I Should Die

TWENTY-ONE



FOR TWO SECONDS AFTER JB OPENED THE FRONT door, it looked like we might not make it over the threshold. I’d never seen my grandfather uncomfortable in a social situation, but Papy’s jaw was clenched so tightly that I was surprised he was able to wrench it open again to say, “Bonsoir.” But he finally managed to speak, and the two men tipped their heads to acknowledge each other before giving a formal handshake.

“Kate. Georgia,” Jean-Baptiste greeted us and, then stepping out of the way, said, “Please, Monsieur Mercier, come in.” He gestured toward the staircase. “We might as well proceed directly to the library.”

“They look like they should be going to a steeplechase or a musty old man’s club instead of to a library to discuss the re-embodiment of my immortal boyfriend,” I whispered to Georgia as we followed them into the foyer.

“Maybe that’s what old guys discuss in their leather chairs while puffing their cigars,” she responded with a grin. “And here we were imagining it was the stock market or property prices.”

The sitting room door opened and Arthur stepped into the foyer. “Bonjour, Georgia,” he said, striding eagerly toward us. He took her hand and was about to lift it to his lips before remembering which century he was in and opting for cheek-kisses instead. “How are you?”

Georgia lifted her face up for inspection. “Better, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.

“Yes. You look . . .” He was going to say “beautiful.” I could tell. But he stopped himself and said, “Much improved. I’m glad you’re healing.”

Georgia smiled flirtatiously at him and said, “That sure was sweet of you to call to check up on me this morning and leave me those messages. I’m sorry I couldn’t phone you back. I’m really trying to take it easy. To recover my health, you see.”

“Of course!” Arthur exclaimed, jamming his shoulder-length hair self-consciously behind his ears. I noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and that he was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt instead of his regular button-down and suit pants. I had to smile. Arthur was making an effort for my sister.

“I didn’t expect you to phone me back,” he said. “I was just checking in, you know. But why don’t you come back to the kitchen with me and I’ll get you something to drink. Did you have lunch? Are you hungry?”

As they walked through the door to the hallway, Georgia threw me a backward glance, wagging her eyebrows in victory before turning back to him. I could barely restrain myself from cracking up. Georgia was the queen of games. And she was obviously playing this one very carefully.

Mon ange, came a voice in my head.

“I was wondering where you were,” I said, following Papy and Jean-Baptiste up the double staircase.

I can tell you’ve discovered something—your cheeks have gone all rosy. Which, I must say, suits you, mon amour. Would it be out of place for me to tell you how utterly ravishing that makes you look?

I touched my fingertips to my cheeks and felt them flush even redder. “Yes, that is completely off-topic,” I chided jokingly, but his compliment made me feel radiant. As usual.

What did you find? he asked, amused.

“Some old auction catalogue with a sale that might have contained our thymiaterion.”

Well, that’s more than Gaspard and Bran got. They couldn’t find anything resembling the object itself, and extended the search to anything else that might bear the symbols referred to in the story. Ones that would explain how a re-embodiment is performed.

“Did they have any luck?”

None.

I walked into the library to see my grandfather shaking hands with Gaspard and then with Bran. The four men assembled around a table, and Jean-Baptiste held out a chair for me.

Papy began by placing the auction catalogue on the table. He told them that if the thymiaterion wasn’t already in a museum or other major public collection—which it couldn’t be, because he would already be familiar with it—then it must be in a private collection. He explained about the flow of Middle Eastern antiquities into the antiques market between the wars, and his theory that the piece was moved from Turkey to a European or American collection during this period.

He tapped the book with his index finger. “I own all of the records from the major auction houses during that time, and in one of them Kate found a sale that might refer to the object we seek.”

He said we! I thought, marveling once again that my grandfather was joining forces with revenants—for me.

Papy opened the catalogue and showed them the reference, then flipped back to the buyer list. “If a purchase of this nature was made for a museum or a major collector, the name would be listed. Instead, this important collection went to an anonymous buyer.”

He turned to JB. “I am guessing that this library contains several books that were purchased from me.”

“You would be guessing correctly,” Jean-Baptiste confirmed, just the slightest flicker of discomfort crossing his face as he revealed yet another of his secrets to an outsider.

“Then perhaps you know who the other members of this worldwide confederation of secretive revenant-themed buyers would be.”

“I would certainly know some of them,” Jean-Baptiste affirmed.

“Well, there are only a handful of important antiquity collectors based in New York. And only one of those who I know to contact if I find a revenant-related object. I feel that the buyer who bought this auction lot might have been the father of a longtime client of mine based in the city.”

Jean-Baptiste watched him, waiting.

“But I have no way of communicating with this collector, who goes by the pseudonym ‘G. J. Caesar’ except by email. And I doubt he would respond to a request from me concerning something already extant in his collection.”

As soon as Papy said the name, a shadow fell across Jean-Baptiste’s features, and I could tell that he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. Gaspard must have felt it too, because he made a kind of hiccupping noise and then began fiddling with some papers.

Papy continued, undaunted, “That alias seems to ring a bell with you. I had hoped you would carry out the commission and ask if the piece is in his collection. He would surely be more open to sharing information with you than he would with me.”

There was a long, uncomfortable moment in which Jean-Baptiste seemed to wage an internal battle. Finally, he stood and said, “I may know the man to whom you refer, but I don’t have his information easily accessible. Give me a day, Monsieur Mercier, and I will see what I can produce.”

“That seems reasonable,” Papy responded, glancing at me. I was shaking my head.

“We have less than forty-eight hours left,” I urged, “and Vincent says we’re not even sure that Violette will respect that offer. She could drag him back sooner.”

“I know exactly how much time we have left,” Jean-Baptiste responded, stony-faced. “I just need a little while to think.”

Gaspard’s fidgeting intensified, until he looked like he was about to blow a fuse. Rising to his feet, he faced his partner. “Jean-Baptiste, time is of the essence here. It is time to let bygones be bygones. I refuse to allow you to spend the day debating whether or not you will speak to Theodore. Fifty years is long enough for a dispute. Now, get on the phone and call him.”

“I might not even have his correct number anymore,” Jean-Baptiste countered.

“Vincent just updated the Consortium’s information in the database last month. I have no doubt he’s listed there,” Gaspard said, hands clenched tightly by his sides.

My mouth dropped open. Gaspard was never this assertive—except for the personality transformation he underwent when he had a weapon in his hand. Jean-Baptiste seemed equally surprised because he stood there staring coldly at Gaspard before turning on his heels and stalking out of the room.

Who is this Theodore? I wondered. I had never seen Jean-Baptiste act like this before—not to mention Gaspard react like this before. There must be some serious bad blood between the two revenants, and I was burning with curiosity to know why.

Everyone sat uncomfortably for a moment, until we heard Jean-Baptiste’s voice come from his bedroom across the hallway. He was speaking to someone on the phone. Gaspard cleared his throat as if to muffle the noise and give JB privacy.

After a tense moment, we heard the sound of a telephone slamming back into its set, and footsteps stomping back to the library. Jean-Baptiste appeared, his face a mask of composure but its mottled reddened tone belying his true emotions. He avoided looking at the rest of us and spoke directly to Gaspard.

“Theodore, indeed, has a five-foot-tall thymiaterion with mystical symbols engraved around the pedestal, including the signum bardia. He knows of two others extant in the world: one in China and one in Peru, so he can’t be sure that his is the one that was mentioned in the guérisseur’s tale. But he assumes that that doesn’t matter as long as they were all created for the same purpose.

“He said that he never discovered its use, but he’s excited by the theory that we are proposing—that it was created to facilitate a re-embodiment.”

“Did he offer to bring it to us?” Gaspard asked.

Jean-Baptiste shook his head. “He said it would take weeks to get the customs clearances to take an object like that out of the country.”

My heart leapt to my throat, and I blurted out, “Then we have to go there!”

“That is what he suggested,” Jean-Baptiste confirmed, turning to me. “Bran must take his family’s records. And a revenant must accompany Vincent in case he needs to inhabit a corporeal body while the process is attempted.”

“Surely you should go,” urged Gaspard. “The head of France’s bardia should represent, since it is in a way as much a diplomatic mission as it is a—”

“I will not,” Jean-Baptiste interrupted angrily, before visibly calming himself and continuing. “You made your case for my contacting Theodore, and rightfully so. But that is the extent to which I will be involved. You do not know what you are asking, Gaspard.”

Jean-Baptiste tilted his head slightly, listening, and then said, “In any case, Vincent has made up his mind. He wants Jules to accompany him.”

“Then Bran and Jules should prepare to leave,” Gaspard said.

“I’m going too,” I stated, my eyes flickering to Papy as the words left my mouth. I lifted my chin, preparing for his refusal.

“I am not letting you fly to New York with two men I barely know,” Papy said, scooting his chair back abruptly. He looked like he wanted to grab me and leave the house running.

“Then it’s decided,” JB dictated. “Monsieur Mercier will accompany his granddaughter. Bran, you will want to prepare your things. Gaspard, please let Jules know of his appointment and call our pilot. You will all leave tonight.” And he turned and marched out of the room.

Papy and I stared at each other in shock while Gaspard walked over to the phone and began dialing. Bran scooted off and began assembling his books, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Finally Papy unstuck from his frozen position and, taking me gently by the hand, said, “I don’t care who he is or how much power he holds. Monsieur Grimod will not make decisions for me regarding my own granddaughter.”

“Papy, I have to go with them. You’ve got to understand that,” I said, not pleading but simply stating it as a fact.

“Kate, this could be dangerous,” he said.

“How dangerous could it be? It’s a trip to New York on a private plane, a visit to an antiquities collector, some ceremony that involves Vincent—not me—and then we’re back again. In fact, it’s probably safer for me to be out of France—and away from Violette and the numa—than in it.”

Papy stared around him, at Bran, eyes like an owl’s, as he glanced up from his books at us. At nineteenth-century Gaspard, holding the telephone inches away from his ear, as if it were a dangerous object from the future that just may infect him with progressiveness if it touched his head. “How can we trust these people?” he asked, resisting.

“They’re better than the alternative, who have actually threatened us,” I reminded him softly, and in my mind corrected that to threatened me.

“But . . . school—” he began, in a last attempt to dissuade me.

“Is out for the week,” I responded. “Remember—winter ski break starts tomorrow. Papy, listen. If this works, Vincent will regain his body. I have to be there for that. If it doesn’t, then at least we will be face-to-face with this antiquities guy, who might be knowledgeable enough to know of another solution. Just think, you’ll be able to meet this client you’ve been dealing with for decades.”

I could tell that Papy had already thought of that. He was tempted by the possibility of meeting the mystery collector and getting a glimpse at his collection. But this desire was overshadowed by his worry for me.

Jules bustled into the room, looking like someone was pushing him. “Vincent informs me that I’m leaving ASAP for New York?” he said, looking around at us, confused.

“Yes. Go pack,” Gaspard said, hanging up the phone. And Jules was off—no questions asked—back out the door and up the stairs to his room.

Gaspard came over and looked Papy in the eye. “Your decision, sir?”

Papy took a deep breath, glanced at me, and then said, “My granddaughter and I will go.”

“You will need this, then,” Gaspard said, and handed Papy a small wooden box. Inside was a gold chain looped through a pendant: A flat gold disk engraved with the circle, triangle, and flames. “It is yours to keep, to signal to others that you are trusted by us.”

“I recognize the symbol,” Papy confirmed.

“If you wish to return home and pack a bag, a car will be waiting outside your building in two hours,” Gaspard stated, all business. “I will ask Arthur and Ambrose to walk you and your granddaughters home.” My grandfather nodded his assent and Gaspard left to find Georgia and our revenant guardians.

“Do you have one of these, too?” Papy asked, as he looped the chain over his head and tucked the pendant into his shirt.

I hesitated, but heard Vincent’s voice say: You can show him.

I pulled mine out and Papy’s eyes grew wide at the dollar-coin-size gold disk. He reached out tentatively, fingering the edging of bright gold pellets and studying the flame-shaped design around the triangular sapphire. “You have been wearing that . . . out on the street?” he asked, his voice tremulous.

“Well, yes. I mean, underneath my clothes,” I said. His expression made me feel like I had done something crazy, like running naked through the streets of Paris.

Papy struggled to contain his awe, muttering, “I’m not even going to tell you what that is worth, princesse. How rare that piece is. Because if I did, you probably wouldn’t dare wear it again.”

I heard Vincent chuckle in my mind, and I smiled. “It’s just a thing, Papy.”

“Yes, Kate. A thing that guarantees you the revenants’ protection. But it also serves as a symbol of what you mean to them. And if they chose this particular signum to represent your value—to display the care they are investing in you—I couldn’t come close to competing with the protection that I myself can offer. It means you’re priceless.”

My grandfather smiled at me tenderly and gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m officially outclassed, princesse.”

“It’s not a contest, Papy,” I said, smiling. “It’s a group effort. And now you’re one of the group.”

Papy took my arm and led me out of the room. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”