs, were much more common and well respected among their fellow men. Since guérisseurs’ powers developed in accordance to the needs of the communities around them, a small percentage of them developed powers to help revenants with their own specific requirements.”
Bran stopped looking around and began paying full attention to Mr. Gold’s story, drinking in every word.
“Like the bayati—humans with paranormal abilities who were later called saints—revenants around the world began being persecuted with the rise of major world religions. In Eastern countries some were able to hide themselves among mortal holy men and shamans. But not in the Western world. It was at this point—after being hunted and destroyed on a massive scale during the fourth century—that revenants withdrew from the mortal world.”
This fit in with what I already knew, and explained a lot of what I had seen in the flame-fingers’ archives. I began to wonder if the word “archives” didn’t apply as much to the images as they did to the few books and objects I had seen. The wall paintings explained the story Mr. Gold was telling in a much more memorable way.
I drank in every word as he continued. “In order to facilitate the revenants’ disappearance from human awareness, the bardia launched a concerted campaign to hide revenant-themed art and literature that was common enough in the Roman times and before. The numa were on board with this, having lost just as many of their own number in the religious persecution.”
Mr. Gold stopped in front of a statue of a man lying on a bed. Hovering over him was a woman with a tattoo identical to Bran’s etched into her forearm. She was passing her hands over the dead-looking man.
It’s probably a dormant revenant, came Vincent’s words, and I nodded, agreeing.