If I Should Die (16 page)

“Where did you get that?” Papy asked.

“Jeanne gave it to me. She keeps locks of hair from all of the revenants in her care in these little boxes.”

“How strange,” remarked Bran.

“Her mother did it and her grandmother, too. It's, like, a family tradition.”

Papy pounded the table in excitement. “Which, quite obviously, started because of something like this,” he said. “Jeanne didn't even know what she was doing by keeping the custom going, and perhaps neither did her mother or her grandmother. But somewhere along the way, a revenant keeper began that tradition in case remains were needed for this re-embodiment procedure. Fascinating!”

“So we found it!” I said, touching Papy's hand and willing him to come with me. “We found the solution. We better get over to Mr. Gold's to let him know.”

“I have his number,” said Papy. He took out his cell phone and began dialing.

Within a half hour we were all standing around the burner again, Jules having taxied over from Brooklyn the moment Mr. Gold called. A big exhaust fan was sucking up the smoke from the torch. Now that it was daytime, Mr. Gold was concerned that passersby on the street above or in the museum, once it opened, would smell the fire. The whole mess from the water mixing with the clay the day before had been cleaned up during the night. I suspected that was Mr. Gold's work.

I sat down next to Jules, who was looking distinctly green.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I'm not that excited about cutting my arm open again,” he said, using a tiny scissors to carefully clip the stitches he had been given the previous night. “Vincent's worth it—of course. But I'll try to slash the same place so I won't have two major wounds to manage until I'm dormant in a couple weeks.”

“How was last night with your New York kindred?” I asked.

“Good,” he said, eyeing me with an expression that said he didn't feel like talking about it.

“Did you know anyone at the house?” I persisted.

“Yes. There were a couple of guys who came to Europe for a convocation about ten years ago.” He sighed and looked back down at his stitches, clipping another of the tiny black threads. “It was actually really nice. They had set out a whole welcome-to-America party for me, which kicked off as soon as the doctor sewed up my arm and lasted until I left this morning.”

“I was out like a light,” I admitted. “That's got to be one of the huge perks of zombiehood: no jet lag.”

Jules smiled. A real Jules smile. It was nice to see.

“All right, we need to move now, people, before the first employees arrive,” prompted Mr. Gold.

“Joy,” remarked Jules drily. He stood and extended his good arm to help me up.

I took my place on the stepladder and peered over the rim of the thymiaterion at Clay Vincent. Jules stood on my right, and Bran directly across from us while Papy readied himself with the torch. A nervous hush settled over our small group. Bran had spread his hands out, and Jules was just lifting the knife when I heard Vincent say,
No!

“What's happening, Vincent?” I asked. Everyone froze.

Violette's pulling me back. I feel myself being tugged away from here.

“Fight it, Vincent!” I urged.

“What is it?” Mr. Gold asked.

“Violette is trying to get him back!”

“Is he still here?” yelled Papy.

“Yes, but I can see him being pulled upward—though it seems he is resisting. We must proceed quickly,” said Bran, and spread his hands above the clay form.

Opening the locket, I pulled the lock of hair from inside and stood there, wondering what I should do with it. Then, making a split-second decision, I pressed it securely into the side of the clay man's shoulder with my thumb.

I didn't see Jules slit his arm a second time. I couldn't watch. But there he was, bleeding profusely again on top of the golem, as I bent forward to blow lightly upon the face. I saw Bran reach up toward Vincent's invisible-to-me aura. He made a motion like he was grasping it and pulling it down toward the clay man.

Kate
, Vincent's voice came.
I don't know if I can fight
 . . .

His voice disappeared. “Is he still here?” I cried, looking wildly across the cup at Bran.

Bran peered upward and shook his head. “No. He's gone.”

Papy lowered his torch. Mr. Gold stood next to the bucket of water, looking helpless. Jules lowered his bleeding arm to rest on the rim of the thymiaterion and raised his other hand to his forehead.

I couldn't believe it. We were so close to bringing Vincent back, and Violette chose this crucial moment to reclaim him. A hatred like I had never felt before set my entire body aflame. She would not do this. Violette would not take Vincent away from me. This would not be the end. Fury and shock from what had just happened forged together like iron in my chest. Fueled by something bigger and older than I—something primal—I commanded, “Come back, Vincent.
Now!
” My voice echoed through the cavernous room.

And then, so loudly it was like a megaphone positioned next to my ear, I heard,
I'm back. But not for long. Do it quickly!

“He's returned! Go!” I shouted. Papy stepped forward and held the torch to the clay figure. As the air around it exploded into blue flames, Jules jumped back and I fell from the stepladder to the ground.

“Vincent! Don't let go!” I yelled, scrambling back to my feet. My heart pounding violently, I grabbed the side of the metal cup and heaved myself up to watch. The flames blazed higher, forming a giant fireball, which then erupted with a loud whooshing noise like a great wind, leaving tiny blue flames licking over and around the body like a paraffin burner.

Bran stretched his hands tentatively toward the fire. “Cold. The flames are cold, like the ‘cooling flames' in the inscription you found, Kate,” he said, looking up at me. “It must be working.”

As he spoke, the edges of the clay man began shimmering, like air does in intense heat, and the lumpen form gradually became more manlike. “Something's happening!” I cried. I was paralyzed by shock and hope. “Please let it work. Come back, Vincent. You have to come back,” I whispered, pleading.

Red clay became olive-toned skin, and the bald head became waves of raven black hair. The face that Jules had carefully sculpted became a real nose and mouth and eyes, closed as if in sleep. But it lay there, still and unmoving, until, focusing on the air just above, Bran yelled, “Come, bardia spirit, inhabit this body!” He made one final sweeping gesture, as if pulling the aura downward, and touched his fingers to the body's side.

The eyes flew open and Vincent took a great gulping gasp, as if trying to swallow all of the oxygen in the room.

“Vincent,” I said, my heart in my throat.

His eyes flew to mine. He reached toward me, and I took his hand and pressed it to my cheek. His skin was burning hot, like with a fever. I kissed his fingers, and his skin smelled like fire and rain-soaked earth. Like the boy I thought I would never touch again.

TWENTY-SEVEN

IT WASN'T UNTIL JULES AND MR. GOLD HAD
helped Vincent down out of the thymiaterion that we realized we had forgotten one essential element for resurrecting a spirit in a brand-new body. Clothes.

This was a first for me. The most I'd seen of Vincent up to now was post-workout with only a towel around his waist. But noticing Papy look pointedly at me, I turned around and crossed my arms, waiting until the others wrapped a silver packing blanket around him before throwing myself on him.

“Kate,” he said, staggering a bit, and then pulled me tightly to him and kissed the top of my head. I held my mouth up for a real kiss and his lips were like a revelation. Like our very first kiss, only a hundred times better. Vincent smiled weakly at me, and then his eyes shut as his head fell forward and he collapsed in my arms. Now it was me staggering, as I found myself holding all of his weight.

Jules rushed over to help me lower Vincent's unconscious body to the ground. I held his head on my lap as Mr. Gold checked his blood pressure. “How stupid of us,” he chided, “We should have planned to have food and water here for him. He's probably in a state similar to awakening from dormancy—terribly weak and in need of nourishment. Let's get him home quickly.”

“We can't take him out on the street naked,” Papy said.

Jules pulled off his T-shirt and I helped him shuffle it over Vincent's arms and head. Pulling on the sweater he had set aside while he was bloodletting, Jules said, “Give me your keys, Theodore. I saw some workmen's overalls in the restoration studio where we got the clay.”

Within ten minutes we were making our way out of the giant hall, weaving up and down passageways until we reached a tiny service door where there was no guard to witness an unconscious Vincent being carried between Jules and Mr. Gold. We managed to get him across the street and into Gold's building with only a few curious looks from early-morning passersby.

Once inside the safety of the apartment, Jules and Mr. Gold laid Vincent down on one of the living room couches. “Oh. I'm bleeding again,” Jules said simply, staring at the blood coursing from his arm. Our host was off in a flash, and returned with a linen bandage. He wrapped it tightly around Jules's wound before leading him to another couch and persuading him to lie down.

Vincent was breathing but still not conscious. Bran sat down next to him and studied his paper-white face. “His aura is very weak,” he commented.

“Quickly. Get some sustenance for Vincent. Kitchen's that way,” Mr. Gold barked from Jules's side. Papy and I bustled down the hallway and began combing through an impeccably clean all-white kitchen in search of food and drink. I grabbed a tray off the counter and loaded it with a bowl of almonds, a few bananas, some jars of French yogurt, and a loaf of whole-grain bread, and Papy added a carton of orange juice and bottle of water from the fridge.

When we got back to the living room, Mr. Gold was on the phone, telling his doctor to come immediately; that it was an emergency. I sat down on the couch next to Vincent and, propping his head forward with one hand, poured some water through his lips. As soon as the liquid hit the back of his throat, he sputtered and sat up, opening his eyes and looking around wildly. “Where am I?” he asked, and then seeing my face, he immediately relaxed.

And finally, now that the crisis was over, it was as if a switch had been thrown and the room erupted into a frenzy of joy. “We did it!” Mr. Gold exclaimed, breaking into a funny celebratory jig. “Thank the gods,” Jules said with a look of overwhelmed relief, and flopped back onto the couch.

Papy started clapping, which encouraged Mr. Gold to add a little kick to the end of his dance, before running over to Bran and clasping him in his arms, patting his back firmly. “
You
did it!” Mr. Gold cheered.

Bran stood there looking shy, but his eyes shone in victory. “I can't believe it!” he said. “My first action as a
guérisseur
was a re-embodiment of a revenant spirit. If only my mother could have seen that.”

“The whole line of
guérisseurs
before you would be proud of you, and those who come after you will speak of this event with awe,” Mr. Gold said.

Bran managed to look fiercely proud while at the same time like all he wanted to do was go somewhere to hide.

I just sat there beaming with joy and relief, my love brimming over as I touched Vincent's face and stroked his hair. “How do you feel,
mon amour
?” I asked, stealing his nickname for me.

“My sight's really blurry,” he said, blinking. “We're back in Gold's apartment, right?”

“Right,” I confirmed. “We are back in Gold's apartment and I'm touching your hair and looking into your eyes and hearing your real voice and . . . I can barely believe it.” As I leaned forward to brush my lips against his, my heart felt like it would burst.

“I'm no doctor, but I assume he needs more sustenance than kisses,” teased Mr. Gold.

Blushing, I held the glass of water for Vincent as he drank deeply, then scooped some almonds from the bowl and poured them into his hand. Popping them into his mouth, he laid his head back on my lap as he chewed, never taking his eyes off me. He clutched my hand like he was afraid of being swept back into the ether. Using my free hand, I gave him a banana and more water, and some color started showing in his cheeks.

After waiting a little while, Bran asked, “Can you talk?” He and Papy had pulled chairs next to Vincent's couch and watched him with curious stares.

“Maybe you should wait,” I suggested, but Vincent squeezed my hand. “It's okay,” he said.

“So what exactly was happening when the ancient one tried to pull you back to her?” the
guérisseur
asked.

Vincent stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember. He exhaled deeply. “I was there above you, just kind of hovering,” he said. “Then all of a sudden, I was pulled up and swept over the city toward the Atlantic Ocean. And then I heard Kate's voice,” he said, shifting his gaze to me, “and suddenly I had the strength to slow the motion down, then stop it, and move in the opposite direction until I was back with you.”

“Maybe the great physical distance between you and Violette reduced the power of the bond,” suggested Papy.

“Maybe,” Vincent said. “She couldn't have known I was halfway across the world when she called me back to her.”

“In any case, you're back,” said Mr. Gold, leaving Jules's side. “And we have achieved something that hasn't been done—to my knowledge—for centuries. A groundbreaking event in the freshly renewed relationship between the bardia and the flame-fingered,” he said, directing this last statement to Bran.

“Thank you . . . all of you,” Vincent said, looking around the room, “for your help and”—he looked at Jules—“for your devotion.” I would have cuddled up to him then and there if my Papy hadn't been sitting right across from us. Also, I was afraid of breaking him. He was so weak.

“No need for thanks,” Mr. Gold said. “We're all in this together. Now we must plan for your recovery and assess when you will be strong enough to return to Paris. But, first things first.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Gaspard,” he said after a short wait, “yes, Theo here. I have very good news.”

Do you want to talk?
Mr. Gold mouthed to Vincent, who nodded and took the phone from him.

“Gaspard? Yes. It's me.”

An exclamation of surprise was audible from the other end of the line.

“I hope you mention my extreme sacrifice,” yelled Jules from across the room.

As Vincent began recounting the story to Gaspard, Papy took the opportunity to make his own call. “Emilie
chérie
, the re-embodiment ceremony that I told you about last night? Well, we tried it again just now, and it worked.” He smiled broadly at me. “Yes, we're all extremely relieved. Of course you can talk to her.”

Papy handed me the phone, which I took with one hand because I wasn't letting go of Vincent for a second. “Darling, what wonderful news!” exclaimed my grandmother. “When will you come back?”

“A doctor's on his way now,” I said as the doorbell rang. “We're just waiting to see how long it takes for Vincent to be strong enough to travel, and we'll be back.”

As I spoke, a man with a doctor's bag walked in. I wasn't surprised to see he had the bardia-aura thing going on around him: I had doubted that Mr. Gold would ask a mortal doctor to tend to Vincent.

They shook hands and the doctor headed over to Jules first. “Didn't I sew this up yesterday?” he asked with consternation.

“Yeah, well, let's just call it ‘repetitive stress disorder,'” Jules replied, then winced as the doctor gave him a shot near the wound site.

“I better go, Mamie,” I said.

“I'll be sure to tell Georgia your news, and we can't wait to see you and Vincent back here at home. Give him a big hug for me.”

I hung up the phone, bemused. A hug for Vincent—from Mamie? That gesture in itself reminded me of how much she loved me. I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my lips, and seeing it, Vincent smiled back at me. But since he hung up with Gaspard, there was something else in his eyes: worry. I was about to ask what Gaspard had told him when the doctor interrupted.

“So what do we have here?” he asked.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at Mr. Gold, who responded. “Vincent here was dormant following quite a violent death, and didn't receive sustenance for a good while after awakening.”

Not completely a lie. I suspected that the re-embodiment story wasn't something Mr. Gold wanted to spread around. Who knew what ties Violette still held in the revenant world? It had only been a few days since her treason had been uncovered.

I got up so the doctor could sit and take Vincent's blood pressure. Bran moved across the room and began making notes in one of his leather-bound books.
Adding a groundbreaking event to the flame-finger records
, I thought.

Mr. Gold and Papy stood next to a window talking. “During the time we must wait for Vincent to recover, I would be delighted to return to the museum and show you the collection in more depth, now that we don't have more pressing issues on our minds,” Mr. Gold was saying as I walked up to them.

“That would be an honor that I could not pass up, Theodore,” Papy said.

“Please call me Theo. You too, Kate,” he said, winking at me.

“Only if you call me Antoine,” said Papy, and grasped Theo's arm warmly.

“You'll be fine,” I heard the doctor saying to Vincent. “But I would strongly recommend bed rest for the next couple of days.”

“Two days?” Theo said.

“Two or three,” the doctor clarified, folding his instruments and putting them back into his bag.

Vincent waited until Theo closed the door behind the doctor before speaking. “That won't be possible,” he said, trying to sit up.

“Why not?” Theo asked, looking surprised.

Vincent leaned his head back on the couch pillow and said in a weak voice, “Because back in Paris, war has begun.”