If I Should Die
Page 6
“We shall retire to the sitting room, where Jeanne will serve us coffee. Or would you prefer tea? If you are amenable, we will send Kate off to join her sister in the kitchen so we can discuss the situation between ourselves.”
I followed them into the hallway and Gaspard closed the bedroom door behind us, leaving a comatose-looking Bran alone to rest. “I see you have met Gaspard, my longtime partner,” continued JB with a wry smile. “It is his opinion that I am the worst person possible to be charged with explanations, so I will ask him to join us.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Jean-Baptiste had just come out of the closet to my grandmother, when I had never heard him mention his relationship with Gaspard to anyone before. It wasn’t a secret, but coming from olden times they weren’t exactly into the PDA and it was easy to forget that they were together. Hearing it from his own lips was a revelation. It meant that he was trying to show my grandmother that he was putting everything—even his personal information—at her disposal so that she would trust him.
As I was thinking this, JB glanced over and caught my eye.
Merci, I mouthed.
He nodded grimly at me.
“My dear woman, can I just say what a true pleasure it is to have you pay us a visit in our own home,” Gaspard was saying, shaking only slightly in his tic-y way as he did a bow/hand-kiss combo that I knew would melt Mamie’s heart.
“Katya, do not leave this house,” she said, turning to me. “I will join you and your sister when I finish talking to the gentlemen.” And holding Jean-Baptiste’s arm, she accompanied the revenant couple down the hallway.
I walked into the kitchen to find a tactical discussion about finding Violette taking place over an Italian-themed meal. The sharp smell of garlic hung thick on the air, mixed with the comforting aroma of baked cheese.
“So she hasn’t been found?” I asked.
Ambrose shook his head. “Henri and the others just reported back. Once again, she’s disappeared.”
From beside him, a head turned and familiar green eyes peered up at me. “Charlotte!” I yelled, throwing my arms around her as she rose to greet me. “You came back.”
“Oh, Kate. We jumped on a train as soon as we heard what happened.” She let Geneviève have her turn squeezing me before returning to her chair.
“Sit next to me,” Charlotte said, her hair falling in long wheaten strands around her face. “I am so sorry about Vincent.”
“So am I,” I said, swallowing to clear the lump in my throat.
I looked down the table at Georgia. “You know Mamie’s here, right?”
My sister choked on what she was eating. Arthur leapt up and got her a glass of water. She swallowed a big gulp of it and, coughing into her napkin, gasped, “That is the worst joke you have ever made. You could have killed me.” She patted her chest and coughed some more.
“No joke,” I said. “She’s having a chat with Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard and is coming to get us afterward.”
“Holy shit,” my sister responded, pushing her plate away.
“You’ve barely touched your lasagna,” Arthur chided softly.
“Not hungry anymore.” Georgia wrapped her arms around herself and sat there looking nervous.
Charlotte changed the subject. “Geneviève and I had been talking about coming to Paris ever since your visit.”
Not even a week ago, I realized with amazement, Vincent and I had been in the south of France sitting on the cliff overlooking the ocean and talking about our future. Just six days ago he explained the Dark Way to me, and his plan to kill numa in order to resist dying. And now he was gone.
Jeanne came over from where she was preparing a tray for my grandmother, and gave me a firm, affectionate kiss on each cheek. “You’ll join us for some lasagna, won’t you, Kate?”
“I’m really not hungry. Thanks anyway, Jeanne,” I said.
“Nonsense,” she replied. She picked up a plate, loaded it with a steaming square of gooey pasta, and set it in front of me.
“Never say no to Jeanne,” muttered Ambrose, taking a sizable bite of garlic bread. “Especially over one of her Italian grandmother’s recipes. Not that she’ll get offended. She’ll just take it as a challenge. Watch this.” He gestured to his empty plate. “Jeanne, that lasagna was delicious. I’m so full I couldn’t imagine having another bite.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and bringing the pan over to the table, plopped a giant-size piece in front of him. “With all the fighting you boys will be doing, you need all the calories you can get.”
Ambrose lifted an eyebrow and smiled at me in triumph before glancing across the table to Geneviève.
Oh no, I thought. It looked like Ambrose hadn’t gotten over his crush on the recently widowed revenant. Which must be breaking Charlotte’s heart. She looked down at her food and pretended she didn’t see Ambrose’s longing gaze.
“How’s Charles?” I asked to distract her.
“Oh, he’s fine,” she said, her face brightening at the thought of her twin. “I mean, I haven’t seen him since he ran off to Germany, but he’s been emailing or calling almost every day.”
“They just got GPS tracking for each other on their cell phones,” added Geneviève with a grin.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Thanks for letting everyone know about our sad twin-based codependence,” she moaned, but smiled. “It’s amazing how much he’s changed in so little time,” she continued to me. “He’s always talking about his feelings about ‘our destiny’ and how we’re here on earth to give back to humanity. He and his German kindred left this morning for some kind of spiritual mountain retreat.”
She clicked on her cell phone and peered at a digital map showing France and Germany side by side. Over Paris was a blinking red light, and over Germany a green line headed west out of Berlin and stopped with a flashing question mark an inch to the west. “He must not have a signal there because he’s not even showing up.”
“Yeah, I would say that’s pretty codependent,” I said with a wry grin.
Charlotte elbowed me playfully, “Oh, stop. No one but a twin could understand. Whatever,” she said, and stashed the phone in the pocket of her cardigan.
“A little refreshment for your grandmother and the men,” Jeanne said as she bustled out of the kitchen with the tea tray.
Everyone fell into a reflective silence and focused on Jeanne’s delicious meal until she returned minutes later. “Status report?” I asked.
“Your grandmother seemed to be holding up well. She didn’t look overjoyed, but she was listening to what Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard were saying,” Jeanne said, retying her apron.
“Which was . . . ,” I prodded.
“They were proposing some kind of plan where you and your sister would be accompanied everywhere you go,” she responded matter-of-factly, and then turned to check something in the oven.
Georgia and I shot each other worried looks.
“I know we’re waiting for Jean-Baptiste to give us instructions,” Arthur said, prying his attention away from my sister. “But we might as well get suited up until he’s done talking to Madame Mercier. I have no doubt he’ll send us on a scouting trip when we inform him that Henri’s team lost track of Violette.”
Standing and taking his plate to the counter, Ambrose leaned down to give Jeanne’s shoulders a squeeze. “No dessert?” she asked.
Ambrose patted his stomach with both hands. “Naw, I couldn’t, Jeanne. I’m watching my figure.” She guffawed as he walked toward the door. “I could use a bit of a workout if we’re just hanging out for a while. Swords, anyone?” he called.
“That’s an invitation I can’t resist,” responded Charlotte, and thanking Jeanne for the meal, she followed Ambrose out the door.
“I’m on for a fight!” exclaimed Geneviève, and Arthur stood to join her.
“I’ll watch,” muttered a paler-than-usual Georgia. I smiled. It was just like her to hide out as long as possible rather than face Mamie’s wrath.
“Leave your dishes, dears, and go work off some of that steam,” said Jeanne, waving them away from the table and out the door.
“I’ll be right down,” I called. I was still picking at my lasagna, attempting to move pieces of it around my plate so that Jeanne would think I had eaten.
“I see what you’re doing, mon petit chou,” she said as she stood at the sink with her back toward me.
I laid my fork on the table. “Busted,” I replied.
She turned, and her lips curved into a compassionate smile. “You know what? I have something for you. Something that might be a comfort in the hard days ahead.”
Taking my hand, she led me out of the kitchen to her room down the hall. It was one she used on the rare occasion when she needed to spend the night, and I had never been inside.
Walking across the carpeted floor, she switched on a frilly lamp and picked up an object sitting next to it. Returning, she placed it in my hand. It was a heart-shaped locket made of crystal and silver.
I fingered the tiny bauble. A sprig of flowers was engraved into the silver side, and I ran my finger over the delicately grooved metal. “Forget-me-nots,” said Jeanne, and it felt like a hand clenched my heart and squeezed tightly. Vincent’s body was gone, but I would not forget him. Or would I? Would his face start disappearing from my mind like my parents’ had, replaced by the images of them preserved in photographs?
I turned the locket over to the crystal side. Through the transparent glass I spotted something dark enclosed within and held it up to the light. It was a single lock of raven black hair.
EIGHT
“IS THIS VINCENT’S?” I GASPED.
Jeanne nodded.
“Where did you get it?” Stunned, I rolled the strange bauble around in my hand.
“The locket is from Gaspard’s collection of memento mori,” Jeanne responded. “He said I could give it to you.”
“No, this,” I said, holding it up to indicate what was inside the crystal prison. “Why do you have a lock of Vincent’s hair?”
Jeanne thought a moment, and then said, “It’ll be easier to show you.” She gestured to a corner table that held an assortment of beautifully crafted silver and enamel boxes and candles in simple pierced-tin holders.
“It’s a ritual my mother taught me when I took her place. A practice her mother had passed to her. We’ve always felt a special responsibility for our revenants. It makes us feel better to think we’ve got some say in their survival. I’m not a religious woman, Kate. But I do say prayers every day for my wards.”
I picked up a tiny box from the front of the table and opened the embossed lid. A lock of red hair sat nestled inside the rich blue velvet lining. “Charles,” I breathed.
“He’s the one I’ve been thinking of most, recently,” Jeanne said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “If ever a boy needed a candle lit for him, it’s that one.” She touched a box covered in a blue-and-green leafy mosaic. “That’s Vincent’s,” she said. I picked it up and opened the lid to see the empty cushioned interior.
“Now that I’ve given you my little token of Vincent, I expect you to take over my prayers for his well-being,” Jeanne said.
“I will,” I promised.
Satisfied, she nodded to the back of the table, where dozens of the delicate boxes were lined up side by side and stacked on top of each other. “Even when they’re gone, I can’t bring myself to get rid of their boxes. Neither could my mother or even hers.”
I shuddered. Those stacks must represent Jean-Baptiste’s kindred destroyed by numa.
“Vincent’s still here on this earth, sweet girl,” she said, “even if only in spirit. You’ve got to be brave.”
Only in spirit. Those words, along with Jeanne’s expression of heartbroken pity, drove home the fact that this lock of hair constituted Vincent’s only earthly remains. He was a phantom now. Immaterial. What could the future hold for a girl and a ghost? The great big empty space in my chest ached, and would keep on aching, until I could touch him again. Which will never happen because he’s gone, I reminded myself.
Isn’t that what Vincent was trying to tell me when he disappeared? And he had been right . . . except for his conclusion: I will always be near. I’ll always be watching out for you. From now on, the only thing I can do for you is try to keep you safe.
I pressed hard on my chest, as if that would help the pain go away. In my other hand I clenched the locket tightly. No, I thought. I refuse to accept the scenario Vincent described: continuing my life as if he no longer exists, while he watches over me like a stalker guardian angel. I will not live out that tragedy.
And, abruptly, my thoughts turned to my parents and the great love they had shared. It had practically radiated from them, rubbing off on everyone nearby, making all around them happy. Filling others with hope.
I could have had a love like that with Vincent. I had felt it. There had been something right about us: It was bigger than just two people in love. When we were together, it had been like one of nature’s true and rare beauties; like an impossible beam of sunlight piercing through black clouds, bathing the patch of earth before you in gold. Together, Vincent and I had created something beautiful.
And, with that thought, something hardened inside me. A refusal. A rejection of the fate being shoved onto me. Even though I had no idea what form it would take, I would find a solution. Because a solution must exist.
I followed them into the hallway and Gaspard closed the bedroom door behind us, leaving a comatose-looking Bran alone to rest. “I see you have met Gaspard, my longtime partner,” continued JB with a wry smile. “It is his opinion that I am the worst person possible to be charged with explanations, so I will ask him to join us.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Jean-Baptiste had just come out of the closet to my grandmother, when I had never heard him mention his relationship with Gaspard to anyone before. It wasn’t a secret, but coming from olden times they weren’t exactly into the PDA and it was easy to forget that they were together. Hearing it from his own lips was a revelation. It meant that he was trying to show my grandmother that he was putting everything—even his personal information—at her disposal so that she would trust him.
As I was thinking this, JB glanced over and caught my eye.
Merci, I mouthed.
He nodded grimly at me.
“My dear woman, can I just say what a true pleasure it is to have you pay us a visit in our own home,” Gaspard was saying, shaking only slightly in his tic-y way as he did a bow/hand-kiss combo that I knew would melt Mamie’s heart.
“Katya, do not leave this house,” she said, turning to me. “I will join you and your sister when I finish talking to the gentlemen.” And holding Jean-Baptiste’s arm, she accompanied the revenant couple down the hallway.
I walked into the kitchen to find a tactical discussion about finding Violette taking place over an Italian-themed meal. The sharp smell of garlic hung thick on the air, mixed with the comforting aroma of baked cheese.
“So she hasn’t been found?” I asked.
Ambrose shook his head. “Henri and the others just reported back. Once again, she’s disappeared.”
From beside him, a head turned and familiar green eyes peered up at me. “Charlotte!” I yelled, throwing my arms around her as she rose to greet me. “You came back.”
“Oh, Kate. We jumped on a train as soon as we heard what happened.” She let Geneviève have her turn squeezing me before returning to her chair.
“Sit next to me,” Charlotte said, her hair falling in long wheaten strands around her face. “I am so sorry about Vincent.”
“So am I,” I said, swallowing to clear the lump in my throat.
I looked down the table at Georgia. “You know Mamie’s here, right?”
My sister choked on what she was eating. Arthur leapt up and got her a glass of water. She swallowed a big gulp of it and, coughing into her napkin, gasped, “That is the worst joke you have ever made. You could have killed me.” She patted her chest and coughed some more.
“No joke,” I said. “She’s having a chat with Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard and is coming to get us afterward.”
“Holy shit,” my sister responded, pushing her plate away.
“You’ve barely touched your lasagna,” Arthur chided softly.
“Not hungry anymore.” Georgia wrapped her arms around herself and sat there looking nervous.
Charlotte changed the subject. “Geneviève and I had been talking about coming to Paris ever since your visit.”
Not even a week ago, I realized with amazement, Vincent and I had been in the south of France sitting on the cliff overlooking the ocean and talking about our future. Just six days ago he explained the Dark Way to me, and his plan to kill numa in order to resist dying. And now he was gone.
Jeanne came over from where she was preparing a tray for my grandmother, and gave me a firm, affectionate kiss on each cheek. “You’ll join us for some lasagna, won’t you, Kate?”
“I’m really not hungry. Thanks anyway, Jeanne,” I said.
“Nonsense,” she replied. She picked up a plate, loaded it with a steaming square of gooey pasta, and set it in front of me.
“Never say no to Jeanne,” muttered Ambrose, taking a sizable bite of garlic bread. “Especially over one of her Italian grandmother’s recipes. Not that she’ll get offended. She’ll just take it as a challenge. Watch this.” He gestured to his empty plate. “Jeanne, that lasagna was delicious. I’m so full I couldn’t imagine having another bite.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and bringing the pan over to the table, plopped a giant-size piece in front of him. “With all the fighting you boys will be doing, you need all the calories you can get.”
Ambrose lifted an eyebrow and smiled at me in triumph before glancing across the table to Geneviève.
Oh no, I thought. It looked like Ambrose hadn’t gotten over his crush on the recently widowed revenant. Which must be breaking Charlotte’s heart. She looked down at her food and pretended she didn’t see Ambrose’s longing gaze.
“How’s Charles?” I asked to distract her.
“Oh, he’s fine,” she said, her face brightening at the thought of her twin. “I mean, I haven’t seen him since he ran off to Germany, but he’s been emailing or calling almost every day.”
“They just got GPS tracking for each other on their cell phones,” added Geneviève with a grin.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Thanks for letting everyone know about our sad twin-based codependence,” she moaned, but smiled. “It’s amazing how much he’s changed in so little time,” she continued to me. “He’s always talking about his feelings about ‘our destiny’ and how we’re here on earth to give back to humanity. He and his German kindred left this morning for some kind of spiritual mountain retreat.”
She clicked on her cell phone and peered at a digital map showing France and Germany side by side. Over Paris was a blinking red light, and over Germany a green line headed west out of Berlin and stopped with a flashing question mark an inch to the west. “He must not have a signal there because he’s not even showing up.”
“Yeah, I would say that’s pretty codependent,” I said with a wry grin.
Charlotte elbowed me playfully, “Oh, stop. No one but a twin could understand. Whatever,” she said, and stashed the phone in the pocket of her cardigan.
“A little refreshment for your grandmother and the men,” Jeanne said as she bustled out of the kitchen with the tea tray.
Everyone fell into a reflective silence and focused on Jeanne’s delicious meal until she returned minutes later. “Status report?” I asked.
“Your grandmother seemed to be holding up well. She didn’t look overjoyed, but she was listening to what Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard were saying,” Jeanne said, retying her apron.
“Which was . . . ,” I prodded.
“They were proposing some kind of plan where you and your sister would be accompanied everywhere you go,” she responded matter-of-factly, and then turned to check something in the oven.
Georgia and I shot each other worried looks.
“I know we’re waiting for Jean-Baptiste to give us instructions,” Arthur said, prying his attention away from my sister. “But we might as well get suited up until he’s done talking to Madame Mercier. I have no doubt he’ll send us on a scouting trip when we inform him that Henri’s team lost track of Violette.”
Standing and taking his plate to the counter, Ambrose leaned down to give Jeanne’s shoulders a squeeze. “No dessert?” she asked.
Ambrose patted his stomach with both hands. “Naw, I couldn’t, Jeanne. I’m watching my figure.” She guffawed as he walked toward the door. “I could use a bit of a workout if we’re just hanging out for a while. Swords, anyone?” he called.
“That’s an invitation I can’t resist,” responded Charlotte, and thanking Jeanne for the meal, she followed Ambrose out the door.
“I’m on for a fight!” exclaimed Geneviève, and Arthur stood to join her.
“I’ll watch,” muttered a paler-than-usual Georgia. I smiled. It was just like her to hide out as long as possible rather than face Mamie’s wrath.
“Leave your dishes, dears, and go work off some of that steam,” said Jeanne, waving them away from the table and out the door.
“I’ll be right down,” I called. I was still picking at my lasagna, attempting to move pieces of it around my plate so that Jeanne would think I had eaten.
“I see what you’re doing, mon petit chou,” she said as she stood at the sink with her back toward me.
I laid my fork on the table. “Busted,” I replied.
She turned, and her lips curved into a compassionate smile. “You know what? I have something for you. Something that might be a comfort in the hard days ahead.”
Taking my hand, she led me out of the kitchen to her room down the hall. It was one she used on the rare occasion when she needed to spend the night, and I had never been inside.
Walking across the carpeted floor, she switched on a frilly lamp and picked up an object sitting next to it. Returning, she placed it in my hand. It was a heart-shaped locket made of crystal and silver.
I fingered the tiny bauble. A sprig of flowers was engraved into the silver side, and I ran my finger over the delicately grooved metal. “Forget-me-nots,” said Jeanne, and it felt like a hand clenched my heart and squeezed tightly. Vincent’s body was gone, but I would not forget him. Or would I? Would his face start disappearing from my mind like my parents’ had, replaced by the images of them preserved in photographs?
I turned the locket over to the crystal side. Through the transparent glass I spotted something dark enclosed within and held it up to the light. It was a single lock of raven black hair.
EIGHT
“IS THIS VINCENT’S?” I GASPED.
Jeanne nodded.
“Where did you get it?” Stunned, I rolled the strange bauble around in my hand.
“The locket is from Gaspard’s collection of memento mori,” Jeanne responded. “He said I could give it to you.”
“No, this,” I said, holding it up to indicate what was inside the crystal prison. “Why do you have a lock of Vincent’s hair?”
Jeanne thought a moment, and then said, “It’ll be easier to show you.” She gestured to a corner table that held an assortment of beautifully crafted silver and enamel boxes and candles in simple pierced-tin holders.
“It’s a ritual my mother taught me when I took her place. A practice her mother had passed to her. We’ve always felt a special responsibility for our revenants. It makes us feel better to think we’ve got some say in their survival. I’m not a religious woman, Kate. But I do say prayers every day for my wards.”
I picked up a tiny box from the front of the table and opened the embossed lid. A lock of red hair sat nestled inside the rich blue velvet lining. “Charles,” I breathed.
“He’s the one I’ve been thinking of most, recently,” Jeanne said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “If ever a boy needed a candle lit for him, it’s that one.” She touched a box covered in a blue-and-green leafy mosaic. “That’s Vincent’s,” she said. I picked it up and opened the lid to see the empty cushioned interior.
“Now that I’ve given you my little token of Vincent, I expect you to take over my prayers for his well-being,” Jeanne said.
“I will,” I promised.
Satisfied, she nodded to the back of the table, where dozens of the delicate boxes were lined up side by side and stacked on top of each other. “Even when they’re gone, I can’t bring myself to get rid of their boxes. Neither could my mother or even hers.”
I shuddered. Those stacks must represent Jean-Baptiste’s kindred destroyed by numa.
“Vincent’s still here on this earth, sweet girl,” she said, “even if only in spirit. You’ve got to be brave.”
Only in spirit. Those words, along with Jeanne’s expression of heartbroken pity, drove home the fact that this lock of hair constituted Vincent’s only earthly remains. He was a phantom now. Immaterial. What could the future hold for a girl and a ghost? The great big empty space in my chest ached, and would keep on aching, until I could touch him again. Which will never happen because he’s gone, I reminded myself.
Isn’t that what Vincent was trying to tell me when he disappeared? And he had been right . . . except for his conclusion: I will always be near. I’ll always be watching out for you. From now on, the only thing I can do for you is try to keep you safe.
I pressed hard on my chest, as if that would help the pain go away. In my other hand I clenched the locket tightly. No, I thought. I refuse to accept the scenario Vincent described: continuing my life as if he no longer exists, while he watches over me like a stalker guardian angel. I will not live out that tragedy.
And, abruptly, my thoughts turned to my parents and the great love they had shared. It had practically radiated from them, rubbing off on everyone nearby, making all around them happy. Filling others with hope.
I could have had a love like that with Vincent. I had felt it. There had been something right about us: It was bigger than just two people in love. When we were together, it had been like one of nature’s true and rare beauties; like an impossible beam of sunlight piercing through black clouds, bathing the patch of earth before you in gold. Together, Vincent and I had created something beautiful.
And, with that thought, something hardened inside me. A refusal. A rejection of the fate being shoved onto me. Even though I had no idea what form it would take, I would find a solution. Because a solution must exist.
