Charles nodded, and the rest stayed quiet.

“After we animate, we age at the same rate as anyone else. However, each time we die, we subsequently reanimate at the same age that we died the very first time. Jules died when he was nineteen, therefore each time he dies, he starts again at nineteen. Vincent was eighteen when he died, but hasn’t died for, what’s it been now? A bit over a year?” He directed his question to Vincent, but I cut him off.

“What do you mean, ‘each time you die’?” I asked. The spine-chilling icy finger was making another appearance. Vincent tightened his hold on my hand.

“Let’s just say there are a lot of people who need to be saved,” said Jules, winking.

I stared at him, struggling to understand what he was inferring. Then my eyes widened. “The man in the subway!” I gasped. “You saved his life!”

He nodded.

“But how—I mean, didn’t—” I burst out, not able to form one single thought as a dozen flooded my mind simultaneously. I remembered Vincent diving after the girl, and Charlotte saving me from death-by-crushing.

“You died saving someone, and you keep doing it after death,” I said finally. Maybe I was stating the obvious, but the lightbulb had finally flicked on above my head.

“It’s the whole reason for our being,” Vincent said. “We’re bound to that one mission for the rest of our existence.”

I stared at him. I didn’t even know how to react. My mind was a blank.

“I think it’s time to wind down this Q and A session,” Vincent said to the others. “Kate’s getting to the information-overload stage. And I’m too tired to continue.”

“You can’t tell her—” began Gaspard.

“Gaspard!” Vincent yelled, and then closed his eyes from the effort. “I . . . swear I will not tell Kate anything else . . . of importance . . . without consulting you first. Cross my heart.” Vincent drew an X across his chest and glared at the man.

“Well, then,” Ambrose said, getting up. “Now that we’re done scaring the human—I mean, Katie-Lou here”—he paced over and clapped me on the shoulder affectionately—“it’s time for some grub,” and he walked through the doorway.

Charlotte touched my arm softly as the others left. “Come have breakfast with us. You probably won’t be allowed to”—she glanced at Vincent—“leave right away anyway.”

“What time is it?” I asked, realizing I had no clue how long I had slept.

Charlotte looked at her watch. “Almost seven.”

“Seven a.m.?” I asked, astonished that I had fallen asleep in a strange house under such disturbing circumstances. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay and talk to Vincent.”

“You should eat,” said Vincent softly. “Jean-Baptiste’s going to come storming through that door in a few minutes anyway, after Gaspard gives him his update.”

“Let me stay with you till then,” I asked. “I’ll come find you when Jean-Baptiste kicks me out,” I told Charlotte.

“’kay!” she said with an encouraging smile, and shut the door behind her.

I turned to Vincent. But before I could open my mouth to speak, he stole my words. “I know,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Fourteen

WE WERE ON OUR OWN. FINALLY. AND WHAT should have been a terrifying situation—me . . . alone in an old castle . . . sitting next to someone I had just discovered was a monster—well, it wasn’t terrifying at all. Incredibly, it seemed more awkward than anything.

I sat facing him on his bed, this boy who seemed to be on the verge of death. Even in his feeble state he was beautiful. I had every reason to be afraid, but instead I was gripped by the strangest emotion. I felt like protecting him.

“So . . . ,” Vincent said.

“So . . . you’re immortal?”

“’fraid so.”

He looked tired and worried, and for the first time, very vulnerable. I suddenly felt like I held all the power in my hands. Which, concerning us, I suppose I did.

“How’s that make you feel?” he asked.

“Um. It’s a lot to take in all at once. But it definitely explains things.” I felt his fingers clutch my own. “Is the reason I’m not afraid right now because you’re holding my hand?”

“What do you mean?” he said with an uneven smile.

“It’s one of your superpowers, isn’t it? What is it? The Tranquilizing Touch or something?”

“Superpowers!” He chuckled. “Um. Yeah, Miss Perceptive. How did you figure that one out?”

“Charlotte used it on me earlier. And I doubt I could have gotten through this informational meeting without the few hits you gave me.”

The corners of his mouth curved slightly. His fingers loosened and then curved back around my hand. “I see. And no, even though I’m touching you, I’m not doing the ‘Tranquilizing Touch’ as you call it. It doesn’t happen every time I touch you. I have to will it. But at the moment, you seem to be managing fine on your own.”

I glanced at his bedside table and saw that my photo had been placed downward. Resting on top of it was the letter I had written to him the day before. It already seemed like years ago.

“You got my note,” I said.

“Yeah. It helped explain why you went all stalker on me.” He laughed. “I still can’t believe that Jean-Baptiste let you in. It’s just as much his fault that you found me as my own for bringing you here the first time. I’m definitely not letting him hold that one over my head. How you managed to convince him to let you past the front door, I will never understand.”

Vincent’s laugh was edged with something that sounded like victory. “You’re amazing,” he said, his eyes radiating warmth. I sat there basking in it, until he closed them and laid his head back against the pillow.

“Are you okay?” I asked, worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just feeling really weak. Do you mind giving me something from that table?” He nodded toward a folding tray set up next to the head of his bed, holding an array of fruits and nuts.

I picked up a plate of dates and then sat back down next to him with it.

“Thanks,” he said, touching my hand again before picking up a fruit and popping it into his mouth.

“So the necklace was for Charlotte,” I said, watching his face carefully.

He grinned. “See? Girl friend. Not girlfriend. Just someone I’ve known for what . . . the last half century?”

“Not that it matters,” I said quickly, embarrassed.

“Of course not,” Vincent said, faking a serious look and nodding solemnly.

I looked down at my hands. “You said it takes a while to recover from . . . whatever. When will you be up and about?”

“It depends on what condition you’re in when you become dormant. I wasn’t injured or anything, so by tonight I’ll be as good as new. Better, actually.”

I could tell he was trying to lighten the mood, but he looked so exhausted I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Oh, Vincent.”

“It’s not bad, really, Kate. It’s actually good to have some downtime . . . to recharge a little, since after this I won’t sleep again for weeks.”

My frown made him stop. “We don’t need to talk about this now. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m the one who’s worried about you. How—how are you?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Well, if you’re not doing the calming thing and I haven’t freaked out and run screaming from your house, I guess I’m doing pretty well.”

“Amazing,” he said again.

“Okay, stop it with the flattery,” I teased. “Save it for the next victim you draw helplessly into your lair.”

Vincent’s laugh was cut short by the sound of the door opening. I turned to see Jean-Baptiste striding into the room, with Gaspard trailing along in his wake.

“Kate, go find Charlotte and the others,” Vincent said softly, “but once you’re told you can go, don’t leave without coming back to see me. Please.”

Gaspard walked me to the open door. “They’re in the kitchen,” he said, indicating the far end of the corridor. Then, leaving me in the hallway, he closed the door behind him.

I followed the delicious smell of fresh bread toward the kitchen, but hesitated in front of the swinging door. Taking a nervous breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside. The whole crew was sitting around a huge oak table. As one, they looked up and waited for me to do something.

Ambrose broke the ice. “Enter, human!” he said in a Star Trek voice, muffled slightly by a full mouth.

Charlotte and Charles laughed, and Jules waved me over to an empty chair next to him. “So you survived the wrath of Jean-Baptiste,” he said. “Very brave.”

“Very stupid for coming here,” Charles added, not looking up from his plate.

“Charles!” Charlotte scolded.

“Well, it was!” Charles said defensively.

“What would you like, dear?” interrupted a motherly voice from above my shoulder.

I turned to see a plump middle-aged woman wearing an apron. She had soft rosy cheeks, and her graying blond hair was tied up in a bun.

“Jeanne?” I asked.

“Yes, dear Kate,” she answered. “That’s me. I’ve been hearing all about your eventful evening from the others. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you before, but unlike the rest here, I need a good night’s sleep.”

“Then you’re not . . .” I hesitated.

“No, she’s not one of us,” Jules responded. “But Jeanne’s family has been in the service of Jean-Baptiste for . . .”

“Over two hundred years,” Jeanne said, finishing his sentence as she shoveled a mountain of scrambled eggs onto Ambrose’s plate. He gave her a ravishing smile, and said, “Marry me, Jeanne,” leaning over to kiss the hand holding the serving spoon. “In your dreams,” she laughed, and tapped him playfully on the hand with the spoon.

Putting a fist on her hip, she looked up at the ceiling as if trying to remember a poem she had memorized. “My great-great-great-grandfather (plus a few) was Monsieur Grimod de La Reynière’s valet, and went to war with him when he fought under Napoleon. It was that ancestor, only fifteen at the time, whom Monsieur Grimod saved, pushing him from the path of a cannonball that took his own life. It’s a good thing the boy was determined to bring Monsieur’s body back from Russia for burial, because he was there three days later when Monsieur woke up and was able to care for him. And my family’s been with Monsieur ever since.”

She recounted this incredible story like she would describe her trip to the market that morning. It must seem natural to her, having been raised by a mother and grandmother who told her the same story. But I felt overwhelmed as my mind tried to twist its way around the repercussions.

“Thanks, Jeanne. Kate looked almost normal again until you started talking,” Jules said.

“I’m fine,” I responded, smiling at her. “I’ll just have some bread and coffee, thank you.”

Jeanne pushed a coffee capsule into a high-tech coffee machine and turned it on before bustling over to the oven and taking a tray of croissants out.

“I’m off,” Charles said, pushing his chair under the table, and after coolly bumping fists with Jules and Ambrose, he marched out of the kitchen without a second glance at me.

I looked at the others. “Was it something I said?”

“Kate,” Ambrose said, chuckling, “you’ve got to remember—even though Charles’s body should be eighty-two, his maturity level is stuck at fifteen.”

“I’ll go with him,” Charlotte chirped, seemingly embarrassed by her twin’s rudeness. “Bye, Kate.” She leaned over to kiss me on both cheeks. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.”

“So what happens now?” I asked as the door closed behind her. I felt oddly torn between the urge to go back to my grandparents’ house and see my real, living, breathing family and the desire to stay here, among these people who, after just a few hours of knowing me, already seemed to accept me. Or at least most of them did. Never mind that they weren’t human.

Before anyone could answer, Gaspard stuck his porcupine hair through the door. “You can go, Kate. But Vincent asked to see you on your way out.” He disappeared back into the passageway.

As I rose to my feet, Jules stood and said, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

Ambrose nodded, and with a full mouth said, “Walk her home.”

“No, that’s okay, I can get home on my own.”

“I’ll walk you to the door, then,” Jules said, pushing his chair under the table.

“Good-bye, Jeanne. Thanks for the breakfast. Bye, Ambrose,” I called as Jules politely opened the door for me to pass through first, and walked with me down the long hallway to Vincent’s door. I went in and he closed the door behind me, waiting in the hallway.

“So what did they say?” I asked, approaching the bed. Vincent was whiter and weaker-looking than before, but smiled consolingly.

“It’s okay. I’ve promised to take full responsibility for you.”

Though I didn’t know what that meant, I felt torn between thinking I didn’t need a babysitter on the one hand, and rather liking the idea of being Vincent’s ward on the other.