I Should Die

addressed Bran. “Among all of our kindred you have seen, you have not identified him?”
    “No,” responded Bran.
    Vincent began handing out orders, placing the bardia present in charge of their lower-ranking kindred downstairs, as well as those who hadn’t yet arrived. One team was given the responsibility of watching the Crillon, and others were divided into a spy network throughout Paris and its environs. People began to stand, and I made my way over to Bran.
    “Hello, dear Kate,” he said, instinctively reaching toward me, and then awkwardly withdrawing his hand. I smiled. He was like a ghost, so slight and withdrawn that he felt somehow intangible, and avoiding human touch seemed to be right in line with his otherworldly aura.
    “You look tired,” I said.
    He shrugged. “This is my first experience with jet lag. Of course, those who do not sleep are not affected,” he commented wryly, inclining his head toward Vincent, “which is quite unfair. Speaking of sleep, if I’m not needed I think I’ll go take a nap,” he said with a yawn, and shuffled out of the room behind the others.
    I felt an arm twine around my waist and turned to see my sister. “So . . . was it worth waking up for?” she asked.
    I nodded. “Thanks, Georgia.”
    “I hear your boyfriend’s the king of revenants now. Does that make you the Queen of the Dead?”
    I rolled my eyes. And then noticing Arthur standing behind Georgia, I said, “Hi.”
    He gave me a broad smile and tucked his blond hair behind his ear. “Thanks for bringing Vincent back,” he said. “Now that he’s once again corporeal, I feel a little less guilty about having been Violette’s stooge.” Leaning over, he gave me cheek-kisses and his stubble prickled my skin.
    “Ow,” I laughed, rubbing my face. “Excuse us, please,” I said to Arthur. “We need a sister-to-sister chat.”
    “Of course,” he said, making an effort to smile at me but unable to keep his eyes off my sister.
    Catching Vincent’s gaze, I mouthed, Do you need me? He shook his head. I pulled Georgia over to a secluded corner of the library where no one could hear us, and we flopped down on armchairs in front of a window. I pressed my cheek with my fingertips. “How do you not get razor burn?”
    “Because I’m playing hard to get,” my sister responded.
    “What? You haven’t even kissed him?” I stared at her while she smiled beatifically. I eyed her suspiciously. “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”
    “God, Kate, you make me sound like a total slut.” But the way she said it sounded like she considered it a compliment. “He’s medieval . I figure I should act like one of those maidens from his time and protect my innocence.”
    I burst out laughing. “Georgia, you really like this guy, don’t you?”
    “Yes, and now that Violette has replaced him with someone else, I feel like I’m no longer her Public Enemy Number One.”
    “Violette has replaced Arthur?” I repeated. “What are you talking about?”
    “Well, Arthur says that every time she’s been spotted, she’s had the same numa guy with her.”
    “That would be Nicolas,” I said, waving my hand. “He was Lucien’s second. That’s not news.”
    “No, silly,” said Georgia. “I’m not talking about fur coat guy. This is another numa. A really young one. Like adolescent. No one’s ever seen him around before. They think he’s either new or one of the recent imports from another city. Whatever, Violette doesn’t go anywhere without him.”
    “That’s creepy,” I admitted.
    “Yeah, he’s like her prepubescent lapdog.”
    I wrinkled my nose, and Georgia nodded, agreeing with my sentiment.
    “Anyway, that leaves Mister Hunky Medieval Author Guy all for me!” She lifted her eyebrows and got comfortable in her chair. “But my adventures in boyland aren’t important. What I really want to hear is . . . what was it like to be back in New York?”
     
    It was dark when Ambrose dropped me off at home. Georgia had won her freedom and went out with some friends for dinner—friends who were probably unaware that they were being trailed by Arthur and another guard-revenant.
    I let myself in. “Mamie? Papy?” I yelled, throwing my coat over the hall chair. The apartment was unusually silent. Most nights at this time Mamie was getting dinner ready and jazz or big band music accompanied her cooking. I hesitated in the dining room, feeling a little creeped out.
    “Back