“You can go home now,” he continued, “but as Jean-Baptiste said before, you can’t talk about us to anybody. Not that they would believe you anyway, but we try to stay as under the radar as possible.”
I looked at him quizzically.
“You’ve heard of vampires?” he asked, smiling mysteriously.
I nodded.
“You’ve heard of werewolves?”
“Of course.”
“Had you ever heard of us?”
I shook my head.
“That’s called ‘staying under the radar,’ dear Kate. It’s what we’re good at.”
“Gotcha.” I took his outstretched hand.
“Can I see you again in a few days?” he asked.
I nodded, suddenly uncertain when I thought of what the future could hold. Pausing at the door, I called, “Take care,” and then immediately felt stupid. He was immortal. He didn’t have to take care. “I mean rest up,” I corrected myself.
He smiled, amused by my confusion, and saluted me.
“Milady.” Jules stepped forward, bowing like a doorman in a Merchant-Ivory film, and placed my hand on his arm. “Shall we?” I couldn’t help but laugh. He was going all out to make up for upsetting me.
Back in the grand foyer, I picked up my book bag. As I stepped outside, he touched my arm and said, “Listen. I’m sorry I was rude before today, you know . . . in my studio and at the museum. I swear it was nothing personal. I was just trying to protect Vincent and you . . . and all of us. Now that it’s too late for that, well, please accept my apology.”
“I totally understand,” I told him. “What else could you do?”
“Whew—she forgave me,” he said, hand on heart, his playfulness obviously returning. “So. You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked me, stepping closer with a look that struck me as more than just friendly concern for my well-being. He saw me read his face and smiled flirtatiously, lifting an eyebrow as if asking a question.
“I’ll be fine, really. Thank you,” I responded, blushing, and stepped over the threshold onto the cobblestones.
“Vince’ll come see you as soon as he can,” he said, thrusting his hands into his jean pockets and nodding good-bye.
I waved back at him and walked slowly out of the courtyard into the street beyond, feeling as if I were in a dream.
Chapter Fifteen
THE WEEKEND WENT BY IN A BLUR, WITH MY body doing one thing and my mind back in the house on rue de Grenelle.
I didn’t know when to expect word from Vincent. On Monday morning, as Georgia and I left for school, I spotted an envelope taped to our building’s front door with my name printed on it in a beautiful, old-fashioned cursive. I opened it, and from inside pulled a piece of thick white card, on which was written in sweeping script, “Soon. V.”
“Who’s V?” asked Georgia, with eyebrows raised.
“Oh, just this guy.”
“What guy?” she asked, stopping dead in her tracks and grabbing my arm. “The criminal?”
“Yes,” I laughed, breaking away from her grasp and pulling her along toward the Métro. “Except that he’s not a criminal. He’s . . .” He’s a revenant, a kind of undead-guardian-angel type of monster that runs around saving human lives. “He just hangs out with some iffy people.”
“Hmm . . . I think I should meet him.”
“No way, Georgia. I don’t even know if I’m going to keep seeing him. All I need is for you to interfere and complicate things before I actually decide I like him.”
“Oh, you like him all right.”
“Okay, I like him. I mean whether I’m going to keep seeing him.”
She looked at me skeptically.
“I can’t explain it, Georgia. Just let’s not talk about it. I promise to let you know if anything happens.”
We walked in silence for about two seconds before she said, “Don’t worry. I won’t try to steal him from you.”
I hit her with my book bag as we ran down the stairs to the Métro.
Vincent had said he wanted to see me “in a few days,” but we were on day four, and I had begun wondering when, if ever, I would see him again. Maybe he had changed his mind about me once he had gotten stronger. Or maybe Jean-Baptiste had changed it for him. I just thought about his note and hoped he would show.
After the last bell rang on Tuesday, I walked through the school’s front gates and headed toward the bus stop. My pace slowed as I spotted a familiar figure standing across the street. It was Vincent.
His black hair shone in the late-September sun, and he radiated energy and life. He looked like some kind of perfect mythological creature. He is some kind of perfect mythological creature, I reminded myself. I felt breathless. Though his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, I saw his lips curve up into a smile when he saw me coming through the gates.
A vintage red Vespa was parked where he stood, and as I crossed the street toward him he held up a matching helmet. After the four-day wait, I felt like throwing my arms around him in relief. But when I got a step away I hesitated, remembering what he had looked like the last time I had seen him.
He had been near death. Lying there almost lifeless on his bed like a scene from an old black-and-white horror film. And now here he was, four days later, every pore of his body oozing health. What was wrong with me? I should be running away from him as fast as I could, not into his arms. Monster, not human, I reminded myself.
He saw me pause, and although he had been leaning in to greet me, he took a step back and waited for me to make the first move.
“Hey. You look a lot more . . . alive,” I said, flashing him a tense smile, while inside me the battle between impulse and caution continued.
He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, his expression a cross between sheepish and apologetic. “Yeah. Walking, talking . . .” His voice faded as he watched my expression carefully.
Make up your mind, I thought, prodding myself into action. Reaching out, I took the spare helmet from his hand. “So, the back-from-the-dead thing . . . good party trick,” I said, pulling the helmet on.
Vincent’s expression was one of immediate relief. “Yeah, I’ll have to show you how it works sometime,” he laughed and, swinging one leg over the scooter, held out a hand to me.
I took it hesitantly. It was warm. Soft. Mortal. I settled myself behind him and pushed all lingering doubts back to a far corner of my mind. “Where are we going?” I asked, finally letting myself feel the excitement that had been struggling to break free.
“Just a little ride around town,” he said, as he kick-started the Vespa and zoomed out into the street.
Holding Vincent felt like heaven, and driving through Paris on a vintage Vespa felt like the best adventure I had had in years. We crossed a bridge over the Seine into Paris, and cut across town to drive along the riverbank. The water glimmered in the autumn light.
After a twenty-minute ride, we came to the Île Saint-Louis, one of two natural islands in the middle of the Seine that are connected to the mainland by bridges, and linked to each other by a footbridge.
Vincent locked the scooter to a gate and then, taking me by the hand, led me down a long flight of stone steps to the water’s edge.
“Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner,” he said, walking along the quay with me hand in hand. “I had a job to do for Jean-Baptiste. I came as soon as I could.”
“That’s okay,” I responded, refraining from asking him questions. I preferred to forget about all the weird fantasy-novel events from the previous weekend. I wanted to pretend that we were just a boy and a girl spending an afternoon by the riverside. But I had a nagging feeling that the reverie wouldn’t last for long.
As we approached the tip of the island, the narrow sidewalk opened out into a large cobblestone terrace. “This place is always crowded during the summer, but no one ever thinks to come here the rest of the year. Which leaves it empty for us,” Vincent said as he led me to the north side.
Lowering himself to the edge of the terrace, he spread his coat on the stone and reached his hand up for me to take it. I felt like we were the last two people on earth. This knight in shining armor had swept me away to his little island of peace in the midst of the busy city and wanted to sit with me for a few fairy-tale moments. This can’t be real.
We watched the tiny waves sparkle and flash like mirrors in the sun atop the fast-flowing viridian river. Enormous puffy clouds drifted across a wide expanse of sky that you rarely saw when walking among the city’s buildings. The waves lapped loudly against the base of the wall, their sound mounting to a crashing crescendo when boats motored by. I closed my eyes and let the tranquillity of the place flow through me.
Vincent touched my hand, breaking the spell. His brow was lined with concern as he appeared to search for words. Finally he spoke. “You know what I am, Kate. Or at least you know the basics.”
I nodded, wondering what could possibly come next.
“The thing is . . . I want to get to know you. I have a feeling about you that I haven’t had for a long, long time. But being what I am makes things”—he paused—“complicated.”
Watching his agonized expression, I felt like touching him, reassuring him, but exercised every last ounce of my self-control to keep still and hold my tongue. He had obviously thought about what he wanted to say, and I didn’t want to distract him from it.
“You’ve just been through a great loss. And the last thing I want is to make things more painful for you than they already are. If I were a normal guy, living an everyday life, I wouldn’t even be talking to you about this. We would just hang out, see how it went, and if things worked, great. If not, we would each go our own way.
“But I can’t do that in good conscience. Not with you. I can’t let someone who I feel I could care deeply for begin this journey without knowing the consequences. Knowing that I’m different. That I have no idea what this could mean if it goes further. . . .” He seemed both dismayed by his own words and determined to spit them out. “I hate even having to talk to you like this. It’s too much, too fast.”
He paused for a moment and looked down at our hands, separated by mere inches of cobblestone.
“Kate, I can’t stop myself from wanting to be with you. So I’m putting all of this forward for you to consider. To decide what you want. I want to try. To see how we could be. But I will walk away right now if you give me the word—only you know what you can handle. What happens next, with us, is up to you. You don’t have to decide right now, but it would be nice to know how you feel about what I’ve said.”
Drawing my feet up from where they dangled off the edge of the quay, I wrapped my arms around my legs. I rocked back and forth for a few minutes in silence and did something I rarely allowed myself to do. I thought about my parents. About my mother.
She teased me for being impetuous, but had always told me to follow my heart. “You have an old soul,” she said once. “I wouldn’t say this to Georgia, and for God’s sake, don’t tell her I told you this. But she doesn’t have the same intuition you do. The same ability to see things for what they are. I don’t want you to be afraid to go after the things you really want in life. Because I think you will want the right things.”
If she could only see what I wanted now, she would eat her words.
Shifting my eyes from the passing boats to Vincent, sitting motionless by my side, I studied his profile as he looked out at the water, lost in his own thoughts. It wasn’t even a choice. Who was I trying to fool? I had made my decision the first time I saw him, whatever my rational mind had tried to convince me of since then.
I leaned toward him. Reaching up with one hand, I swept my fingers down his arm, running their tips along his warm skin. He turned his head and looked at me with a longing that made my heart skip a beat. I brushed my lips against the bronzed surface of his cheek and braced myself to have the strength to say the words I knew I must. “I can’t, Vincent. I can’t say yes.”
His eyes showed pain, despair even, but not surprise. My answer was the one he had expected.
“I’m not saying no, either,” I continued, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m going to need some things if we’re going to see each other.”
He let out a low, sexy laugh. “So you’re making demands, are you? Well, let’s hear them.”
“I want unlimited access.”
“Now that sounds interesting. To what, exactly?”
“To information. I can’t do this if I don’t understand what I’m getting into.”
“Do you need to know everything right away?”
“No, but I don’t want to feel like you’re hiding anything either.”
“Fair enough. As long as it goes both ways.”
A slight smile lifted the corners of his perfectly sculpted lips. I looked away, before I lost my courage.
“I need to know when I’m not going to see you for a while. When you do the death-sleep thing. So that I won’t worry that I’ve driven you off with my mortality. Or my incessant questions.”
“Agreed. That’s easy enough to schedule, when things are normal. But if something were to happen to . . . throw things off . . .”
“Something like what?”
“Do you remember being told about how we stay young?”
“Oh. Right.” The awful image of Jules jumping in front of the train returned to my mind’s eye. “You mean if you were to ‘save someone.’”
I looked at him quizzically.
“You’ve heard of vampires?” he asked, smiling mysteriously.
I nodded.
“You’ve heard of werewolves?”
“Of course.”
“Had you ever heard of us?”
I shook my head.
“That’s called ‘staying under the radar,’ dear Kate. It’s what we’re good at.”
“Gotcha.” I took his outstretched hand.
“Can I see you again in a few days?” he asked.
I nodded, suddenly uncertain when I thought of what the future could hold. Pausing at the door, I called, “Take care,” and then immediately felt stupid. He was immortal. He didn’t have to take care. “I mean rest up,” I corrected myself.
He smiled, amused by my confusion, and saluted me.
“Milady.” Jules stepped forward, bowing like a doorman in a Merchant-Ivory film, and placed my hand on his arm. “Shall we?” I couldn’t help but laugh. He was going all out to make up for upsetting me.
Back in the grand foyer, I picked up my book bag. As I stepped outside, he touched my arm and said, “Listen. I’m sorry I was rude before today, you know . . . in my studio and at the museum. I swear it was nothing personal. I was just trying to protect Vincent and you . . . and all of us. Now that it’s too late for that, well, please accept my apology.”
“I totally understand,” I told him. “What else could you do?”
“Whew—she forgave me,” he said, hand on heart, his playfulness obviously returning. “So. You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked me, stepping closer with a look that struck me as more than just friendly concern for my well-being. He saw me read his face and smiled flirtatiously, lifting an eyebrow as if asking a question.
“I’ll be fine, really. Thank you,” I responded, blushing, and stepped over the threshold onto the cobblestones.
“Vince’ll come see you as soon as he can,” he said, thrusting his hands into his jean pockets and nodding good-bye.
I waved back at him and walked slowly out of the courtyard into the street beyond, feeling as if I were in a dream.
Chapter Fifteen
THE WEEKEND WENT BY IN A BLUR, WITH MY body doing one thing and my mind back in the house on rue de Grenelle.
I didn’t know when to expect word from Vincent. On Monday morning, as Georgia and I left for school, I spotted an envelope taped to our building’s front door with my name printed on it in a beautiful, old-fashioned cursive. I opened it, and from inside pulled a piece of thick white card, on which was written in sweeping script, “Soon. V.”
“Who’s V?” asked Georgia, with eyebrows raised.
“Oh, just this guy.”
“What guy?” she asked, stopping dead in her tracks and grabbing my arm. “The criminal?”
“Yes,” I laughed, breaking away from her grasp and pulling her along toward the Métro. “Except that he’s not a criminal. He’s . . .” He’s a revenant, a kind of undead-guardian-angel type of monster that runs around saving human lives. “He just hangs out with some iffy people.”
“Hmm . . . I think I should meet him.”
“No way, Georgia. I don’t even know if I’m going to keep seeing him. All I need is for you to interfere and complicate things before I actually decide I like him.”
“Oh, you like him all right.”
“Okay, I like him. I mean whether I’m going to keep seeing him.”
She looked at me skeptically.
“I can’t explain it, Georgia. Just let’s not talk about it. I promise to let you know if anything happens.”
We walked in silence for about two seconds before she said, “Don’t worry. I won’t try to steal him from you.”
I hit her with my book bag as we ran down the stairs to the Métro.
Vincent had said he wanted to see me “in a few days,” but we were on day four, and I had begun wondering when, if ever, I would see him again. Maybe he had changed his mind about me once he had gotten stronger. Or maybe Jean-Baptiste had changed it for him. I just thought about his note and hoped he would show.
After the last bell rang on Tuesday, I walked through the school’s front gates and headed toward the bus stop. My pace slowed as I spotted a familiar figure standing across the street. It was Vincent.
His black hair shone in the late-September sun, and he radiated energy and life. He looked like some kind of perfect mythological creature. He is some kind of perfect mythological creature, I reminded myself. I felt breathless. Though his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, I saw his lips curve up into a smile when he saw me coming through the gates.
A vintage red Vespa was parked where he stood, and as I crossed the street toward him he held up a matching helmet. After the four-day wait, I felt like throwing my arms around him in relief. But when I got a step away I hesitated, remembering what he had looked like the last time I had seen him.
He had been near death. Lying there almost lifeless on his bed like a scene from an old black-and-white horror film. And now here he was, four days later, every pore of his body oozing health. What was wrong with me? I should be running away from him as fast as I could, not into his arms. Monster, not human, I reminded myself.
He saw me pause, and although he had been leaning in to greet me, he took a step back and waited for me to make the first move.
“Hey. You look a lot more . . . alive,” I said, flashing him a tense smile, while inside me the battle between impulse and caution continued.
He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, his expression a cross between sheepish and apologetic. “Yeah. Walking, talking . . .” His voice faded as he watched my expression carefully.
Make up your mind, I thought, prodding myself into action. Reaching out, I took the spare helmet from his hand. “So, the back-from-the-dead thing . . . good party trick,” I said, pulling the helmet on.
Vincent’s expression was one of immediate relief. “Yeah, I’ll have to show you how it works sometime,” he laughed and, swinging one leg over the scooter, held out a hand to me.
I took it hesitantly. It was warm. Soft. Mortal. I settled myself behind him and pushed all lingering doubts back to a far corner of my mind. “Where are we going?” I asked, finally letting myself feel the excitement that had been struggling to break free.
“Just a little ride around town,” he said, as he kick-started the Vespa and zoomed out into the street.
Holding Vincent felt like heaven, and driving through Paris on a vintage Vespa felt like the best adventure I had had in years. We crossed a bridge over the Seine into Paris, and cut across town to drive along the riverbank. The water glimmered in the autumn light.
After a twenty-minute ride, we came to the Île Saint-Louis, one of two natural islands in the middle of the Seine that are connected to the mainland by bridges, and linked to each other by a footbridge.
Vincent locked the scooter to a gate and then, taking me by the hand, led me down a long flight of stone steps to the water’s edge.
“Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner,” he said, walking along the quay with me hand in hand. “I had a job to do for Jean-Baptiste. I came as soon as I could.”
“That’s okay,” I responded, refraining from asking him questions. I preferred to forget about all the weird fantasy-novel events from the previous weekend. I wanted to pretend that we were just a boy and a girl spending an afternoon by the riverside. But I had a nagging feeling that the reverie wouldn’t last for long.
As we approached the tip of the island, the narrow sidewalk opened out into a large cobblestone terrace. “This place is always crowded during the summer, but no one ever thinks to come here the rest of the year. Which leaves it empty for us,” Vincent said as he led me to the north side.
Lowering himself to the edge of the terrace, he spread his coat on the stone and reached his hand up for me to take it. I felt like we were the last two people on earth. This knight in shining armor had swept me away to his little island of peace in the midst of the busy city and wanted to sit with me for a few fairy-tale moments. This can’t be real.
We watched the tiny waves sparkle and flash like mirrors in the sun atop the fast-flowing viridian river. Enormous puffy clouds drifted across a wide expanse of sky that you rarely saw when walking among the city’s buildings. The waves lapped loudly against the base of the wall, their sound mounting to a crashing crescendo when boats motored by. I closed my eyes and let the tranquillity of the place flow through me.
Vincent touched my hand, breaking the spell. His brow was lined with concern as he appeared to search for words. Finally he spoke. “You know what I am, Kate. Or at least you know the basics.”
I nodded, wondering what could possibly come next.
“The thing is . . . I want to get to know you. I have a feeling about you that I haven’t had for a long, long time. But being what I am makes things”—he paused—“complicated.”
Watching his agonized expression, I felt like touching him, reassuring him, but exercised every last ounce of my self-control to keep still and hold my tongue. He had obviously thought about what he wanted to say, and I didn’t want to distract him from it.
“You’ve just been through a great loss. And the last thing I want is to make things more painful for you than they already are. If I were a normal guy, living an everyday life, I wouldn’t even be talking to you about this. We would just hang out, see how it went, and if things worked, great. If not, we would each go our own way.
“But I can’t do that in good conscience. Not with you. I can’t let someone who I feel I could care deeply for begin this journey without knowing the consequences. Knowing that I’m different. That I have no idea what this could mean if it goes further. . . .” He seemed both dismayed by his own words and determined to spit them out. “I hate even having to talk to you like this. It’s too much, too fast.”
He paused for a moment and looked down at our hands, separated by mere inches of cobblestone.
“Kate, I can’t stop myself from wanting to be with you. So I’m putting all of this forward for you to consider. To decide what you want. I want to try. To see how we could be. But I will walk away right now if you give me the word—only you know what you can handle. What happens next, with us, is up to you. You don’t have to decide right now, but it would be nice to know how you feel about what I’ve said.”
Drawing my feet up from where they dangled off the edge of the quay, I wrapped my arms around my legs. I rocked back and forth for a few minutes in silence and did something I rarely allowed myself to do. I thought about my parents. About my mother.
She teased me for being impetuous, but had always told me to follow my heart. “You have an old soul,” she said once. “I wouldn’t say this to Georgia, and for God’s sake, don’t tell her I told you this. But she doesn’t have the same intuition you do. The same ability to see things for what they are. I don’t want you to be afraid to go after the things you really want in life. Because I think you will want the right things.”
If she could only see what I wanted now, she would eat her words.
Shifting my eyes from the passing boats to Vincent, sitting motionless by my side, I studied his profile as he looked out at the water, lost in his own thoughts. It wasn’t even a choice. Who was I trying to fool? I had made my decision the first time I saw him, whatever my rational mind had tried to convince me of since then.
I leaned toward him. Reaching up with one hand, I swept my fingers down his arm, running their tips along his warm skin. He turned his head and looked at me with a longing that made my heart skip a beat. I brushed my lips against the bronzed surface of his cheek and braced myself to have the strength to say the words I knew I must. “I can’t, Vincent. I can’t say yes.”
His eyes showed pain, despair even, but not surprise. My answer was the one he had expected.
“I’m not saying no, either,” I continued, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m going to need some things if we’re going to see each other.”
He let out a low, sexy laugh. “So you’re making demands, are you? Well, let’s hear them.”
“I want unlimited access.”
“Now that sounds interesting. To what, exactly?”
“To information. I can’t do this if I don’t understand what I’m getting into.”
“Do you need to know everything right away?”
“No, but I don’t want to feel like you’re hiding anything either.”
“Fair enough. As long as it goes both ways.”
A slight smile lifted the corners of his perfectly sculpted lips. I looked away, before I lost my courage.
“I need to know when I’m not going to see you for a while. When you do the death-sleep thing. So that I won’t worry that I’ve driven you off with my mortality. Or my incessant questions.”
“Agreed. That’s easy enough to schedule, when things are normal. But if something were to happen to . . . throw things off . . .”
“Something like what?”
“Do you remember being told about how we stay young?”
“Oh. Right.” The awful image of Jules jumping in front of the train returned to my mind’s eye. “You mean if you were to ‘save someone.’”
