Within ten minutes we were making our way out of the giant hall, weaving up and down passageways until we reached a tiny service door where there was no guard to witness an unconscious Vincent being carried between Jules and Mr. Gold. We managed to get him across the street and into Gold’s building with only a few curious looks from early-morning passersby.
Once inside the safety of the apartment, Jules and Mr. Gold laid Vincent down on one of the living room couches. “Oh. I’m bleeding again,” Jules said simply, staring at the blood coursing from his arm. Our host was off in a flash, and returned with a linen bandage. He wrapped it tightly around Jules’s wound before leading him to another couch and persuading him to lie down.
Vincent was breathing but still not conscious. Bran sat down next to him and studied his paper-white face. “His aura is very weak,” he commented.
“Quickly. Get some sustenance for Vincent. Kitchen’s that way,” Mr. Gold barked from Jules’s side. Papy and I bustled down the hallway and began combing through an impeccably clean all-white kitchen in search of food and drink. I grabbed a tray off the counter and loaded it with a bowl of almonds, a few bananas, some jars of French yogurt, and a loaf of whole-grain bread, and Papy added a carton of orange juice and bottle of water from the fridge.
When we got back to the living room, Mr. Gold was on the phone, telling his doctor to come immediately; that it was an emergency. I sat down on the couch next to Vincent and, propping his head forward with one hand, poured some water through his lips. As soon as the liquid hit the back of his throat, he sputtered and sat up, opening his eyes and looking around wildly. “Where am I?” he asked, and then seeing my face, he immediately relaxed.
And finally, now that the crisis was over, it was as if a switch had been thrown and the room erupted into a frenzy of joy. “We did it!” Mr. Gold exclaimed, breaking into a funny celebratory jig. “Thank the gods,” Jules said with a look of overwhelmed relief, and flopped back onto the couch.
Papy started clapping, which encouraged Mr. Gold to add a little kick to the end of his dance, before running over to Bran and clasping him in his arms, patting his back firmly. “You did it!” Mr. Gold cheered.
Bran stood there looking shy, but his eyes shone in victory. “I can’t believe it!” he said. “My first action as a guérisseur was a re-embodiment of a revenant spirit. If only my mother could have seen that.”
“The whole line of guérisseurs before you would be proud of you, and those who come after you will speak of this event with awe,” Mr. Gold said.
Bran managed to look fiercely proud while at the same time like all he wanted to do was go somewhere to hide.
I just sat there beaming with joy and relief, my love brimming over as I touched Vincent’s face and stroked his hair. “How do you feel, mon amour?” I asked, stealing his nickname for me.
“My sight’s really blurry,” he said, blinking. “We’re back in Gold’s apartment, right?”
“Right,” I confirmed. “We are back in Gold’s apartment and I’m touching your hair and looking into your eyes and hearing your real voice and . . . I can barely believe it.” As I leaned forward to brush my lips against his, my heart felt like it would burst.
“I’m no doctor, but I assume he needs more sustenance than kisses,” teased Mr. Gold.
Blushing, I held the glass of water for Vincent as he drank deeply, then scooped some almonds from the bowl and poured them into his hand. Popping them into his mouth, he laid his head back on my lap as he chewed, never taking his eyes off me. He clutched my hand like he was afraid of being swept back into the ether. Using my free hand, I gave him a banana and more water, and some color started showing in his cheeks.
After waiting a little while, Bran asked, “Can you talk?” He and Papy had pulled chairs next to Vincent’s couch and watched him with curious stares.
“Maybe you should wait,” I suggested, but Vincent squeezed my hand. “It’s okay,” he said.
“So what exactly was happening when the ancient one tried to pull you back to her?” the guérisseur asked.
Vincent stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember. He exhaled deeply. “I was there above you, just kind of hovering,” he said. “Then all of a sudden, I was pulled up and swept over the city toward the Atlantic Ocean. And then I heard Kate’s voice,” he said, shifting his gaze to me, “and suddenly I had the strength to slow the motion down, then stop it, and move in the opposite direction until I was back with you.”
“Maybe the great physical distance between you and Violette reduced the power of the bond,” suggested Papy.
“Maybe,” Vincent said. “She couldn’t have known I was halfway across the world when she called me back to her.”