I was waiting for them outside, seated on the edge of the angel fountain.
“What do you think she’ll do?” I whispered as Ambrose sat next to me, dressed from head to toe in Kevlar and black leather.
“Katie-Lou, regarding Violette, I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“If she burns his body today . . .”
“He’ll be gone. If she waits until he’s volant tomorrow or the next day, and destroys him after he leaves his body, his spirit will remain on earth. Or, if she gets in touch with us in time, and we can offer her something she wants badly enough, she might be willing to barter for his body. That’s what we will focus on, little sister. Don’t even think about the other options.”
He leaned over and gave me a tender kiss on the cheek. “That’s from Jules. He says to tell you, ‘Courage, Kates. We’ll find your man.’”
I wiped a tear away and thanked them both, as Ambrose left to report to Jean-Baptiste. I stayed, watching the moon rise in a spectacularly starry sky. In Paris the stars are usually invisible, unsuccessfully competing with the city’s lights. But tonight they were luminous, offering a breathtaking display for us mortals below. I was transported back to the months after my parents’ death, where at every turn I felt like nature was mocking my despair with its beauty. How could the world go on—how could this twinkling celestial extravaganza take place—when Vincent was helpless in the hands of his enemies? Nothing made sense.
In need of a reality check, I took my phone out of my bag and texted Georgia.
Me: Are you okay?
Georgia: Pain drugs = good. Told Mamie & Papy I got mugged.
Me: OMG!
Georgia: Said you went to a friend’s house after school, so you weren’t with me.
Me: What did they say?
Georgia: They’re freaking and want you home.
Me: I can’t. We haven’t found him yet.
I had seen two missed calls from Mamie and knew I would have to come up with some explanation for not calling her back, but I couldn’t even think about that yet. A life in which I could return to the love and security of my grandparents’ home seemed like part of some other girl’s story. Finding Vincent was the only thing that mattered.
I shivered in the cold, but resisted the urge to go back into the house and ask if there was any news. Someone would surely come tell me if there was. Or would they? For the hundredth time, I felt an overwhelming sense of not belonging. Anywhere. I had been training with the revenants. I knew their secrets and held their symbol around my neck. I was part of their world now, and they were a major part of mine. But I was not one of them.
Neither was I comfortable in the skin of the human teenage girl I had been a year ago. I had gone too far now—out of the world of believing only what you can see and into one where the mystical was mundane.
Vincent had been my link with the revenants. But—if I was honest with myself—without him I would be drifting between the two worlds with no anchor to ground me and no oars to navigate. I pushed that thought out of my head. We’ll get him back, I promised myself.
THIRTY-NINE
THE MOOD AT LA MAISON WAS FUNEREAL. GASPARD had pressed his captive numa for further information, but it seemed that Violette didn’t trust her minions with the details of her plans. A couple of other numa had been found in the meantime, and none knew where Vincent had been taken—only that their leader had left Paris with her prize.
I found Ambrose in the armory, sharpening a battle-ax with an old-fashioned grinding wheel. He looked as antsy for action as me.
“What’s all this mean? Where do we look next?” I asked him, unwilling to accept that we were all just . . . giving up.
“We have no other leads, and no clue of where the numa have taken Vincent. JB, Gaspard, Arthur, and some others are working on a longer-term plan.” His eyes met mine as he turned the wheel, his frustration materialized in the sparks flying from the edges of the ax blade. “Because in the short term, Katie-Lou, there’s nothing else we can do but wait to hear from them.”
I sat with him for a while, and then made my way back upstairs. Dozens of Paris’s revenants moved from room to room like ghosts, speaking in hushed voices and waiting for a phone call that might never happen. The hours passed and there was no news. Yet nobody left. The revenants were quiet, but on the alert. Ready.
Jeanne had insisted on staying. She wandered around, placing trays of finger food on every available surface and cleaning up after everyone.
“Do you want me to make you something special, my little cabbage?” she asked, hugging me for the millionth time since we had returned. I had cried the first time she held me, but my tears seemed to have dried up, leaving numbness in their place.
“I can’t eat, Jeanne.”