Ignoring Mamie, Georgia crossed the room in a flash and took me by the wrists. Her bruised face was a rainbow of sickening yellows, reds, and purples, one cheek swollen out of proportion. “Did they find him in time?” she whispered.
I shook my head. “No.” And the feelings I had been pushing away since Vincent’s voice disappeared over the river—the despair I kept trying to shove down over the last two hours in order to function, to string my words together and put one foot in front of the other—careened back up to the surface. “Oh my God, Georgia.” I choked and coughed on my tears as she wrapped me in her arms. “He’s gone. He’s really gone.” I leaned my head on her shoulder and began to weep.
“Let’s go,” Mamie said softly, and shooing us both out of the foyer, directed us down the hallway into my bedroom. Still crying, I peeled off my clothes and pulled on some pajamas. And as Mamie and Georgia settled on either side of me on my bed, it felt like we had time-traveled straight back to the previous summer when I had resolved not to see Vincent again: me sobbing; my grandmother and sister comforting. Only this was a million times worse. Last time it was a breakup, heart wrenching but reversible. This time it was a good-bye. It was forever.
I bent over double and sobbed into my folded arms as they rubbed my back and smoothed my hair. When my tears finally slowed, Mamie asked, “Are you going to tell me or not?”
“What have you already told her?” I asked Georgia, who was gently massaging her bruised jaw.
“All I said was that something bad had happened and we needed to be ready to support you when you got home,” she responded, glancing cautiously at my grandmother.
“What is it, Katya?” Mamie insisted. “You act like someone just died.” Another sob bubbled up from my chest, and I covered my mouth with my hand to stop myself from full-out weeping all over again. My grandmother’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“We have to tell her, Katie-Bean,” Georgia said. “Papy knows already. And you’re going to need me and Mamie for support.”
“Speak,” Mamie commanded softly, and I began. At the beginning.
The next half hour was spent revealing the story to my grandmother, slowly and undramatically, for the least possible shock value. Mamie’s expression was wary. She knew I was building up to something bad. But when I got to the point where I discovered what Vincent and his kindred were, she raised her hand to stop me. “That’s impossible,” she said, as if it were the end of the discussion. “You girls have both gone insane if you actually believe something like that.”
“Papy believes it, Mamie,” I said. “It was the reason he told me I couldn’t see Vincent again.”
“He did what?” my grandmother exclaimed. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
She thought for a moment. “That must be why he came to bed so late and was up so early this morning. He was avoiding me. I would have been able to tell something was up.” My grandmother met my eyes. “Surely Antoine didn’t believe a word of it. He’s not even superstitious, for God’s sake!”
I took her hand. “I know it’s hard to believe. Half the time I feel like I’m living in a really twisted fantasy novel. But, Mamie, try to—I don’t know—suspend your disbelief for now. You can talk to Papy about it later. Just please let me finish.”
She did her best not to interrupt again. “Yes, yes, I remember. That makes sense now,” she said from time to time when I linked the story to something she recognized: my breakup with Vincent (and subsequent makeup); Vincent’s outburst about Lucien at our dinner table.
I tried to skip the part where Vincent possessed me to kill Lucien, but Georgia couldn’t help herself from filling in the blanks—to my grandmother’s horror. By the end her palms were glued to her cheeks and her expression was one of shock and resignation.
“And now the . . . numa, is it?” she asked. I nodded. “They have Vincent’s body?”
“They had Vincent’s body. But they burned it.”
I got the words out without choking, but tears coursed down my cheeks as I registered the horror in Mamie’s and Georgia’s eyes.
“But his spirit still exists? And you can still talk to him?” Mamie clarified.
“I might be able to if he can get away from Violette.”
“I always knew she was a depraved munchkin,” Georgia muttered, gnawing on a thumbnail.
“What about your evil ex-boyfriend?” Mamie scolded her. “After the Lucien story, you’ll be lucky if I ever let you date again!” She turned to me and sighed. “Oh, Katya, I don’t even know what to say.”
“But you believe me?” I asked, watching her face.
“I have no choice, other than believing that the two of you are crazy or brainwashed. Or on drugs,” she said in a tone that suggested she might prefer one of those options to the alternative. “And Antoine knew about this?”
“Just since yesterday,” I qualified.