Bran peered upward and shook his head. “No. He’s gone.”
Papy lowered his torch. Mr. Gold stood next to the bucket of water, looking helpless. Jules lowered his bleeding arm to rest on the rim of the thymiaterion and raised his other hand to his forehead.
I couldn’t believe it. We were so close to bringing Vincent back, and Violette chose this crucial moment to reclaim him. A hatred like I had never felt before set my entire body aflame. She would not do this. Violette would not take Vincent away from me. This would not be the end. Fury and shock from what had just happened forged together like iron in my chest. Fueled by something bigger and older than I—something primal—I commanded, “Come back, Vincent. Now!” My voice echoed through the cavernous room.
And then, so loudly it was like a megaphone positioned next to my ear, I heard, I’m back. But not for long. Do it quickly!
“He’s returned! Go!” I shouted. Papy stepped forward and held the torch to the clay figure. As the air around it exploded into blue flames, Jules jumped back and I fell from the stepladder to the ground.
“Vincent! Don’t let go!” I yelled, scrambling back to my feet. My heart pounding violently, I grabbed the side of the metal cup and heaved myself up to watch. The flames blazed higher, forming a giant fireball, which then erupted with a loud whooshing noise like a great wind, leaving tiny blue flames licking over and around the body like a paraffin burner.
Bran stretched his hands tentatively toward the fire. “Cold. The flames are cold, like the ‘cooling flames’ in the inscription you found, Kate,” he said, looking up at me. “It must be working.”
As he spoke, the edges of the clay man began shimmering, like air does in intense heat, and the lumpen form gradually became more manlike. “Something’s happening!” I cried. I was paralyzed by shock and hope. “Please let it work. Come back, Vincent. You have to come back,” I whispered, pleading.
Red clay became olive-toned skin, and the bald head became waves of raven black hair. The face that Jules had carefully sculpted became a real nose and mouth and eyes, closed as if in sleep. But it lay there, still and unmoving, until, focusing on the air just above, Bran yelled, “Come, bardia spirit, inhabit this body!” He made one final sweeping gesture, as if pulling the aura downward, and touched his fingers to the body’s side.
The eyes flew open and Vincent took a great gulping gasp, as if trying to swallow all of the oxygen in the room.
“Vincent,” I said, my heart in my throat.
His eyes flew to mine. He reached toward me, and I took his hand and pressed it to my cheek. His skin was burning hot, like with a fever. I kissed his fingers, and his skin smelled like fire and rain-soaked earth. Like the boy I thought I would never touch again.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WASN’T UNTIL JULES AND MR. GOLD HAD helped Vincent down out of the thymiaterion that we realized we had forgotten one essential element for resurrecting a spirit in a brand-new body. Clothes.
This was a first for me. The most I’d seen of Vincent up to now was post-workout with only a towel around his waist. But noticing Papy look pointedly at me, I turned around and crossed my arms, waiting until the others wrapped a silver packing blanket around him before throwing myself on him.
“Kate,” he said, staggering a bit, and then pulled me tightly to him and kissed the top of my head. I held my mouth up for a real kiss and his lips were like a revelation. Like our very first kiss, only a hundred times better. Vincent smiled weakly at me, and then his eyes shut as his head fell forward and he collapsed in my arms. Now it was me staggering, as I found myself holding all of his weight.
Jules rushed over to help me lower Vincent’s unconscious body to the ground. I held his head on my lap as Mr. Gold checked his blood pressure. “How stupid of us,” he chided, “We should have planned to have food and water here for him. He’s probably in a state similar to awakening from dormancy—terribly weak and in need of nourishment. Let’s get him home quickly.”
“We can’t take him out on the street naked,” Papy said.
Jules pulled off his T-shirt and I helped him shuffle it over Vincent’s arms and head. Pulling on the sweater he had set aside while he was bloodletting, Jules said, “Give me your keys, Theodore. I saw some workmen’s overalls in the restoration studio where we got the clay.”