Until I Die

THIRTY-ONE



I DRIFTED THROUGH THE NEXT DAY ON A CLOUD, my body in Paris, but my mind back in the house in Villefranchesur-Mer. Memories of the weekend flitted in and out of my thoughts as I tried—and then stopped trying—to focus on my classes, my homework, and everything else that kept me from being where I wanted to be: with Vincent. Preferably wrapped in his arms.

As Ambrose, my Vincent-appointed guardian for the day, drove me home from school, I was so out of it that he had to tap me on the shoulder and tell me that my phone was ringing. It was Papy, and his voice was unusually tense. “Kate, do you think you could come straight to the gallery instead of going home?”

“Sure, Papy. What’s up?”

“I just need some help. I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Ambrose parked across the street from the gallery and waited in the car. I walked in to find Papy talking to two men in police uniforms. He introduced me briefly. “Officers, this is my granddaughter Kate.” The men nodded, and Papy took my arm to lead me a few feet away.

“The gallery was robbed last night,” he said.

“What?” I gasped.

“It’s okay, dear. Everything was insured. It’s just very … bothersome. The store has never been broken into before.”

“What did they take?”

“A little bit of everything. All pieces that were easy to carry—none of my statues, thankfully.” Papy suddenly looked ten years older. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was hoping you could watch the shop while I went back to the station with the detective. They’re done with the on-site investigation. Now it’s just paperwork.”

“Sure, Papy,” I agreed, and a moment later he walked out the door with the two men, doing his little hat wave at me as they moved out of sight. I phoned Ambrose in the car to tell him that I had to gallery-sit for an hour or two, and he told me he was fine waiting—to take my time.

I looked around at the mess. The glass cases that had been broken were completely stripped of their contents. I tried to remember what they had held. Ancient jewelry, tiny Greek figurines, examples of Roman glass. It did seem quite random, as if they hadn’t known much about what they were taking, but were just interested in anything small enough to carry. Hoodlums instead of specialized art thieves, I thought.

And suddenly a tiny, red-hot needle of panic pierced my heart. I raced back to the stock closet and saw the shattered door standing open. The boxes inside were scattered, their contents dumped on the floor. I sifted through the books, looking for Immortal Love. Piece by piece, I pulled the contents of the closet out into the hallway as I searched until I was sure. The book was gone.

My thoughts returned to the week before, when Gwenhaël had told me about the numa finding the book centuries ago and making trouble for her family. A “very nasty occasion,” she had called it.

I fished around in my bag until I found the card that her son had given me. My hand shaking, I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.

“Bran, it’s Kate Mercier. I’m the one who visited your mother last week.”

“She’s gone.” The words sounded so distant I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly.

“What did you say?”

“She’s gone. They came this morning, the evil ones.”

“Oh my God, the numa got her?” My lungs were sucked empty.

“No. When they came, we hid. They did not find us. And as soon as they were gone, she left.”

“Where did she go?”

“Into hiding. She didn’t tell me where. If I knew, the evil ones could get that information from me. As it stands, I am useless to them.”

“Oh, Bran. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Kate. It was time. Things happen when they are supposed to, and as the time of the Victor draws closer, our services will be required. I will stay, Kate, and my mother will return. Let your friends know that we will be here when they need us.”

“Bran, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What victor?”

“That is why the numa want us. The texts say that my family will produce the VictorSeer.”

All of a sudden, I remembered a phrase from the book that had been practically incomprehensible. Something about the guérisseur being the one who would see the Victor.

“I still don’t …”

“The revenants call him the Champion. And we will be the ones to identify him.”

It took me a few seconds of realization, and then everything was suddenly, shockingly clear. “Your mother can identify the Champion,” I stated, clarifying. “And the numa came looking for her. Because if the Champion is found, the numa will know the identity of the one who will conquer them.”

“That is correct. But if they find him before he can overthrow them, they will attempt to seize his power for themselves.”

“Seize his power?” I asked, confused.

“The texts state that the Champion’s power can be transmitted by force. If he is captured, the one who destroys him will receive his power. As you can imagine, the results would be disastrous.”

“And the numa want to force your mother to tell them who it is.”

“That is right. But they are misled. It isn’t my mother who will find the Champion.”

“What do you mean?”

“She possesses our family’s theories on when and where it will happen. And some coded clues about who it will be. But as far as identification on sight—the gift of the VictorSeer—my mother claims she doesn’t have that capability.”

“So will it be you?”

“Me or one of my descendants.”

“You have descendants?”

“Yes.”

I exhaled. “Some say that my boyfriend is the Champion.”

The line was silent for a long time. Finally Bran spoke. “My mother has not yet passed me the gift. When she does, I will contact you. Bring your boyfriend to me then. If I am indeed the VictorSeer and he indeed the Champion, we will know it then and there.”

I gave him my phone number. And then I gave him my grandparents’ number as well. I didn’t know how long it would take for him to call me. But I guessed it could be years.