“Papy, Vincent saved my life. He’s the one who moved me out of the way of the falling stones at the café last year. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here now for you to be fighting over.” My grandfather’s face remained hard, but his fists unclenched. Knowing he was absorbing my words, I continued.
“Grandpère,” I pleaded, “do you want me to be like I was before? Depressed? Grieving? Living in the past with no company besides my dead parents’ ghosts? Vincent not only saved my life, he helped me find my way back to the world of the living.”
“That’s quite an accomplishment for someone who is undead,” Papy said dryly.
Vincent just stood there, looking like he didn’t know what to say, but his hands were open as if he was trying to beam me support through the five feet of space that separated us. He’s not even worried about himself, I thought. All he cares about is how I come out of this. I launched myself toward him, wrapping myself around his neck, and felt his arms encircle me carefully.
“Vincent, this is my gallery, and I will ask you to leave it now,” Papy demanded.
Vincent gently unwound me from him and, taking my hand in his, turned to face Papy. “I would ask that—before you come to a conclusion—you discuss this alone with Kate. I will live by any decision the two of you make together.”
Taking my head in his hands, he kissed me lightly on the lips. “I’ll call you later,” he said softly. Then, giving Papy a polite bow, he walked to the door, flipped the lock open, and disappeared onto the street.
My tears were falling in earnest as I felt Papy’s gentle hands on my shoulders. “Ma princesse,” he said mournfully. “Whatever have you gotten yourself into?”
THIRTY-THREE
PAPY ORDERED ME TO SIT DOWN AND SPENT THE next fifteen minutes closing the gallery early. We were both jumpy on the walk home—waiting for the numa to double back and come for us. I felt like telling my grandfather that sending Vincent away before he could escort us safely to our house might not have been the smartest idea, but by that point I was keeping my thoughts to myself.
Then, halfway there, I saw Ambrose in a phone booth pretending to be deep in conversation, although I knew full well that he never left home without his cell phone. He winked as I walked by, and I suspected that Vincent had provided us with ample protection. When I spotted Gaspard sitting in a café reading a book, and he raised an eyebrow as we passed, I was sure of it.
Once home, Papy and I headed directly to his office. “Kate,” he said gravely, as I posed nervously on a leather armchair, “do you even know what Vincent is?”
I nodded. “I know everything, Papy. Or at least, I know a lot. But how do you know about them? You can’t tell me you just jumped from studying mythological beings to believing they exist. You didn’t even blink when Vincent told you what he was.”
My grandfather sighed, walked to his bookcase, and, after searching for a minute, pulled out the old bestiary. He laid it on the low, round table between us and opened it, flipping through until he found the right page.
“This, my dear,” he said, gesturing toward the book, “is the only record of a revenant in my entire library. I have seen them mentioned in other texts, but as soon as books or works of art concerning revenants come onto the market, they are snatched up for astronomical prices. The buyers are a secret network of private collectors using obviously fictional names and paying in cash. We antiquities dealers know to contact them if we come into possession of anything of that nature.
“None of the dealers talk about the revenant-theme collectors—not even among ourselves; our clients have made it clear that if we discuss their interest with anyone they will no longer do business with us. All literary traces of revenants have disappeared into these buyers’ collections. So of course it occurred to me that there might be a reason for the secrecy—beyond an extremely competitive market.”
I met Papy’s serious gaze with a determined look of my own. He wasn’t going to scare me, and he needed to know that.
“There are strange, mystical things occurring in our world that very few people know about. Because my profession necessitates constant detective work into the darkest corners of history, I unluckily happen to be privy to some of them. Most of my colleagues prefer to stick their heads in the sand and pretend that revenants are fictional beings. But I don’t agree with them—I suspected their existence. And after what I witnessed today, my suspicions have been confirmed.
“But Kate, these things should remain where they began—in the shadows. Not in my life, dating my granddaughter. I cannot let you see Vincent again. Your parents would have expected me to protect you, and barring you from seeing something”—he hesitated, registering the look on my face—“someone who means certain danger for you, is part of the responsibility I have accepted.”