“I’ve got my priorities,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in a debonair gesture. “And keeping you alive, Kates, is a bit higher up on my list than a late date with a pretty signorina.”
“Glad to know you care.” I smiled and, hesitating for just a second, stepped down from the doorway and gave him a good old American hug before turning to follow my sister.
TWENTY-TWO
I PEEKED INTO GEORGIA’S ROOM THE NEXT MORNING. She was sitting propped up in bed, flipping through a music magazine. Her hair was sticking straight out, and her regular peaches-and-cream complexion was verging on kiwi-and-stale-milk.
“There you are,” she said as I plopped down on the end of her bed. “You’re usually up at the crack of dawn.”
“Yeah, well, fighting monsters in a dark alleyway at midnight seems to have taken a bit out of me,” I said, my shoulder muscles burning as I cautiously tested them. “How are you feeling?”
“Like warmed-over crap,” she said. “I have absolutely no energy and was hoping you’d come in so I could hit you up for breakfast in bed.”
“Is that right?” I exclaimed, laughing. “Well, I guess I can accommodate, seeing you were two inches from being taken out by an evil zombie last night.”
“And rescued by a good zombie?” She smiled.
“If you want to get technical, yeah,” I said with a grin, and then got up and walked to the door. “Jules warned me that you’d probably be in shock and should rest. I would spend some quality time in the bathtub if I were you. It’s my personal choice for post-traumatic stress. But first, I’ll get us breakfast.”
I returned five minutes later with a tray for both of us, and sat on the floor with my back against Georgia’s dresser while I ate a bowl of cereal. She munched pensively on her toast for a few minutes and then said, “So tell me more about this Arthur guy.”
I set my bowl on the ground. “Oh no, Georgia. Please do not tell me you’re crushing on Arthur just because he saved your life last night.”
“I didn’t say I was crushing on him. I’m simply interested in who he is. Will you allow that, Miss Protector-of-the-Undead?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t really know much about him. He and Violette knew each other in life—she was one of Anne of Brittany’s ladies-in-waiting, supposedly, and he was one of her dad’s counselors . . . at least that’s what Charlotte said. Which would mean they’re aristocrats.”
“Oh believe me, it shows.” Georgia smirked.
“They both died around 1500, so he’s really ancient. And they’ve been living in isolation in this Loire Valley castle for a really long time.”
“What’s he like?”
“Honestly, Georgia, I don’t know,” I conceded. “After he said that humans shouldn’t be allowed in revenant meetings—right in front of me—I haven’t really felt like getting to know him. The chip on my shoulder’s pretty much superglued there.”
Georgia smiled. “Are he and Violette . . . together?”
“I thought they were. She acts really possessive of him. But Vincent said it’s platonic. Platonic but codependent. Sounds like a healthy relationship.”
“He looked really hot in that T-shirt last night,” Georgia mused, taking a sip of coffee.
“Georgia!” I shouted. “You have a boyfriend. And plus, you’ve said it before yourself: You don’t do dead guys. You’re not even allowed in their house!”
“I’m not doing anything,” she said. “Especially not today.” She leaned back against her headboard, looking a little weaker than before.
“I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s five hundred, for God’s sake! Plus he has this love-hate relationship with humans. There’s no way he’d look twice at you.”
Oh no, I thought. That was totally the wrong thing to say to my sister. She was going to see him as a challenge now. I changed the subject fast. “Anyway, what’s wrong with good old Sebastien?”
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” she said, gazing dreamily at the ceiling. Her expression suddenly changed to alarm. “Nothing except . . . oh my God, Kate. I ditched him last night and never called! Quick—bring me my phone. It’s in my bag.”
I picked up the breakfast tray as she was babbling some ridiculous explanation of why she hadn’t shown last night to Sebastien’s voice mail. At least she was still concerned enough about him to make an effort, I reassured myself. The interest in Arthur was just one of those hero-worship infatuations. Knowing Georgia, she’d forget about it by lunchtime.