Eww. Although I wanted to know everything about the revenants, sometimes the details Vincent gave me fell into the TMI category. Like now. I tried not to visualize what he had just said, and thought instead about the repercussions. As we walked out of the museum and headed toward the bridge crossing the Seine to our neighborhood, I mulled it over.
The revenant-human relationship was symbiotic—to say the least. Humans relied on revenants (however unknowingly) as we would on doctors or emergency workers: to save our lives. Revenants needed humans not only to keep them existent, but to ease the emotional and physical pain imposed by their particular lifestyle. Or deathstyle, rather, I thought in a flash of morbidity.
Without revenants, humans would still exist . . . many would just die a lot earlier. Without humans, revenants would cease to exist. Not to mention that they started out human in the first place.
The system had been working for a long time. Problems only arose when something out of the ordinary happened. Like a human and a revenant falling in love. And, once again, my mind returned to our plight. If I was going to see the guérisseur—that is, if I ever showed up when she happened to be there—I needed to know what to ask. Since Vincent was in an explaining mood, I decided to dig a bit deeper.
“So, how does it work? Can a revenant ever die—of natural causes—and just . . . stop existing?”
“Strictly speaking, it’s possible,” he said. “But no one can withstand the temptation to sacrifice themselves at the end.”
“Wait, I thought the older you get, the less you suffer,” I said, confused.
“Up to a point, and then when the time for a regular human death approaches, it’s like the pendulum suddenly swings back and the suffering is greater than ever.” I shivered, and noticing, Vincent put his arm around me and pulled me close as we continued to walk.
“Gaspard told me once about this Italian revenant he knew—Lorenzo something. The guy was centuries old and barely felt the pull of dying anymore. At one point, all the deaths and rescues he had experienced in his existence got to be too much and he decided to sequester himself. He went and lived like a hermit in this isolated hilltop retreat. And it wasn’t until decades later that he had a message brought to his kindred that he needed help.
“They came and got him—he was in his eighties by then—and had to help him find someone to save. He said that his physical and mental suffering had come on like a tidal wave—within the space of a few days. The craving to sacrifice himself for someone was too great to let him just lie down and die, which was all he wanted.”
We were both silent for a long time as the implications for our own story sank in.
Whether or not Vincent or I found a way to keep him from suffering, we couldn’t avoid one of several tragic endings. And if he managed to live as long as I did, someday he would get to that point that no revenant could pass—at eighty years old, or whenever. He would sacrifice his life for someone else’s and wake up three days later at eighteen. I would die and he would remain immortal. There was no getting around it.
Sensing my hopelessness, Vincent pulled me to the side of the bridge. We stood hand in hand, watching the water surge forward in tiny, quickly moving whirlpools. The perfect metaphor for the unstoppable flow of time.
TWENTY-THREE
THE NEXT DAY, VIOLETTE TEXTED ME AT SCHOOL, asking if I wanted to go to a movie that night.
I texted back: Too much homework. Sorry!
Then how about coffee?
Perfect! After school. Sainte-Lucie.
I’ll see you there.
I smiled, thinking of how her English was coming along. She was actually using contractions! In just a few short weeks, she had begun to sound more like a normal teenager and less like a dowager duchess. And when I heard her speak French with the others . . . well, she definitely was picking up more “street” expressions.
She was already seated when I arrived at the café, and stood to greet me with a huge smile on her face. Kissing my cheeks, she exclaimed, “Kate! You were so amazing Saturday night!”
We sat down, and she continued to gush, but in a softer voice so the people nearby couldn’t hear. “I still can’t believe how well you fought after just a couple months of training. We told Gaspard about it, and although he insisted he couldn’t take any credit, I could tell he was really proud.”
“You were pretty awesome yourself!” I said, meaning it. “That guy was so much bigger than you, and he never even had a chance.”
She waved away the praise like it had been nothing. “So . . . what did you think about Vincent? Wait—monsieur?” She flagged down a passing waiter so I could order a hot chocolate. I leaned back in toward her.
“He was incredible. I’m glad he got my numa when he did, though. I don’t know how much longer I could have fought him off.”
She hesitated, watching me.
“What?” I asked, her expression planting a seed of worry in my chest.