But I had awaited this afternoon with a feeling of anticipation, knowing that Vincent would be meeting me here at Papy’s where I was working for the afternoon. After the break-in, Papy had tried to cancel my gallery-sitting sessions, saying it was too dangerous. But I convinced him that it was doubtful the thieves would return in broad daylight . . . if they dared return at all.
Ambrose dropped me off after school, leaving only after I reassured him that Vincent was arriving at any moment. Papy had invited him to come see the new Greek war helmet he was bringing back from his appointment, using Vincent’s interest in ancient weaponry as an excuse to invite him to the gallery. But I knew that neither of them needed the enticement. They genuinely enjoyed the other’s company.
I wandered around the gallery, looking at the cleanup job Papy had done since Monday. He had immediately replaced the glass cases, but it would take a while for him to restock them with new inventory. The doorbell rang, and I skipped to the desk to push the button for the door release. But the huge smile that spread across my face quickly faded as I saw that it wasn’t Vincent coming through the door. It was two men I had never seen before. And I could tell, before they even said a word, that they were numa.
They were on me in an instant, crossing the gallery in a blink of an eye. They didn’t touch me. They didn’t need to. They just loomed.
“What do you want?” I asked. The words came out as a squeak: My throat was squeezed shut as effectively as if a boa constrictor was looped around my neck. I instinctively glanced around for something to fight them with, but there was nothing within grabbing distance, and I doubted I could get very far before they would stop me.
“We want to know what she told you.”
“Who?” I asked, confused.
“You know who. The old lady healer. What did she tell you about the Champion?”
I blinked in sudden comprehension. “She didn’t tell me anything about the Champion.”
“We know you talked to her. And now her son says she’s gone and he doesn’t know where.”
“Although we’re keeping an eye on the place to make sure he’s not lying,” sneered the other, as if this were one big joke.
My fear evaporated and was replaced by fury. “You better not hurt them!” I growled.
They both stared at me, surprised by my outburst. And then, with a low, evil laugh, one stepped forward and grabbed me by the wrist. Hard. “We want to know what she told you.”
Just then I heard the lock click, and Papy walked into the gallery, leaving the door open behind him, the huge box in his arms blocking his view. He walked across the room and, setting it down next to the armory display, placed his hat on top and began to shuffle his coat off.
“Papy,” I called, my voice high-pitched and unnatural.
He looked up and froze. “Take your hands off my granddaughter,” he barked, and began moving toward us.
“Don’t move, old man,” said the one holding me, and tightened his grip on my arm.
My grandfather stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “You were the ones on the surveillance tapes,” he said. “You’ve already robbed my store. What do you want now?”
“All your granddaughter has to do is tell us what we want to know and we will leave without injury to either of you.”
“No,” said Papy sternly. “You will leave now or I will be forced to call the police.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“That won’t be necessary,” came a deep voice from behind us. Vincent stepped through the open door, his face like the sky before a devastating storm. My captor’s partner threw himself across the room, and then staggered backward as Vincent’s fist connected with his jaw. He fell and lay motionless on the floor.
The numa holding me jerked me to his side, his hand clamped around my arm like a vise. “We’re just having a little chat with your girlfriend. No need for you to get involved.”
“Let her go,” Vincent said in a lowered voice, his quick, urgent glance at me piercing my heart with its concern. “Let both of them go. Anything you have to talk about can be discussed alone with me.”
“But you see, we don’t want you,” the numa said, his lip curling in mockery. “Not this time.”
“What issue do you have with the girl?” Vincent growled.
“You mean, besides the fact that she destroyed our former leader? But that’s of no importance now. She has information that we want.” The numa raised his free hand to my neck. “So I would advise that you stay where you are while she answers my question—or my hand might just slip.”
The feel of his skin against mine made me want to puke. With a gesture prompted more from disgust than from fear, I struggled and managed to kick him hard in the shin, but he only laughed and grabbed me tighter, pulling me firmly toward the back of the gallery, away from Vincent.
The metallic sound of a sword leaving its sheath split the air and brought my captor to a halt. Vincent’s eyes burned like coals as he lifted an evil-looking saber.
The numa started in shock, his fingers digging painfully into my skin, and sputtered, “You wouldn’t. Not in front of a human!” He glanced toward Papy, whose startled expression revealed that, though he might not have heard the rest of the repartee, he had definitely registered the last few words.
“I would, actually. With pleasure,” Vincent replied, and brought the curved sword up into the light as he took a step toward us.
The numa staggered slightly back, dragging me with him. “Why would you risk exposing us and yourself . . . ,” he began to ask, his face contorted in confusion.
Vincent’s voice was as sharp as the steel in his hand. “Starting here and now, all rules are forgotten. On behalf of your kind, you just declared war.”
My captor weighed the situation. And then—just like that—he released his hold on me. Keeping a safe distance from Vincent’s blade, he moved toward his fallen partner, who had just begun to stir. Giving him a motivational kick, he shoved him toward the door. Pausing on the doorstep, he glared at me. “We will be seeing you again. Au revoir, Kate Mercier.” And with that, he followed his companion down into the street.
My grandfather sprang into action, slamming and dead-bolting the gallery door and pulling a thick curtain across the windows.
“What did they want?” Vincent asked urgently. He sheathed his sword and tucked it back under his coat.
“The guérisseur,” I whispered, suddenly feeling crippled by the thought that my actions—however well-meaning—had brought this upon us. Jules had been right. I had walked into their world and brought danger right back out with me.
Vincent saw my expression and reached for me, but froze as Papy’s sharp words echoed through the room. “Do not touch my granddaughter.” He approached us slowly. Carefully.
And there we stood in the low-lit gallery. Glowing dust motes spiraled upward, lit by the cracks of sunlight spilling in from the curtains’ edges. The three of us were motionless, staring at one another as the rows of ancient statues looked on. My grandfather’s face held an expression that was completely foreign to it. There was no kindness. No gentility. He stared coldly at Vincent as if he were a complete stranger.
Finally he spoke. “What are you?” The three words were crisp and concise and demanded a response.
Vincent’s eyes flickered to me. I saw how Papy was watching him and knew there wasn’t any way out. If Vincent’s sword hadn’t already alerted my grandfather that something was amiss, the numa had definitely exposed us with his words. I gave my head the slightest of nods.
“Revenant,” Vincent said, looking Papy straight in the eyes.
To my grandfather’s credit, he didn’t even flinch. “And those men who attacked Kate?”
“Numa.”
The word seemed to freeze in the air and hang suspended between the three of us before exploding on the arrow of Papy’s response. “Out.”
“Sir, I—” Vincent started, and at the same time I blurted, “But Papy—”
“Out!” My grandfather’s voice cut us off. “Get out of here. Out of my granddaughter’s life. How dare you expose Kate to mortal danger. How dare you bring these monsters through our door. Get out and stay out.”
“No!” I cried, and running to Papy, grabbed his arms and waited until his eyes lowered from Vincent to me. “Papy, no. Vincent’s . . .” All my arguments flashed through my mind and fell away as I realized that they were useless. Vincent was protecting me, or It’s already too late, the numa know who I am. Nothing I could say would convince Papy. Because he was right: I was in danger because of Vincent. I settled for one true statement—the only one that my grandfather couldn’t refute. “I love him.”
Papy freed his captive arms and wrapped them around me, hugging me as if he had lost me for years and then found me again. After a second, he held me away and said, tenderly but seriously, “Kate, you may think you love him. But he’s not even human.”
“He’s not the bad guy,” I insisted. “They are.”
Papy glanced over my head at Vincent, who hadn’t moved. “I know, darling. I know about them. At least I’ve studied them, along with every other mythical character that shows up in the ancient arts. Although I wasn’t convinced that they actually existed.” His voice became cold with this last statement, and I pulled away from him to face Vincent.
Vincent’s eyes—still locked in my grandfather’s gaze—looked hollow. “Kate, your grandfather’s right. My presence in your life has put you in danger.”
I felt like someone had grabbed me by the throat. “Stop it!” I yelled. “Both of you—stop right now.” I stomped my foot, and both men started as if I had slapped them. Now that I had their attention, I began to talk.
“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.”
Ambrose dropped me off after school, leaving only after I reassured him that Vincent was arriving at any moment. Papy had invited him to come see the new Greek war helmet he was bringing back from his appointment, using Vincent’s interest in ancient weaponry as an excuse to invite him to the gallery. But I knew that neither of them needed the enticement. They genuinely enjoyed the other’s company.
I wandered around the gallery, looking at the cleanup job Papy had done since Monday. He had immediately replaced the glass cases, but it would take a while for him to restock them with new inventory. The doorbell rang, and I skipped to the desk to push the button for the door release. But the huge smile that spread across my face quickly faded as I saw that it wasn’t Vincent coming through the door. It was two men I had never seen before. And I could tell, before they even said a word, that they were numa.
They were on me in an instant, crossing the gallery in a blink of an eye. They didn’t touch me. They didn’t need to. They just loomed.
“What do you want?” I asked. The words came out as a squeak: My throat was squeezed shut as effectively as if a boa constrictor was looped around my neck. I instinctively glanced around for something to fight them with, but there was nothing within grabbing distance, and I doubted I could get very far before they would stop me.
“We want to know what she told you.”
“Who?” I asked, confused.
“You know who. The old lady healer. What did she tell you about the Champion?”
I blinked in sudden comprehension. “She didn’t tell me anything about the Champion.”
“We know you talked to her. And now her son says she’s gone and he doesn’t know where.”
“Although we’re keeping an eye on the place to make sure he’s not lying,” sneered the other, as if this were one big joke.
My fear evaporated and was replaced by fury. “You better not hurt them!” I growled.
They both stared at me, surprised by my outburst. And then, with a low, evil laugh, one stepped forward and grabbed me by the wrist. Hard. “We want to know what she told you.”
Just then I heard the lock click, and Papy walked into the gallery, leaving the door open behind him, the huge box in his arms blocking his view. He walked across the room and, setting it down next to the armory display, placed his hat on top and began to shuffle his coat off.
“Papy,” I called, my voice high-pitched and unnatural.
He looked up and froze. “Take your hands off my granddaughter,” he barked, and began moving toward us.
“Don’t move, old man,” said the one holding me, and tightened his grip on my arm.
My grandfather stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “You were the ones on the surveillance tapes,” he said. “You’ve already robbed my store. What do you want now?”
“All your granddaughter has to do is tell us what we want to know and we will leave without injury to either of you.”
“No,” said Papy sternly. “You will leave now or I will be forced to call the police.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“That won’t be necessary,” came a deep voice from behind us. Vincent stepped through the open door, his face like the sky before a devastating storm. My captor’s partner threw himself across the room, and then staggered backward as Vincent’s fist connected with his jaw. He fell and lay motionless on the floor.
The numa holding me jerked me to his side, his hand clamped around my arm like a vise. “We’re just having a little chat with your girlfriend. No need for you to get involved.”
“Let her go,” Vincent said in a lowered voice, his quick, urgent glance at me piercing my heart with its concern. “Let both of them go. Anything you have to talk about can be discussed alone with me.”
“But you see, we don’t want you,” the numa said, his lip curling in mockery. “Not this time.”
“What issue do you have with the girl?” Vincent growled.
“You mean, besides the fact that she destroyed our former leader? But that’s of no importance now. She has information that we want.” The numa raised his free hand to my neck. “So I would advise that you stay where you are while she answers my question—or my hand might just slip.”
The feel of his skin against mine made me want to puke. With a gesture prompted more from disgust than from fear, I struggled and managed to kick him hard in the shin, but he only laughed and grabbed me tighter, pulling me firmly toward the back of the gallery, away from Vincent.
The metallic sound of a sword leaving its sheath split the air and brought my captor to a halt. Vincent’s eyes burned like coals as he lifted an evil-looking saber.
The numa started in shock, his fingers digging painfully into my skin, and sputtered, “You wouldn’t. Not in front of a human!” He glanced toward Papy, whose startled expression revealed that, though he might not have heard the rest of the repartee, he had definitely registered the last few words.
“I would, actually. With pleasure,” Vincent replied, and brought the curved sword up into the light as he took a step toward us.
The numa staggered slightly back, dragging me with him. “Why would you risk exposing us and yourself . . . ,” he began to ask, his face contorted in confusion.
Vincent’s voice was as sharp as the steel in his hand. “Starting here and now, all rules are forgotten. On behalf of your kind, you just declared war.”
My captor weighed the situation. And then—just like that—he released his hold on me. Keeping a safe distance from Vincent’s blade, he moved toward his fallen partner, who had just begun to stir. Giving him a motivational kick, he shoved him toward the door. Pausing on the doorstep, he glared at me. “We will be seeing you again. Au revoir, Kate Mercier.” And with that, he followed his companion down into the street.
My grandfather sprang into action, slamming and dead-bolting the gallery door and pulling a thick curtain across the windows.
“What did they want?” Vincent asked urgently. He sheathed his sword and tucked it back under his coat.
“The guérisseur,” I whispered, suddenly feeling crippled by the thought that my actions—however well-meaning—had brought this upon us. Jules had been right. I had walked into their world and brought danger right back out with me.
Vincent saw my expression and reached for me, but froze as Papy’s sharp words echoed through the room. “Do not touch my granddaughter.” He approached us slowly. Carefully.
And there we stood in the low-lit gallery. Glowing dust motes spiraled upward, lit by the cracks of sunlight spilling in from the curtains’ edges. The three of us were motionless, staring at one another as the rows of ancient statues looked on. My grandfather’s face held an expression that was completely foreign to it. There was no kindness. No gentility. He stared coldly at Vincent as if he were a complete stranger.
Finally he spoke. “What are you?” The three words were crisp and concise and demanded a response.
Vincent’s eyes flickered to me. I saw how Papy was watching him and knew there wasn’t any way out. If Vincent’s sword hadn’t already alerted my grandfather that something was amiss, the numa had definitely exposed us with his words. I gave my head the slightest of nods.
“Revenant,” Vincent said, looking Papy straight in the eyes.
To my grandfather’s credit, he didn’t even flinch. “And those men who attacked Kate?”
“Numa.”
The word seemed to freeze in the air and hang suspended between the three of us before exploding on the arrow of Papy’s response. “Out.”
“Sir, I—” Vincent started, and at the same time I blurted, “But Papy—”
“Out!” My grandfather’s voice cut us off. “Get out of here. Out of my granddaughter’s life. How dare you expose Kate to mortal danger. How dare you bring these monsters through our door. Get out and stay out.”
“No!” I cried, and running to Papy, grabbed his arms and waited until his eyes lowered from Vincent to me. “Papy, no. Vincent’s . . .” All my arguments flashed through my mind and fell away as I realized that they were useless. Vincent was protecting me, or It’s already too late, the numa know who I am. Nothing I could say would convince Papy. Because he was right: I was in danger because of Vincent. I settled for one true statement—the only one that my grandfather couldn’t refute. “I love him.”
Papy freed his captive arms and wrapped them around me, hugging me as if he had lost me for years and then found me again. After a second, he held me away and said, tenderly but seriously, “Kate, you may think you love him. But he’s not even human.”
“He’s not the bad guy,” I insisted. “They are.”
Papy glanced over my head at Vincent, who hadn’t moved. “I know, darling. I know about them. At least I’ve studied them, along with every other mythical character that shows up in the ancient arts. Although I wasn’t convinced that they actually existed.” His voice became cold with this last statement, and I pulled away from him to face Vincent.
Vincent’s eyes—still locked in my grandfather’s gaze—looked hollow. “Kate, your grandfather’s right. My presence in your life has put you in danger.”
I felt like someone had grabbed me by the throat. “Stop it!” I yelled. “Both of you—stop right now.” I stomped my foot, and both men started as if I had slapped them. Now that I had their attention, I began to talk.
“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.”
