“But what if . . . ,” I began, looking pleadingly at Gaspard.

“We will call you the second we find anything,” the older revenant promised me.

“Violette gave Vincent three days,” I said, letting myself feel the panic I pushed down every time I looked over and saw Bran moving at a snail’s pace through his texts. “That means . . .”

“Which leaves two days and eleven hours. Yes, dear Kate, I am just as aware as you are of our time constraints,” Gaspard reassured me, laying a comforting hand on my arm. “But since there’s nothing you can do to help at the moment, you might as well go home to your grandparents.”

I gritted my teeth and turned to leave the room with Charlotte. I hated feeling powerless. It’s not like I was helping out much just sitting around the library. But being at home with my grandparents wasn’t going to do anything to help.

As I gathered my coat and bag, it suddenly occurred to me that Papy may have come across examples of re-embodiment in his research. That thought lifted my spirits enough that I left without arguing further.

As we exited La Maison’s courtyard and headed toward my house, Charlotte turned and waved to a couple of shadowy figures positioned at the end of the block. Two bardia fell in step, keeping a block behind us. JB was keeping his promise to guard me carefully.

A couple of bikers raced by dangerously near as we crossed the street. I laced my arm through Charlotte’s and squeezed her close to me.

“So what do you think about that re-embodiment thing?” she asked. “The whole house is buzzing about it. Do you think it could be true?”

“I think that if there’s even a microscopic chance that it’s true, I’m going to make sure we try every known way of testing it.”

She nodded. “Hopefully the guérisseurs’ books will have something useful in them.”

“If not . . . or even if so . . . I’m going to see if I can’t dig anything else up. My grandfather has read an awful lot on mystical topics, you know, including a few revenant texts.”

“Hmm . . . ,” she said doubtfully.

Why does no one believe a human can help the bardia? I thought, frustrated. I changed the subject. “So what’s it like to come back to La Maison with Ambrose there?” We crossed the bustling boulevard Raspail. It was a freezing third week of February and the shop windows were full of light summer clothes that I couldn’t even dream of wearing as I pulled my thick coat tight around myself. We stopped in front of one display.

“You should really try something like that,” Charlotte said, nodding toward a short, waistless lingerie-style dress that the mannequin wore over skin-tight jeans.

“Um, that might actually happen in another lifetime. And you are avoiding my question,” I responded, pulling her away from the window and onto the crosswalk with me.

Charlotte shrugged in defeat. “It’s hard. Ambrose’s eyes never leave Geneviève. When he hasn’t been guarding you, he’s been trailing her.”

“So that’s why he was itching to join the hunt for Violette this morning,” I said, putting two and two together.

“That and the possibility of a good fight.” Charlotte smiled.

“Has he said anything else to you about her?” I asked.

“No, only that one time after we arrived in Villefranche-sur-Mer. He must have spilled everything during that confession, because he hasn’t mentioned her since.”

I threw my arm around Charlotte in a side hug as we approached my street.

“But you know, Kate,” she said as we stopped in front of my door, “I’m doing okay about it. And I’m not just saying that flippantly. When I saw you and Vincent get together after he had been alone for so long . . . well, that gave me hope. And watching the way he treats you made me realize that maybe I had set my sights too low. After chasing someone who didn’t give me the time of day . . .”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Okay, that’s not exactly true,” Charlotte confessed. “Ambrose loves me . . . but like a sister. I just see how Vincent anticipates your every desire and tries to make it come true for you. How, when he sees you walk into a room, it’s like he’s transformed into this person who is bigger and better than the one he was just minutes before. I want to be that for someone. I think I deserve it. And I’m not going to pine away for a guy who feels that for someone else.”

The weight in my chest and the razor-sharp pangs of sadness returned full force with Charlotte’s reminder of what things used to be like with Vincent. And could be again, I reminded myself. I couldn’t give up hope, especially now.

“So until my own chivalrous knight shows up,” she continued. “I’ve decided to live a full life and be happy with my lot. Which is already pretty damn good: It’s not like every girl is granted immortality and charged with saving human lives.”

She winked at me with this last comment, and I could tell that it wasn’t just bravado. She really meant it. I threw both arms around her and kissed her cheek. “Fate’s brought you this far, Charlotte. I don’t see why it wouldn’t end up giving you your heart’s desire.”

EIGHTEEN

PAPY WAS SETTING THE TABLE WHEN I GOT HOME. Hearing me close the front door, he glanced up anxiously. “Oh, good, you’re home, princesse,” he said.

My grandmother popped her head out from the kitchen. “Has the healer discovered anything?” she asked. “Georgia caught us up on today’s goings-on.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Bran is studying his family records. It’s a lot of material, and he won’t let anyone else look at it.”

“Understandable,” Papy said, nodding sagely to himself. “Are there still guards outside?” he asked.

“Yep. There are two bardia sitting in the park across the street, watching the building,” I confirmed. “And Charlotte walked me home.”

“It feels like we’re under lockdown,” Papy commented a bit begrudgingly. “A couple of them followed me home from work today, too. I’m not actually sure we need all of this security. You girls do, of course, but it’s not like they have any interest in me or your grandmother.”

“Just be glad for it. With all of this strangeness, one can’t take too many precautions. And whatever is going on, we still have to eat,” said Mamie from the kitchen, before yelling, “Georgia. Your sister’s home. Time for dinner!” She appeared carrying a tray with a huge steaming puff pastry shaped like a fish. “Saumon en croûte, served with carrots in curried butter,” she announced.

“Mamie, that’s gorgeous! Did you make it?” I asked, the combined odors of the baked pastry and steaming salmon making me realize how hungry I was.

Mamie made her tutting sound. “I worked all day, dear Katya. This was made by Monsieur Legrande,” she said, referring to the fine food boutique down the street. “But I’m sure he made it with love.” She winked.

“I’d eat it even if he made it with lust,” announced Georgia as she entered the room, “although picturing a lustful Monsieur Legrande . . . ick.” She wrinkled her nose.

Papy rolled his eyes. “À table, everyone.”

“Any word on the research, Katie-Bean?” Georgia asked as she sat down, but it was just a formality. She knew I would have phoned if anything important had happened.

I shook my head.

“Well, even though a solution hasn’t been found, you must be relieved that Vincent is free for a few days, at least,” Mamie said, setting the dish down and skirting around the table to wrap me in her arms. “And that healer seems to know a lot about the revenants. He’ll find a solution, I’m sure,” she said soothingly.

We took our places around the table, and after Mamie wished us a bon appétit, everyone tucked into the delicious food.

“I was actually wondering if you had come across the topic of re-embodiment,” I mentioned, hoping that Papy would latch on to the topic without much prompting. My bet paid off. I could see his thoughts racing.

“Re-embodiment,” he said. “Infusing a spirit into an inanimate object. Now that’s an interesting idea.” He tapped his chin. “I mean, there is the symbolic re-embodiment in the Christian Eucharist—transforming the communion wafer and wine into the actual body and blood of Christ. Which was probably based on the Egyptian ‘divine bread’ ritual performed by the priests of Osiris. But I can’t think of an example where there was a re-invention of a body and then possession with a soul.”

“How about Frankenstein?” suggested Georgia with a helpful expression.

“Georgia. Shush,” urged Mamie, spearing a carrot and placing it delicately in her mouth as if demonstrating for Georgia what she should be doing instead of spouting out disturbing ideas.

“No, I mean it. That’s an example of a body that was created pretty much from scratch, and then electrocuted to give it a spirit.”

“I think that the electrocution part just animated the reassembled body parts,” debated Papy. “It didn’t give the monster a soul.”

“I distinctly remember him playing by a river with a little girl and crying,” insisted Georgia. “You can’t cry if you don’t have a soul.”

“Um, can we pull the conversation away from horror movies and back to real life?” I asked, posing my silverware on my plate as I watched Georgia pop more salmon in her mouth. The idea of sewn-together body parts apparently didn’t affect her appetite. “I doubt the revenants are going to reassemble a Vincent-shaped body and then wait for a lightning storm to shock him into existence,” I said.

“Wouldn’t have to,” responded Georgia, holding her fork up to make her point. “Nowadays you could probably do it with defibrillators.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration.

“Georgia?” Mamie asked.

“Yes?”

“Please shut up.”

“Okay.” My sister shrugged as if to say we would regret not having listened to her.

I turned to my grandfather. “Although Monsieur Tândorn remembers his family’s records mentioning something on the topic, I thought I’d ask you anyway, since you’re my resident expert on every strange bit of mythical lore under the sun.”

Papy nodded at me, acknowledging my words, but still lost in his own thoughts. “There is the whole concept of the golem in Jewish folklore . . .” And he was off throwing out bizarre stories that he theorized might have fact buried within the fiction. The rest of us listened—me rapt, Mamie and Georgia trying to follow but losing interest before we finished dessert.

After dinner, I followed Papy to his study, where he sat down behind his desk and began stuffing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. He waved at me to close the door—ostensibly so that Mamie wouldn’t know that he was smoking, but we both knew she was fully aware. This charade was a symbol of his gratefulness that she allowed him to carry on with his not-so-secret vice.

“So tell me more about what this guérisseur said about ‘re-embodiment,’” he requested.

“Well, the way he mentioned it, it was as if he expected the revenants to know about it. He said it was used for revenants who had been destroyed against their will and who were trapped as wandering souls.”

“It must be an extremely rare occurrence, since you would think that if numa attacked a bardia, they would burn them immediately in order to destroy both body and spirit.” He lit the pipe and puffed on it until the flame caught. “Unless they had some nefarious plot like Violette’s.”

“That’s exactly what Gaspard said.”

Papy thought for a moment. “How old is the oldest of the Paris revenants?”

“Jean-Baptiste is Napoleonic. Jeanne said he was two hundred and thirty. But Arthur, the one who was Violette’s protector, is something like five hundred.”

“And he wasn’t aware of this re-embodiment possibility?”

“No,” I responded.

“So, if none of the revenants are aware of it, that must mean that the story predates the year 1500. How long is Bran’s lineage?”

“Well, the book that the numa stole from your gallery—Immortal Love—mentioned his family, and that dated from the tenth century.”

“Hmm. This line of guérisseurs, who happen to be specialists on revenants, have been passing down their family secrets since at least the Middle Ages. No wonder both the numa and the bardia wanted to get their hands on them. They must possess a veritable wealth of information.”

He puffed on his pipe for a few seconds, and then leaned back in his chair and eyed me. “What we can deduce is that if this process of re-embodying wandering bardia souls actually exists, it fell out of revenant lore and oral history well before the sixteenth century. So we are looking for ancient examples, which falls within my area of specialty. I certainly don’t recall coming across anything like this in direct reference to revenants, but I will begin to put my mind to it.”

I watched my grandfather jot down a couple of notes onto his leather-edged blotter, and felt overwhelmed with gratefulness. I hadn’t specifically asked him to help. But he had jumped right in and taken on the task. Because he loved me.

And he also loved a good treasure hunt, his treasure of choice being esoteric knowledge of ancient things. Like revenants. Whatever it was, I was glad he was on board.

“Thank you, Papy,” I said, walking around the desk to hug him.

“Don’t worry yourself, ma princesse. But tell me as soon as you know what is in the guérisseurs’ account so I can start my research with as much information as possible.”