“But whatever our origin, everyone agrees that revenants are all born equal: human with a latency to become a revenant. Whether they become bardia or numa all depends on their actions during their human life. And if they are never cast into a situation where they save or betray, they just live out the rest of their lives clueless that they were different from anyone else.”
“So a human’s not born a numa or bardia?”
“Not unless you believe in the Calvinistic doctrine of predestination.” And once again, she sounds four times her age, I thought. “But we are not talking theology here. We are talking about human nature. In which case the only answer can be, ‘Who knows?’ What I do know is that the numa and bardia did not used to be the enemies they are today.”
“Yeah, Jean-Baptiste said that there used to be a lot more of both in Paris.”
Violette nodded and called the waiter to bring us some coffees. “As with most wars, during World War Two many revenants of both ilk were created. And since many held personal grudges against each other from their human lives, there was a massive war of vengeance between the numa and bardia. That all came to an end, though, a decade or so later. And there has been a type of cease-fire ever since.”
“Why?” I asked, intrigued by this new information.
She shrugged. “I have no idea. Like I said, Arthur and I have been holed up in our castle in the Loire. I have stayed away from Parisian politics.”
“Well, from what I hear, you’re the go-to person for anything revenant or numa related,” I said. “If anyone would know, it would be you.”
“Touché,” she said, laughing. “I do pride myself on having the inside information on pretty much everything. But I also pride myself on being able to keep a secret. So if I do not tell you something, there is probably a good reason.”
“So if I asked you what Vincent was up to . . . ?” I asked with a sly smile.
“I would say, ‘Well, whatever do you mean!’” she responded with an equally sly grin.
I had hoped my new friend would be more open with me. Although I knew that if she had, I would have felt bad for going behind Vincent’s back to get the information. Her small white hand reached out and touched my own.
“Don’t worry about Vincent, Kate. He can take care of himself.”
Then it’s something dangerous, I thought. Even if she hadn’t meant to, she had told me something I didn’t know. Now, more than ever, I was determined to find another solution.
A week and a half ago at the ballet, Vincent had said he needed six weeks to see if his experiment had the potential to work. And if it did, I could only imagine that he would continue with it. Which meant I had just over a month to find an answer to an impossible situation. I just hoped that nothing bad would happen to Vincent before I did.
I jumped as the study door opened, positioning myself in front of the open box on Papy’s desk.
“It’s just me,” Georgia said as she walked into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
I exhaled, relieved that I wouldn’t have to lie to Papy about why I was trolling through his library. He would be overjoyed that I was using it. But knowing his enthusiasm for books, he would be too interested in exactly what I was looking for.
“So what treasure of Papy’s deserves a full body block?” she asked, her eyes flitting to the book behind me. I stepped aside to let her see.
“You’re reading something in German?” she asked, surprised, as she flipped through a couple of pages.
“I’m not actually sure it’s even German,” I said, tapping the German dictionary sitting next to it. “Unless it’s an old form. It could be a Bavarian dialect, for all I know.”
Georgia looked confused. “It’s sunny out—for once—and you’re spending your free time indoors reading an ancient Bavarian book because . . .” She turned another page to a hand-drawn illustration of a devil-like beast: red skin, horns, and claws. “Ah . . . monsters. May I guess that this has something to do with the particularly hot undead guy you suck face with on a regular basis?”
I leaned tiredly against the desk and nodded. “This is the last book. I’ve gone through everything in Papy’s library that could have something to do with revenants, and found only one that mentioned them. And it didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“What are you looking for?” Georgia asked, as I carefully put the book back in its box and slid it into the empty space in the bookcase.
“Honestly? If it were possible, I’d love to find a way to turn Vincent back into a human again. But since it’s not, I’ll settle for any information that might make things easier for us.”
“Hmm,” Georgia said pensively. “Normally I’d tease you for talking about magic, except for the fact that we’re referring to a reanimated dead guy here, so—hey—I guess anything is possible. Seriously, what exactly are you hoping to find?”