“Feel free to use my bedroom,” offered Theo.

“Too exhausted to walk, too. Couch is fine,” responded Vincent. And then he turned over on his side facing the couch back and closed his eyes. I covered him with a blanket Theo had brought in, then left my chair next to the couch to join the others at a table near the window.

“Tell me what happened with Violette,” Theo was asking Jules, who launched into the story starting at the moment Violette and Arthur had moved into La Maison and continuing until I discovered that she had been betraying the bardia all along and was now the leader of the Paris numa.

“She told Kate, here,” Jules said, nodding at me, “that her plan was to overthrow Jean-Baptiste and his kindred using the force of the numa and the stolen strength of the Champion, who she believed was Vincent. She had been priming him for destruction—had convinced him that following the Dark Way would help ease the pain of resisting death, when it was actually weakening him to the point that she could easily defeat him.”

“And you are sure that Vincent is not the Champion?” Theo asked Bran.

“One hundred percent,” Bran affirmed, holding up a dill pickle and studying it carefully before nibbling off one end. He grimaced and placed it as far away from him as possible on his plate.

“How can you be so sure?” Papy asked, but then looked abashed at having barged in on a supernatural discussion.

Theo shook his head. “You now bear our signum, Antoine. You participated in the most mystical revenant ceremony I’ve ever witnessed. And your daughter is the beloved of a bardia. You have a right to ask questions.”

“Thank you,” said Papy.

“It’s because of his aura,” Bran answered. “He has the revenant aura, which the flame-fingers describe as ‘an aura like a forest fire.’ But our prophecy says that the Victor’s aura ‘blazes like a star on fire.’ Vincent’s aura is no different from that of Jules. Or your own,” he said, nodding to Theo.

“So how do we know that the Victor is even here?” Theo asked.

“He is not here. He is yet to come,” Bran said, pushing his plate away with a curt gesture.

“But weren’t you going to let Jean-Baptiste parade all of Paris’s bardia in front of you to check?” I asked. “Why would you do that if you were sure the Victor wasn’t yet here?”

Bran shrugged. “That was his suggestion, not mine. And he seemed very determined.”

“But how do you know the Victor is coming?” Theo insisted.

“Because I’m the VictorSeer. I wouldn’t have become so if there wouldn’t soon be a victor to see,” Bran replied testily.

A silence settled on the room as everyone stared at Bran. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

“How do you know you’re the VictorSeer?” Jules asked, leaning forward on his elbows and clasping his hands together.

“I felt it happen when I touched your leader’s hand. At that point, I received the gift. I know I have it just as clearly as my mother knew she didn’t have it,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So that’s how you know the Champion is coming during your lifetime,” I said. “But why was Violette so sure he was coming soon?”

“The revenants’ prophecy is the same as that of the flame-fingers,” Bran responded. “It’s the revenant calendar’s Third Age, and has been since the Industrial Revolution. So she’s obviously been waiting since then. She must have thought she saw the Champion’s characteristics displayed by Vincent.”

“My ears are burning,” called Vincent from across the room. “As is my throat. Could I have some more water, please?” I leapt up and pulled the coffee table with the refreshments on it closer to Vincent’s couch so it was within reaching distance.

The men stood and Theo began clearing the table. “We should really leave Vincent to rest in peace so that he will heal as quickly as possible,” he said.

“I want to stay with him,” I insisted.

“Of course, my dear,” reassured Theo. “But would the rest of you like to join me for a more expansive tour of the revenant collection at the museum?”

Papy and Bran quickly agreed, but Jules walked back to his couch and flopped down on it. “Now that my bloodletting responsibilities are over, I think I’ll stay here too,” he said, closing his eyes.

Once the other men were gone, I sat watching Vincent for a while. His breathing was shallow, and although I knew he wasn’t sleeping—couldn’t sleep . . . until his next dormancy—it seemed he wasn’t quite here either. I left him to rest and went to dig through Theo’s bookcase, settling for a coffee table book about Edith Wharton’s New York. I wasn’t surprised in the least when I saw mention of a Theodore Gold being one of Wharton’s circle, and smiled when I spotted him among a crowd of people at a society ball, wearing tails and a top hat.

I kept checking on Vincent, but after a couple of hours, when he hadn’t budged, I put my book aside and went to look out the windows. I heard movement from the other side of the room and turned to see Jules watching me from his couch.

“What?” I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Oh, nothing,” he responded. “Just that you come all the way back home and spend your whole time here cooped up in an apartment. Kind of depressing, isn’t it?”

“Well, I did see a secret collection of supernatural-themed art hidden in the basement of the Met. That’s not too bad,” I retorted with a mock frown.

“Wanna take a walk?” Jules said, pushing himself up off the couch and walking toward me. “It’s my first time in New York, and if I don’t pass out from blood loss, I’d like to see a little bit. Would you do me the honor of being my tour guide?”

“But I shouldn’t leave . . . ,” I began.

He took my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Vincent will heal faster without you hovering around worrying over him. Right, Vince?” Jules called as he grabbed our coats.

Vincent murmured, “Show Jules New York, Kate, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” and pulled the blanket higher around his head.

“See?” Jules said to me, and opened the door to the hallway. “Rest up, man,” he called back to Vincent, his voice now completely serious. “We just got you back. Now we need you to get stronger.”

TWENTY-NINE

“WE’RE ONLY LEAVING VINCENT FOR A COUPLE OF hours, right?” I asked as we got onto the elevator, suddenly afraid that he might disappear while we were gone.

“Is that long enough to take me up the Empire State Building?” Jules asked.

I studied his face to see if he was joking. “You really want to go to the Empire State Building?” I asked. “The most touristy thing to do in New York City?”

He nodded sheepishly. “I know. But how can I miss it? I saw the original King Kong in 1933 and have been wanting to go ever since.”

“So your interest is purely from a cinematic history point of view,” I teased him.

The elevator doors opened and Jules held his hand out gallantly to allow me to step off first. “There’s that,” he said, once again confident, “as well as the fact that I’ve always dreamed of standing at the top of the Empire State Building with a beautiful girl.”

By the time Jules and I got back to Theo’s apartment everyone had assembled for dinner. Vincent had propped some cushions behind him and was now sitting up. “For you!” I said, holding up the enormous bag of clothes and shoes we had bought at Macy’s after we were done playing tourists.

“A special present for a special recovering dead guy,” Jules jibed, visibly relieved to see that his friend looked stronger after just a few hours. “We thought you might want to change out of those overalls at some point, and I’d like my T-shirt back.”

“Just as soon as I take a shower,” Vincent said. “I keep picking little bits of clay out of my hair. No joke.” He ran his fingers through his black locks and grimaced.

He sounded like old Vincent again, not feeble Vincent who looked close to death this morning. “Have you eaten?” I asked, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Don’t care about food. Come here,” he said, and taking my face in his hands firmly kissed my forehead and then my lips, scanning the room as he did so to see if Papy was looking. He was. So the kiss was short and sweet. “More later,” he whispered.

“You should stay here tonight, Vincent,” said Theo, who was spreading an impressive array of take-out menus in front of Papy and Bran. “Even though you’re feeling stronger, I don’t think you should move to the hotel until tomorrow. And I’ve scheduled your plane to leave the following morning.”

“We’re here another day and a half?” Vincent asked, surprised. “I really think Jean-Baptiste will need Jules and me before then.”

“Actually,” Theo said sternly, crossing his arms, “this morning on the phone, Gaspard told me that Jean-Baptiste won’t allow you to return before then. He says he needs you to be strong, not to come back in an enfeebled state. He asked me to personally guarantee your health, so I’m afraid I have to put my foot down.”

Bran held up a few menus and announced, “I am intrigued by the menus for”—he peered more closely at them—“Fat Sal’s and Burritoville. And what is this food called . . . bagels?”

Papy, Bran, and I returned to our hotel after dinner, crashing before nine p.m. We were all exhausted from the day’s events. And, in my case at least, jet lag was rearing its ugly head.

When we arrived at the apartment the next morning, Theo and Vincent were waiting for us. “What took you so long?” Vincent murmured as he nuzzled my neck. “You could have had breakfast here.”

“I didn’t actually eat,” I said, laughing and then shivering as he brushed my ear with his lips. “Papy and Bran did, but I used the extra half hour to sleep in. I would have come earlier if I knew you were up.”

He drew back and smiled at me. “I’ve been up all night.”

“I didn’t mean awake,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean up and about. You look totally normal again. How are you feeling?”

“I feel great. Seriously. I would have been able to go back to Paris today. But Theo insists I stick around another twenty-four hours just in case. And there’s also the fact that I’d love to see a bit of your hometown while we’re here.” He brushed my hair back behind my shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Must be the New York air,” I responded, feeling my cheeks redden.

“Then, pollution suits you well, ma chérie,” he replied.

“Jules offered to walk the city with our kindred today. And Antoine, Bran, and I are off to the museum again,” Theo announced. Turning to Vincent, he asked, “Are you sure you want to go out today? I can give you my extra set of keys if you need to come back to rest.”

“Thanks, but I might as well go ahead and check into the hotel,” said Vincent, hoisting the Macy’s bag and grabbing my hand as we all walked out into the hallway.

“Well, you have my number if you need to reach me,” Theo said, locking the door behind him.

Papy and Bran looked downright gleeful about spending another day in the museum, and I could tell from their conversation that Theo was enjoying the unprecedented opportunity to show the collection to “outsiders.”

As we stepped out the door, Theo said, “We’ll meet for dinner at the end of the day. See the restaurant on that corner?” He pointed to an Italian restaurant one block down. “How about eight p.m. there? But I want you to go back to the hotel and rest at some point during the day,” he ordered Vincent.

Vincent took my hand and led me in the opposite direction from the men. “First stop—hotel,” he said. He was bursting with energy, bouncing on his toes and playing with my hair as we walked.

“So you don’t want to stay out in Brooklyn with Jules and your kindred?” I asked slyly.

“And be a whole borough away from you?” he said, scrunching his eyebrows with a mock-horrified expression. “Are you trying to kill me all over again?”

Once at the hotel, Vincent booked a room and then held up the bag of clothes. “I’ll just drop these off and we’ll go somewhere to eat. I feel like an enormous home-cooked meal, like you see in all of the American movies.”

I laughed. “It’s called comfort food. And I know just the place.”

THIRTY

A HALF HOUR LATER AND ABOUT SEVENTY BLOCKS south, we sat in one of my favorite old haunts, the Great Jones Café. Vincent was finishing off a plate of Yankee meatloaf smothered in gravy and I had a bowl of Louisiana jambalaya that was spicy enough to make my nose run. Which helped cover up a crying jag that suddenly overtook me, until I choked trying to swallow my food.

Alerted to my tears, Vincent set down his fork and took my hand. “Kate. It’s over. I’m here now. Violette can’t reach me anymore.”

“I know,” I said. “But until the second you started breathing, I really didn’t know if I’d see you again. I had hoped, but I didn’t believe . . . if you know what I mean.”

Vincent’s lips curled into a smile. “I do know. But you had enough hope for both of us. Now stop thinking and eat your mush—or whatever that is.”

I laughed, and—like that—I had let it go. I was able to push the horrific past and unsure future aside and focus wholeheartedly on enjoying the present. With my living, breathing boyfriend.