“The texts say that it will work.”
“Damn the texts, Vincent.”
I rose to my feet, and Vincent followed my lead. “I have to walk,” I said, feeling like moving would disperse the storm clouds inside my head. I felt overwhelmed. And scared. And I honestly didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Vincent said, and taking my hand, he led me down the hill until we were walking on the sand, the tide lapping just a short distance from our feet. I couldn’t look at his face, and kept my gaze on our feet as we walked.
“Killing numa is an honorable thing,” he said finally. “We just don’t usually hunt them down and kill them for the pure purpose of achieving the Dark Way. But only because we are programmed to save humans—that is our primary reason for being.”
I felt so cold that my teeth were chattering, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Even if absorbing nasty”—I grimaced—“numa energy isn’t dangerous, doesn’t it worry you that all the numa in Paris are going to be after your head?”
“I pick them out when they’re on their own, and make sure that no one sees it happen. We destroy the bodies with fire, so there isn’t a trace left. As far as the numa know, their members are merely disappearing, not being slain.”
My horror was now tangible. It wasn’t just my teeth chattering—my whole body was trembling. “How long has this been going on?” I asked.
Noticing my shaking, Vincent pulled me to a stop and tried to draw me close to him, but I resisted. His forehead wrinkled in frustration. “Since just after the New Year,” he answered. “Six weeks. A few numa each week. Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard gave their approval, since they needed the surveillance work done anyway.”
“Do the others know about this?”
“One of their conditions was that I only do it while walking with the others. So, yes—Jules and Ambrose have been helping me.” Vincent looked steadily into my eyes.
“You’ve been hiding this from me because you were worried that it will change the way I think about you.” I watched him carefully.
His silence and the vulnerable look on his face confirmed my hypothesis. “So does it?” he asked.
“I’m calling this off,” I said, avoiding his question. “This is going way too far.”
“Kate, if this works, it’s our answer. I’ll be able to avoid death until . . .”
“Until I die,” I filled in the gap.
Vincent shook his head as if to banish the thought from his mind. “Isn’t the death of numa better than my own?”
“That’s not the issue. You risk being permanently dead if something goes wrong. If they catch you, they will destroy you. That is, if this Dark Way black magic doesn’t destroy you first with its scary side effects. Just look at you, Vincent. There has to be another way for us besides your single-handedly becoming the Numa Slayer.”
“Well, there’s not,” Vincent said with finality.
“What about my guérisseur, Vincent? You obviously haven’t investigated every possibility out there. And I’m not going to sit back and let you risk your immortal existence just for a chance that you and I can have a few good years together. At least you’ve got to let me search for an alternative. Something safe. As you yourself said, my life is short. Just a blip out of the centuries—who knows, the millennia, even—that you will live. You’re not going to risk all that for me.”
By this point we were facing each other on the beach, hands by our sides and fists clenched. As if echoing our emotions, the ocean wind picked up and blew a spray of seawater high in the air, showering us with ice-cold droplets that ran down my face like tears. Vincent took my hand and led me farther from the water, and then clasped my shoulders, pleading now.
“Without you, my immortal existence—as you call it—it’s just survival. That’s what it’s been so far, at least. But with you, Kate, I’m not just surviving. I’m actually living. I’d trade this one second with you”—he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against mine—“for a thousand years without you. And if I can stretch this second out to last a few decades . . . well, having my immortality extinguished seems a very fair trade.”
“I hate the thought of that energy being inside of you. And I can’t even bear the thought of what would happen if some vengeful numa caught you,” I said, determination running hot through my veins. “Finish this crazy experiment if you have to, but I will be looking for another way. If this guérisseur can’t find a solution, I’m just going to keep on searching.”
Vincent cocked his head, studying my face. “If that’s the way you feel, then we’ll both search. And when you return to the healer’s next week, I’m going with you.”
We stood for another minute—half-angry, half-relieved. Nothing had been resolved, but at least we were harboring no more secrets. So why did I feel further away from him than I ever had?
We ran back up the hill and escaped the wildly whipping ocean wind for the calm of the house. “Vincent?” I asked. “Stay with me tonight.”
I fell asleep with my fingers resting on Vincent’s cheek, and woke up twice during the night to see him lying on his back, watching the ceiling as I slept.
In the morning when I woke, he was gone. I walked into the kitchen to see him making coffee, a pan of eggs bubbling on the stove. Charlotte and Geneviève were already at the table, drinking coffee and eating croissants.
“Not even a cuddle?” I whispered as I gave him a good-morning hug in the kitchen.
“I might be supernatural, but I’m not made of steel, Kate,” he said, smiling. “And unless you changed your mind in the last twenty-four hours, I thought it safest to be in another room when you awoke.” He leaned in to give me a slow, warm kiss. “Does that make up for it?”
“For the moment,” I said, eyeing him coquettishly. He raised an eyebrow, grinning, and I took my cup of coffee from him and headed to the table.
The day passed in slow-paced luxury. We drove into Italy, turning off the coastal road to drive through rolling hills dotted with ruins of ancient villages. Stopping in the medieval hill town of Dolceaqua, Geneviève stocked up on olive oil and Charlotte on amaretti cookies before we headed to a simple but decadent lunch in a tiny five-table restaurant. Hearing the beautiful language spill effortlessly off Vincent’s tongue made me long for an extended Italian vacation with him. It was hard not to plan ahead. Hard to remember that we weren’t just a normal couple like the people sitting around us.
The weekend had gone too fast: When we got back to the house, it was already time to leave. We picked up our bags and squeezed into the Mini. “I wish we could stay another week,” I said, hugging Charlotte and Geneviève outside the airport.
“Come back whenever you can. As often as you can!” Charlotte said.
“Don’t worry,” Vincent said. “Kate won’t need much convincing.”
And waving good-bye, we made our way across the tarmac to where our plane waited to take us home. Back to reality.
THIRTY-ONE
I DRIFTED THROUGH THE NEXT DAY ON A CLOUD, my body in Paris, but my mind back in the house in Villefranche-sur-Mer. Memories of the weekend flitted in and out of my thoughts as I tried—and then stopped trying—to focus on my classes, my homework, and everything else that kept me from being where I wanted to be: with Vincent. Preferably wrapped in his arms.
As Ambrose, my Vincent-appointed guardian for the day, drove me home from school, I was so out of it that he had to tap me on the shoulder and tell me that my phone was ringing. It was Papy, and his voice was unusually tense. “Kate, do you think you could come straight to the gallery instead of going home?”
“Sure, Papy. What’s up?”
“I just need some help. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Ambrose parked across the street from the gallery and waited in the car. I walked in to find Papy talking to two men in police uniforms. He introduced me briefly. “Officers, this is my granddaughter Kate.” The men nodded, and Papy took my arm to lead me a few feet away.
“The gallery was robbed last night,” he said.
“What?” I gasped.
“It’s okay, dear. Everything was insured. It’s just very . . . bothersome. The store has never been broken into before.”
“What did they take?”
“A little bit of everything. All pieces that were easy to carry—none of my statues, thankfully.” Papy suddenly looked ten years older. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was hoping you could watch the shop while I went back to the station with the detective. They’re done with the on-site investigation. Now it’s just paperwork.”
“Sure, Papy,” I agreed, and a moment later he walked out the door with the two men, doing his little hat wave at me as they moved out of sight. I phoned Ambrose in the car to tell him that I had to gallery-sit for an hour or two, and he told me he was fine waiting—to take my time.
I looked around at the mess. The glass cases that had been broken were completely stripped of their contents. I tried to remember what they had held. Ancient jewelry, tiny Greek figurines, examples of Roman glass. It did seem quite random, as if they hadn’t known much about what they were taking, but were just interested in anything small enough to carry. Hoodlums instead of specialized art thieves, I thought.
And suddenly a tiny, red-hot needle of panic pierced my heart. I raced back to the stock closet and saw the shattered door standing open. The boxes inside were scattered, their contents dumped on the floor. I sifted through the books, looking for Immortal Love. Piece by piece, I pulled the contents of the closet out into the hallway as I searched until I was sure. The book was gone.
My thoughts returned to the week before, when Gwenhaël had told me about the numa finding the book centuries ago and making trouble for her family. A “very nasty occasion,” she had called it.
I fished around in my bag until I found the card that her son had given me. My hand shaking, I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.
“Bran, it’s Kate Mercier. I’m the one who visited your mother last week.”
“She’s gone.” The words sounded so distant I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly.
“What did you say?”
“She’s gone. They came this morning, the evil ones.”
“Oh my God, the numa got her?” My lungs were sucked empty.
“No. When they came, we hid. They did not find us. And as soon as they were gone, she left.”
“Where did she go?”
“Into hiding. She didn’t tell me where. If I knew, the evil ones could get that information from me. As it stands, I am useless to them.”
“Oh, Bran. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Kate. It was time. Things happen when they are supposed to, and as the time of the Victor draws closer, our services will be required. I will stay, Kate, and my mother will return. Let your friends know that we will be here when they need us.”
“Bran, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What victor?”
“That is why the numa want us. The texts say that my family will produce the VictorSeer.”
All of a sudden, I remembered a phrase from the book that had been practically incomprehensible. Something about the guérisseur being the one who would see the Victor.
“I still don’t . . .”
“The revenants call him the Champion. And we will be the ones to identify him.”
It took me a few seconds of realization, and then everything was suddenly, shockingly clear. “Your mother can identify the Champion,” I stated, clarifying. “And the numa came looking for her. Because if the Champion is found, the numa will know the identity of the one who will conquer them.”
“That is correct. But if they find him before he can overthrow them, they will attempt to seize his power for themselves.”
“Seize his power?” I asked, confused.
“The texts state that the Champion’s power can be transmitted by force. If he is captured, the one who destroys him will receive his power. As you can imagine, the results would be disastrous.”
“And the numa want to force your mother to tell them who it is.”
“That is right. But they are misled. It isn’t my mother who will find the Champion.”
“What do you mean?”
“She possesses our family’s theories on when and where it will happen. And some coded clues about who it will be. But as far as identification on sight—the gift of the VictorSeer—my mother claims she doesn’t have that capability.”
“So will it be you?”
“Me or one of my descendants.”
“You have descendants?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled. “Some say that my boyfriend is the Champion.”
The line was silent for a long time. Finally Bran spoke. “My mother has not yet passed me the gift. When she does, I will contact you. Bring your boyfriend to me then. If I am indeed the VictorSeer and he indeed the Champion, we will know it then and there.”
I gave him my phone number. And then I gave him my grandparents’ number as well. I didn’t know how long it would take for him to call me. But I guessed it could be years.
THIRTY-TWO
IT WAS ONLY THREE CALENDAR DAYS AFTER OUR weekend in the south, but it felt like it had been three weeks. Vincent had worked nonstop with Jean-Baptiste since the moment we had returned, and I had kept busy with homework and a Casablanca movie date with Violette.
“Damn the texts, Vincent.”
I rose to my feet, and Vincent followed my lead. “I have to walk,” I said, feeling like moving would disperse the storm clouds inside my head. I felt overwhelmed. And scared. And I honestly didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Vincent said, and taking my hand, he led me down the hill until we were walking on the sand, the tide lapping just a short distance from our feet. I couldn’t look at his face, and kept my gaze on our feet as we walked.
“Killing numa is an honorable thing,” he said finally. “We just don’t usually hunt them down and kill them for the pure purpose of achieving the Dark Way. But only because we are programmed to save humans—that is our primary reason for being.”
I felt so cold that my teeth were chattering, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Even if absorbing nasty”—I grimaced—“numa energy isn’t dangerous, doesn’t it worry you that all the numa in Paris are going to be after your head?”
“I pick them out when they’re on their own, and make sure that no one sees it happen. We destroy the bodies with fire, so there isn’t a trace left. As far as the numa know, their members are merely disappearing, not being slain.”
My horror was now tangible. It wasn’t just my teeth chattering—my whole body was trembling. “How long has this been going on?” I asked.
Noticing my shaking, Vincent pulled me to a stop and tried to draw me close to him, but I resisted. His forehead wrinkled in frustration. “Since just after the New Year,” he answered. “Six weeks. A few numa each week. Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard gave their approval, since they needed the surveillance work done anyway.”
“Do the others know about this?”
“One of their conditions was that I only do it while walking with the others. So, yes—Jules and Ambrose have been helping me.” Vincent looked steadily into my eyes.
“You’ve been hiding this from me because you were worried that it will change the way I think about you.” I watched him carefully.
His silence and the vulnerable look on his face confirmed my hypothesis. “So does it?” he asked.
“I’m calling this off,” I said, avoiding his question. “This is going way too far.”
“Kate, if this works, it’s our answer. I’ll be able to avoid death until . . .”
“Until I die,” I filled in the gap.
Vincent shook his head as if to banish the thought from his mind. “Isn’t the death of numa better than my own?”
“That’s not the issue. You risk being permanently dead if something goes wrong. If they catch you, they will destroy you. That is, if this Dark Way black magic doesn’t destroy you first with its scary side effects. Just look at you, Vincent. There has to be another way for us besides your single-handedly becoming the Numa Slayer.”
“Well, there’s not,” Vincent said with finality.
“What about my guérisseur, Vincent? You obviously haven’t investigated every possibility out there. And I’m not going to sit back and let you risk your immortal existence just for a chance that you and I can have a few good years together. At least you’ve got to let me search for an alternative. Something safe. As you yourself said, my life is short. Just a blip out of the centuries—who knows, the millennia, even—that you will live. You’re not going to risk all that for me.”
By this point we were facing each other on the beach, hands by our sides and fists clenched. As if echoing our emotions, the ocean wind picked up and blew a spray of seawater high in the air, showering us with ice-cold droplets that ran down my face like tears. Vincent took my hand and led me farther from the water, and then clasped my shoulders, pleading now.
“Without you, my immortal existence—as you call it—it’s just survival. That’s what it’s been so far, at least. But with you, Kate, I’m not just surviving. I’m actually living. I’d trade this one second with you”—he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against mine—“for a thousand years without you. And if I can stretch this second out to last a few decades . . . well, having my immortality extinguished seems a very fair trade.”
“I hate the thought of that energy being inside of you. And I can’t even bear the thought of what would happen if some vengeful numa caught you,” I said, determination running hot through my veins. “Finish this crazy experiment if you have to, but I will be looking for another way. If this guérisseur can’t find a solution, I’m just going to keep on searching.”
Vincent cocked his head, studying my face. “If that’s the way you feel, then we’ll both search. And when you return to the healer’s next week, I’m going with you.”
We stood for another minute—half-angry, half-relieved. Nothing had been resolved, but at least we were harboring no more secrets. So why did I feel further away from him than I ever had?
We ran back up the hill and escaped the wildly whipping ocean wind for the calm of the house. “Vincent?” I asked. “Stay with me tonight.”
I fell asleep with my fingers resting on Vincent’s cheek, and woke up twice during the night to see him lying on his back, watching the ceiling as I slept.
In the morning when I woke, he was gone. I walked into the kitchen to see him making coffee, a pan of eggs bubbling on the stove. Charlotte and Geneviève were already at the table, drinking coffee and eating croissants.
“Not even a cuddle?” I whispered as I gave him a good-morning hug in the kitchen.
“I might be supernatural, but I’m not made of steel, Kate,” he said, smiling. “And unless you changed your mind in the last twenty-four hours, I thought it safest to be in another room when you awoke.” He leaned in to give me a slow, warm kiss. “Does that make up for it?”
“For the moment,” I said, eyeing him coquettishly. He raised an eyebrow, grinning, and I took my cup of coffee from him and headed to the table.
The day passed in slow-paced luxury. We drove into Italy, turning off the coastal road to drive through rolling hills dotted with ruins of ancient villages. Stopping in the medieval hill town of Dolceaqua, Geneviève stocked up on olive oil and Charlotte on amaretti cookies before we headed to a simple but decadent lunch in a tiny five-table restaurant. Hearing the beautiful language spill effortlessly off Vincent’s tongue made me long for an extended Italian vacation with him. It was hard not to plan ahead. Hard to remember that we weren’t just a normal couple like the people sitting around us.
The weekend had gone too fast: When we got back to the house, it was already time to leave. We picked up our bags and squeezed into the Mini. “I wish we could stay another week,” I said, hugging Charlotte and Geneviève outside the airport.
“Come back whenever you can. As often as you can!” Charlotte said.
“Don’t worry,” Vincent said. “Kate won’t need much convincing.”
And waving good-bye, we made our way across the tarmac to where our plane waited to take us home. Back to reality.
THIRTY-ONE
I DRIFTED THROUGH THE NEXT DAY ON A CLOUD, my body in Paris, but my mind back in the house in Villefranche-sur-Mer. Memories of the weekend flitted in and out of my thoughts as I tried—and then stopped trying—to focus on my classes, my homework, and everything else that kept me from being where I wanted to be: with Vincent. Preferably wrapped in his arms.
As Ambrose, my Vincent-appointed guardian for the day, drove me home from school, I was so out of it that he had to tap me on the shoulder and tell me that my phone was ringing. It was Papy, and his voice was unusually tense. “Kate, do you think you could come straight to the gallery instead of going home?”
“Sure, Papy. What’s up?”
“I just need some help. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Ambrose parked across the street from the gallery and waited in the car. I walked in to find Papy talking to two men in police uniforms. He introduced me briefly. “Officers, this is my granddaughter Kate.” The men nodded, and Papy took my arm to lead me a few feet away.
“The gallery was robbed last night,” he said.
“What?” I gasped.
“It’s okay, dear. Everything was insured. It’s just very . . . bothersome. The store has never been broken into before.”
“What did they take?”
“A little bit of everything. All pieces that were easy to carry—none of my statues, thankfully.” Papy suddenly looked ten years older. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was hoping you could watch the shop while I went back to the station with the detective. They’re done with the on-site investigation. Now it’s just paperwork.”
“Sure, Papy,” I agreed, and a moment later he walked out the door with the two men, doing his little hat wave at me as they moved out of sight. I phoned Ambrose in the car to tell him that I had to gallery-sit for an hour or two, and he told me he was fine waiting—to take my time.
I looked around at the mess. The glass cases that had been broken were completely stripped of their contents. I tried to remember what they had held. Ancient jewelry, tiny Greek figurines, examples of Roman glass. It did seem quite random, as if they hadn’t known much about what they were taking, but were just interested in anything small enough to carry. Hoodlums instead of specialized art thieves, I thought.
And suddenly a tiny, red-hot needle of panic pierced my heart. I raced back to the stock closet and saw the shattered door standing open. The boxes inside were scattered, their contents dumped on the floor. I sifted through the books, looking for Immortal Love. Piece by piece, I pulled the contents of the closet out into the hallway as I searched until I was sure. The book was gone.
My thoughts returned to the week before, when Gwenhaël had told me about the numa finding the book centuries ago and making trouble for her family. A “very nasty occasion,” she had called it.
I fished around in my bag until I found the card that her son had given me. My hand shaking, I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.
“Bran, it’s Kate Mercier. I’m the one who visited your mother last week.”
“She’s gone.” The words sounded so distant I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly.
“What did you say?”
“She’s gone. They came this morning, the evil ones.”
“Oh my God, the numa got her?” My lungs were sucked empty.
“No. When they came, we hid. They did not find us. And as soon as they were gone, she left.”
“Where did she go?”
“Into hiding. She didn’t tell me where. If I knew, the evil ones could get that information from me. As it stands, I am useless to them.”
“Oh, Bran. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Kate. It was time. Things happen when they are supposed to, and as the time of the Victor draws closer, our services will be required. I will stay, Kate, and my mother will return. Let your friends know that we will be here when they need us.”
“Bran, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What victor?”
“That is why the numa want us. The texts say that my family will produce the VictorSeer.”
All of a sudden, I remembered a phrase from the book that had been practically incomprehensible. Something about the guérisseur being the one who would see the Victor.
“I still don’t . . .”
“The revenants call him the Champion. And we will be the ones to identify him.”
It took me a few seconds of realization, and then everything was suddenly, shockingly clear. “Your mother can identify the Champion,” I stated, clarifying. “And the numa came looking for her. Because if the Champion is found, the numa will know the identity of the one who will conquer them.”
“That is correct. But if they find him before he can overthrow them, they will attempt to seize his power for themselves.”
“Seize his power?” I asked, confused.
“The texts state that the Champion’s power can be transmitted by force. If he is captured, the one who destroys him will receive his power. As you can imagine, the results would be disastrous.”
“And the numa want to force your mother to tell them who it is.”
“That is right. But they are misled. It isn’t my mother who will find the Champion.”
“What do you mean?”
“She possesses our family’s theories on when and where it will happen. And some coded clues about who it will be. But as far as identification on sight—the gift of the VictorSeer—my mother claims she doesn’t have that capability.”
“So will it be you?”
“Me or one of my descendants.”
“You have descendants?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled. “Some say that my boyfriend is the Champion.”
The line was silent for a long time. Finally Bran spoke. “My mother has not yet passed me the gift. When she does, I will contact you. Bring your boyfriend to me then. If I am indeed the VictorSeer and he indeed the Champion, we will know it then and there.”
I gave him my phone number. And then I gave him my grandparents’ number as well. I didn’t know how long it would take for him to call me. But I guessed it could be years.
THIRTY-TWO
IT WAS ONLY THREE CALENDAR DAYS AFTER OUR weekend in the south, but it felt like it had been three weeks. Vincent had worked nonstop with Jean-Baptiste since the moment we had returned, and I had kept busy with homework and a Casablanca movie date with Violette.
