“No, but Ambrose was driving,” quips Charlotte, provoking a stranglehold bear hug from her fiancé.

“You must be Mademoiselle Whitefoot,” says Gaspard, holding a hand out to Ava. But I miss the rest of that introduction, because in from the next room walks Vincent. And his eyes are fixed on me. There’s an expression on his face that I can’t read, and am not sure I want to. Anger? Disappointment? Betrayal?

Although we spoke briefly on the battlefield, there were other things vying for our attention. Like swinging swords. And flying arrows. I said good-bye when I left. Told him I couldn’t stay. But there was blood on our skin and ash on our faces, and I didn’t even look him in the eye.

No, the last time we talked—truly communicated—was at the airport in New York. When I told him I was in love with his girlfriend and that it was tearing me apart to see them together. I admitted to my disloyalty. And then abandoned him.

Ignoring the others, he walks straight up to me, eyes burning, and I think for a moment that he’s going to hit me. Punch me right in the face. But instead he grabs me and wraps me in his arms, squeezing the breath out of me. And speaking quietly enough that the others can’t hear he says, “All’s forgotten. There’s nothing left to say. I’m just glad you’re back. We missed you. All of us.”

EIGHT

WALKING INTO MY ROOM IS LIKE TRAVELING back in time. It’s like nothing ever happened to drive me away. I breathe in the paper-and-ink smell of my workspace and realize how much I’ve missed my home. I brush my fingertips over my drafting table and know how much I love my kindred. I belong here, not in New York City. What the hell is wrong with me? I think, as I stretch out on my time-worn couch in the middle of my attic room. Surely this thing with Kate isn’t traumatic enough to keep me from all of this. My mind wanders and I begin to relax, cocooned in the safety of the familiar surroundings.

And then there is a knock on the door and she walks in. And all those thoughts disappear like smoke in a gust of wind, and the full-on pain hits me square in the chest.

She is ravishing. There is a wild look to her now that she is undead. The look all bardia have, the one that attracts humans, that makes them lay their lives in our hands. It’s a complete lack of fear of death. A recklessness coming from knowing we are almost impossible to destroy. And it has turned Kate’s natural loveliness into a savage beauty. The golden bardia aura surrounding her amplifies the effect, and my heart has no chance. I am once again lost.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you,” she says, and her voice hasn’t changed and she is once again the Kate I knew.

I prop up on my elbows and say, “That’s okay. Come in,” but immediately regret it. I want to see her, but I need her to leave. She sees the struggle in my eyes, and then looks down at the couch—the historic couch, where for a couple of wild, passionate moments she was mine—and her face turns red.

“I didn’t try to contact you because I thought you didn’t want it,” she says.

There’s no correct response to that, so I watch her, silent.

“But now that you’re here, I was hoping we could talk,” she says, still standing in the doorway. She waits, and I have to say something.

“Okay, let’s talk.” I try to sound nonchalant, but my heart is beating a million miles an hour, and I’m having a hard time breathing. “Let me just open a window.” I get up off the damned couch, throw open a couple of windows, and, returning to the rug in the middle of the floor, sit down on it, cross-legged. I motion for her to sit across from me, and she does.

I wait for her to speak, trying to look her in the eyes without flinching. Those eyes. My chest hurts.

“I want to apologize,” she begins.

“You don’t have to—” I say, but she holds a hand up to stop me.

“I never knew,” she says. “I saw how you were with other girls, and I thought I was the same. A harmless flirtation. A bit of fun. I thought you did the things you did and said the things you said just to make me feel good—to get a reaction—not because you meant them.”

“That’s how it started,” I say honestly. She’s watching me with sad eyes, and I have to look away. I swing my gaze to the ceiling, run my fingers through my hair, and take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. “Then things changed.”

“I wouldn’t have been as friendly if I had known,” she says.

“Then I’m glad you didn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed Vincent to possess you . . . to use you to kiss me. I wouldn’t have let it go that far.” There are tears in her eyes.

I don’t know what to say. I wish to God that hadn’t happened either, because seeing her expression when she realized it wasn’t Vincent she was kissing was like a knife to the chest. On the other hand, it was my one and only chance to have her, so I wouldn’t have traded it for the world, even with all that pain.

“Come here,” I say, and she scoots across the rug toward me until she can lean into my open arms. I hold her while she cries and feel something inside me snap into place. A piece of me that began shifting when I walked through the front door and realized this is where I belong. I am finally accepting it. This is the only way it will ever be between me and Kate. And it hurts like hell, but there’s nothing to do about it except to pick myself up and move on.

“I’m the one who should apologize,” I tell her. “I wasn’t honest. But really, how could I be?” We lean back, and she wipes her eyes and nods.

“I know,” she says. “I’ve thought about it. You couldn’t tell me without betraying Vincent. You couldn’t tell Vincent because . . . what would be the point? I understand why you left. It was really the only sane, healthy thing you could do. But you need to know how much I miss you. That you are one of my favorite people, my closest friends. I wish you could come back, but also realize it’s totally selfish of me. So I just want to know that you are fine. That you are happy where you are.”

“I’m fine and I’m happy,” I lie.

Kate searches my eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“I will be,” I say. “Promise. More time, and I’ll be fine.”

She takes a deep breath and hugs her legs to her chest. Like old Kate. A moment passes before she speaks again. “It was good of you to come to the wedding.”