If I Should Die (4 page)

SIX

WHEN ARTHUR'S TEXT FINALLY CAME, WE MADE
our way carefully out of the bunker and up some nearby stairs. Bran directed me to push open a wooden trapdoor at the top, and we emerged through the floor of a mausoleum, where above­ground marble tombs dominated the small room.

“This is so Buffy it's not even funny,” Georgia said, supporting Bran as I waved curtains of cobwebs out of the way so that we could exit into the graveyard. Ambrose was waiting by the gate. As soon as he saw us, he sprinted over and hoisted Bran up in his arms. “Hurry it up,” he said. “It's like numa central around here!”

He bundled Bran into the back of the car, and Georgia and I packed in on either side. As soon as Ambrose was in the passenger seat, Arthur sped off. “Perfect timing,” he said, peering into his rearview mirror. I turned to see a squad of numa round the corner of the cemetery wall and push open the gate we had come through just seconds before.

“Looks like our Evil Empress has got half of Paris's numa trailing her as security,” Ambrose commented drily. “We sent Henri and some others to your shop, right after we talked to Kate,” he said, eyeing Bran. “But there was no sign of them. The door to the sewers had been smashed through so they could still be down there, weaving their way through toilet-level Paris looking for you.”

He shifted in his seat to shoot me an annoyed look. “And who do you think you are? Wonder Woman?”

“I would say Kate's more Catwoman,” Georgia commented. “Much cooler. Less derivative.”

Ambrose ignored her. “What possessed you to go wandering off after I left you three messages to stay put since Violette and her numa were spotted heading toward Paris? Since when does ‘Stay in your house' mean go directly to the location where your enemy is most likely to go?”

“I didn't get your messages,” I admitted sheepishly. “I left my phone at home.”

He sighed deeply and shook his head in despair. “Gonna get you a cell phone holder that I can chain to your wrist. Vincent would kill me if he knew I let you anywhere near Violette.”

“Um . . . Vincent knows,” I said.

“What?” everyone exclaimed at once, except for Bran, who asked, “Who is Vincent?”

“The one I talked to you about on the phone last week,” I replied.

“The one suspected of being the Victor?” he asked.

I nodded, and then said to the others, “He talked to me when we were standing outside Bran's cellar door.”

“What did he say?” Arthur asked, making a sharp turn to avoid a red light.

“He said he was bound to Violette. And that she had come looking for Bran because the power transfer hadn't worked.”

“Well, that clears up why the brutes detained me,” Bran said. “Although after killing my mother, I don't see why they'd expect me to volunteer to help them.”

“Um, I'm guessing that's the reason they beat you up,” Georgia pointed out helpfully. “The whole point of coercion is that it doesn't require volunteers.”

“Regardless, they would never have gotten it out of me,” Bran insisted stubbornly, and then wincing from some unseen injury, laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

“Good man.” Ambrose leaned over the seat and patted Bran reassuringly on the knee before turning to Arthur. “Dude, can't you drive this thing any faster?” he urged in a low voice. “Skeletor back there is fading fast.”

I watched Bran for a moment, wanting to ask him about Vincent—to see if he knew anything about disembodied spirits. His mother had mentioned family records when I had asked her to help Vincent resist dying. She had told me her line of healers knew some of the revenants' secrets, and she would check their accounts to see if she could help us. I wondered if Bran knew everything his mother had. But seeing his exhaustion and battered face, I knew this wasn't the time to ask.

In a record ten minutes we were entering the gate at La Maison, where a welcoming committee waited by the front door. Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard stood on either side of a concerned-looking Jeanne, who made a rush for the car as we pulled up.

Georgia and I helped shift Bran out, then followed as Arthur and Ambrose supported him, his arms propped around their shoulders. They got him to the front door, where Jean-Baptiste waited. “I'll be fine,” Bran reassured his bodyguards, and they carefully set him down as he extended a shaking hand toward JB.

“
Bonjour
,” he began, but as his fingers touched the revenant leader's hand, a bright light, like a camera flash, exploded between them, causing everyone around to shield their faces. I blinked several times before the spots began clearing from my vision, and saw that Bran had gone stiff. He let out a deep moan, his head fell forward, and he sank unconscious to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Gaspard yelped, rushing to JB's side. The revenant leader blinked a few times and shook his arm out experimentally.

“What the hell was—” Georgia began, but was cut off by Jeanne, who had leapt into emergency mode. “Up! Get him up!” she commanded, and Ambrose scooped Bran's floppy form into his arms. Carrying him to Vincent's room, he deposited him carefully on the bed. Jeanne was there in an instant, applying cold wet cloths to Bran's head and wrists. Within seconds his eyelids were fluttering open.

“Where am I?” he mumbled. Jeanne handed him his glasses, which had fallen when he had. Pulling them on with shaking hands, he peered anxiously at our faces, looking downright startled when he saw me.

“What is it?” I asked, glancing around to make sure he wasn't looking at someone else. His astonished look—like he didn't recognize me after I had spent the last couple of hours scurrying around underground Paris with him—was freaking me out.

He kept staring for a few seconds, blinking a few times with his non-swollen eye. Then sighing deeply, he said, “Nothing, child,” and leaned back into the pillow.

“Are you okay?” Jeanne asked, tucking a blanket around his trembling form.

Ignoring her question, Bran asked, “May I suppose that your residence is safe from the evil ones?”

“You can bet your sweet . . . um, yes, sir,” said Ambrose, editing himself. “As long as you're here with us you'll be safe from the numa.”

“Safe,” breathed Bran. “No one will be safe until the Victor triumphs.”

“The Victor?” asked Arthur.

“He means the Champion,” I clarified.

Gaspard spoke up. “I am sorry to inform you, dear ally, that the Victor has been captured. He is now in the hands of our enemies.”

Bran considered Gaspard's words. “Yes, your Kate has informed me of that,” he replied finally. “But Violette doesn't yet have his power. And if she cannot figure out the magic of the transfer herself, she will not learn it from me. That will at least give us some time.”

Jeanne stepped forward. “Monsieur . . .”

“Tândorn.”

“Monsieur Tândorn, would you like me to call a doctor?”

“
Non. Merci, chère madame
. The brutes concentrated mostly on my face. The rest of me just feels bruised—nothing broken. I'm just very weak. I haven't slept or eaten since they killed my mother.”

Jeanne's face took on the look of a dangerous wildcat whose cub is threatened by hunters. I had seen this look before and knew exactly what it meant. The housekeeper's power lay in her ability to take care of her wards. Seconds after she stalked out of the room, I heard pots and pans banging in the kitchen as she planned her assault on Bran's feeble state.

Arthur approached Georgia. “How is your face?” he asked timidly, raising his hand to touch her bruised cheek.

My sister nimbly ducked out of the way. “You know, after that terrifying run-in with the numa, I could really use a mug of strong tea. Do you think you might have any?” she asked coyly.

“Of course,” Arthur responded, straightening and transforming back to his usual formal self. He ushered Georgia politely out into the hallway.

As they left, the others followed. Jean-Baptiste lagged behind for a second, looking like he wanted to stay, and then said, “We have much to speak about, Monsieur Tândorn, but I will let you rest. May I pay you a visit this evening?”

“Of course,” Bran responded wearily.

“Would you like to be alone, or would you prefer that I stay?” I asked.

“Stay, child,” he answered.

I pulled a chair next to the bed and settled myself in. “I was sorry to hear about your mother,” I said after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” he said. “She was an exceptional soul. A loving mother. A wise woman.”

I hesitated before continuing, but he seemed to want conversation. “Did she have time to pass her gifts along to you before she . . . was gone?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and, reaching for an additional pillow, stuffed it behind him so that he was almost sitting. His swollen eye was the color of a ripe plum and the other was magnified by his thick glasses so that it looked like a 3-D chestnut. He glanced at me, squinted curiously, and then looked quickly away again. I fiddled with my hair, wondering if there were cobwebs or debris from the underground passages still stuck in it.

“Yes. Yes, she did,” he responded. “I have inherited her healing gifts and am now a
guérisseur
myself.”

I smiled sadly, knowing that his newly acquired powers couldn't make up for the loss of his mother. He touched my arm with long bony fingers, and his thin lips curved up at the corners. “It's too bad you don't have a migraine so that I could show you how it works. Although, like my mother, my gifts aren't confined to the mortal realm.”

He pulled back his sleeve and showed me a fresh tattoo on the inside of his wrist, the flesh still pink around it. A triangle with flames flaring out from its three edges was enclosed within a circle.

“The
signum bardia
,” I breathed. And pulling the gold and sapphire version that Vincent had given me from beneath my shirt, I held it up for him to see.

“We have something in common, child. Both trusted by the kindred. And just look where it has brought us!” He smiled feebly. Letting go of my arm, he laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. It seemed the conversation was over.

“Bran, I've been wanting to ask you about something.” He opened an eye and blinked at me, looking exhausted. Now was not the time to quiz him, but I didn't know when I'd have the chance again. “If your mother gave you her gifts, does that mean you have all her knowledge as well?”

“She has told me our stories since I was a child,” he responded tiredly.

Feeling a twinge of guilt for pushing him too far, I continued. “Well, she told me a few weeks ago that your family knew secrets about the revenants. And I was just wondering if you knew anything about what the bardia call wandering souls. That's the state that Vincent is in now, since Violette destroyed his body. I wanted to know if there was any way—”

I was interrupted by a knock on the door. Gaspard stuck his head in. “Excuse me, Kate, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” I asked, confused.

The door swung forcefully open. Gaspard stepped aside and an elderly woman wearing a pink Chanel suit, four-inch heels, and a look of pure fury walked into the room. Lord help us all, Mamie was in La Maison.

SEVEN

AS MY GRANDMOTHER STRODE INTO THE ROOM,
I felt my two worlds collide. The fact that Georgia had been in on the secret for months—had visited La Maison several times—didn't lessen the trauma of someone else I loved entering the dangerous universe of the revenants. Because of me. Now that Mamie was here, I felt responsible for her safety—which from now on was an impossibility; safety and revenants did not go together.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice panicky from both fear
for
my grandmother and fear
of
her.

My grandmother's gaze caught Bran's battered form on the bed, and her eyes grew wider before she fixed me with a burning stare. “When I called your school to give you girls the day off to recover, I did not mean for you to run right back into the danger you so narrowly escaped yesterday. You left me a note that you were popping out and would ‘be back soon.' Whatever happened during the hours you were away”—she nodded gravely toward Bran—“I take as a direct betrayal of my trust.”

Over Mamie's shoulder I saw Jean-Baptiste hurry into the room. Gaspard closed the door behind him. JB met my eyes and made a zipping motion over his mouth, shaking his head in warning. It was clear he wanted to do the talking.

“
Ma chère madame
,” he began. Mamie whipped around to face him. He gave her a polite little bow straight from the eighteenth century, and she reciprocated with a tight nod. Underneath her expensive hairdo and prim suit, Mamie was a force to be reckoned with.

But as I watched my grandmother, I realized that beneath her anger she was actually terrified. And then I remembered how frightened I was when I learned what Vincent was, and my heart went out to her. My grandmother had entered the monster's lair . . . for me.

“
Bonjour
, Monsieur Grimod,” she said in a tight voice. “Excuse me for barging into your house uninvited, but I am here to collect my granddaughters.”

“Of course,
madame
. But I would have thought that under the present dangerous circumstances, you would prefer for them to be here, under our protection, rather than out in the public world unprotected.”

“Unprotected!” Mamie's face turned poppy red. Her gaze shifted to Gaspard, who nodded seriously, agreeing with JB. Glancing back, she shot me her most dangerous look, and then, exhaling between pursed lips, attempted to compose herself.

“Monsieur Grimod, please try to put yourself in my shoes. Last night my granddaughters came home after participating in a violent fight during which both could have easily been killed. Kate's boyfriend actually
was
killed, although I realize that that sort of thing isn't as serious for your kind, your deaths being impermanent,” she said crisply.

“But because his body was then
immolated
, he is now floating around as a ghost and being held captive in a castle by a psychotic medieval zombie. The same psychotic medieval zombie who gave one of my granddaughters a concussion and has been sending the other flowers for the last couple of months . . . at our home . . . because she KNOWS WHERE WE LIVE.” Mamie's face was now purple from her battle between politesse and her true feelings.

“And now I am being asked if my granddaughter can walk right back into the same situation. Unless I was completely insane, my response to that request would be an unequivocal no.”

“But, my dear lady, that is exactly why you should let your granddaughters come to us. Because the case is, unfortunately, just as you stated. The numa know where you live. Violette knows where you live. I would like to offer you and your granddaughters our protection, so it is a very good thing that you are here now and we can talk about it.”

Mamie hesitated, then said, “I lost my son a year and a half ago because of a drunk driver. I refuse to lose another family member—or two—for a reason just as meaningless.”

“There is nothing meaningless about a battle between good and evil,
ma chère dame
,” Jean-Baptiste responded quietly. “And that is the position we find ourselves in right now. Please . . . come with me.” He held out his arm and waited, ignoring the way Mamie flinched when she finally took it lightly in her fingers.

“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.