I Should Die

seconds, I admitted, “No.”
    “A truthful answer,” Mamie said. “Because of that I would rather we collaborate with Jean-Baptiste to keep you safe than to restrict you from seeing them like your Papy did.” My grandfather began to disagree, and Mamie put a hand up to signal peace. “Quite reasonably, darling, I don’t blame you for it one bit. But that drove Kate into their camp without our awareness.”
    Papy sat back, defeated.
    “Although it is the opposite of my natural inclinations,” my grandmother continued, “I feel it is best that you stay under the revenants’ protective care—as long as we know where you are at all times.” She turned to my grandfather. “Antoine, can you find your way to agreeing with me?”
    My grandfather sat there looking miserable. “I don’t like it, but it makes sense. There’s no question the revenants can protect the girls better than we can. I will agree to this as a short-term plan, but I want you all to know that I feel very much backed into a corner, and that it is not what I wanted in the least.”
    “We all know that,” Mamie allowed, and then turned to us. “Girls, do we have your word that you will not try to shake off your guards like you did yesterday—or leave the house like today, unless you are accompanied?”
    Georgia and I agreed.
    “Well, then. We have an understanding.”
    I went to hug my grandmother, and when I leaned over I whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry, Mamie.”
    “So am I, dear Katya,” she replied. From the troubled look in her eyes, I knew she wasn’t talking about my actions. She was sorry that I had lost Vincent, but even sorrier that I had met him in the first place.

TEN
    I AWOKE THINKING, DAY TWO . VINCENT’S SECOND day as a disembodied spirit, and we were no closer to freeing him from Violette.
    Ugh. Violette. Just her name made me sick, a word evoking a tiny, delicate purple flower. Change a few letters, though, and you had “Violent.” “Violate.” The desire for revenge flared inside me. I wanted to hurt her. To repay her for the betrayal and murder she had inflicted on the bardia and on me.
    I swallowed the lump of bitterness in my throat and tasted bile. All my life, I had never really hated anyone. Okay, I had hated my parents’ killer—a drunk driver—but she had been an abstract, anonymous person who I never met. Now my hatred had a face. A name. And I felt its venom burning in my veins.
    It actually felt good. Because when I focused on revenge, it made me forget my despair. The horrifying emptiness and sorrow I had been feeling—the knowledge that I would never touch Vincent’s hand, face, mouth again, never hear his low voice calling me his pet names—was temporarily submerged by the loathing I felt for the person who had done this to him.
    Stop , I commanded myself. Giving in to my hatred wasn’t going to do anything for Vincent, only for me. And even if I did manage to pay Violette back, I would still be left with my loss. I had to think beyond my rage.
    Yesterday, in Jeanne’s room, I had resolved to find a solution. There had to be something I could do. Some kind of secret I could uncover to free Vincent. Maybe even to bring him back. My thoughts raced with possibilities. There could be hope for him. For us!
    But as quickly as the thought occurred to me, a come-to-your-senses-Kate reality check snatched away my optimism. Revenants could regenerate injured or severed body parts, but not a whole body. And if there was any way they could, Vincent’s kindred would already know about it.
    Maybe not , I told myself. Maybe Bran knew something the bardia didn’t. At the very least, there had to be a way to free Vincent from his bond to Violette. I was going to try. That resolution propelled me out of bed and into my clothes, and when I looked at my phone and saw Jules’s text, I was ready.
     
I am once again embodied, and able to give you an update. Unfortunately the update is that there is no news. JB thinks it’s best if you and G spend the day here. I’m off to hunt for Vincent. Your escorts are waiting downstairs.
     
    I tapped on Georgia’s door. “ Entrez ,” she called. To my surprise, my sister was awake, dressed, and fully made up. The terrible swelling on her face had gone down, and with the expert job she had done with concealer, all you could see was a few mottled yellow marks along her cheek and jawline.
    I nodded at her clock. “Eight a.m. Saturday. Any other day I would