“Their coming here is like a dream come true for JB. They’ve been around so long they’re like living encyclopedias. Kind of like Gaspard times ten. And Violette’s known all over the world for being the expert on revenant history. She knows more about the numa than anyone. Which makes her the perfect candidate for helping JB strategize.” She shrugged as if that conclusion were obvious.

The creaking sound of the front door opening interrupted us. We turned our heads to see the topic of our conversation, her nobility so tangible it was like a cloud of expensive perfume suspended in the cold winter air.

“Hello,” Violette said. Her voice mixed the high pitch of a little girl’s with an older woman’s self-assurance. This creepy discrepancy quickly disappeared as her rosebud lips curved up into a friendly smile that was so infectious, I couldn’t help but smile back.

Bending over, she gave us the regulation kiss on the cheeks, and then stood. “I would like to present myself. Violette de Montauban.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Charlotte, studying her shoes as if the silver strappy heels held the answer to the universe, and might just reveal it if she stared hard enough.

“You must be Charlotte,” Violette said, acting as if she hadn’t noticed the brush-off, “and you”—she turned to me—“you must be Vincent’s human.”

The sound that burst from my mouth was a half sputter, half laugh. “Um, I actually have a name. I’m Kate.”

“Of course, how silly of me. Kate.” She turned her attention back to Charlotte, who still refused to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry if our sudden arrival has caused you distress,” Violette said, accurately reading Charlotte’s body language. “I was afraid it might come across as unduly insensitive myself, but once I offered our services, Jean-Baptiste insisted that Arthur and I come with the greatest of haste.”

“‘Greatest of haste’? You don’t get out much, do you?” said Charlotte rudely.

“Charlotte!” I reproached, nudging her with my elbow.

“That’s okay,” Violette laughed. “No, Arthur and I keep to ourselves. I spend most of my time with my nose in old books. And as guardians-in-residence of the Château de Langeais, we don’t, as you say, ‘get out very much.’ I’m afraid that is apparent in my mode of speech.”

“If you’re never around humans, how do you integrate enough to save them?” Charlotte said, visibly trying to temper her bitterness.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the longer we are revenants, the less compulsion we have to die. I was nearing sixty when I spoke with Jean-Baptiste a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I managed to save a few gypsy children playing on the train tracks, and Arthur rescued a hunter from an attack by a pack of wild boar. So we’re refreshed and ready for the job ahead of us. But that’s the most animation”—she paused to smile at her pun—“we’ve seen for decades.”

I shivered, not from the cold but from the thought that this young girl had recently looked the age of her own grandmother—that is, if her grandmother weren’t already lying around mummified somewhere. And now here she was, younger than me. Although I should be used to it, the whole revenant concept of reanimating at the age you first died was still hard for me to wrap my head around.

Violette studied Charlotte’s face for another second, and then touched her arm with an elegant finger. “I don’t have to stay in your room if you don’t wish me to. Jean-Baptiste offered me the guest room if I preferred. Your taste in decorating is, of course, much more appealing to me than his penchant for dark leather upholstery and antler chandeliers.”

Charlotte couldn’t keep herself from laughing. Reaching out toward Violette, she took her hand and stood to face the ancient adolescent. “I’m sorry. This is just a really hard time for me and Charles. I consider these kindred my family, and the fact that we have to leave them during a crisis is literally killing me.”

I stifled a smile. Charlotte noticed and grinned. “Okay, not literally. You know what I mean.”

Violette leaned toward Charlotte and, opening her arms, gracefully wrapped them around her. “Everything will be okay. Arthur and I will look after your kindred for you, and the present difficulties will be over before you know it.”

Charlotte returned her hug, a bit stiffly since the younger girl was standing as if she was wearing a corset. But it seemed like peace had been made between the two. I couldn’t help but wonder if Charles was faring as well.

THREE

ONE OF THE BALLROOM WINDOWS SWUNG OPEN, and Vincent leaned out looking like an old-fashioned movie star in his vintage tuxedo. “Ladies, it’s almost midnight. And I, for one, hoped not to have to resort to kissing Gaspard when the clock strikes twelve.” He grinned and looked over his shoulder at the older man, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in despair.

Violette, Charlotte, and I made our way back to the room just as the guests began the New Year’s countdown. The air practically crackled with excitement. Considering how many times some of these people had celebrated New Year’s Eve, I found it intriguing that they hadn’t tired of it long ago. Humans saw it as the beginning of a fresh new year: one of only several dozen that fate would allot them. But with revenants’ unlimited number of fresh new beginnings, it was curious that they would treat this as a special day.

Vincent was waiting for me by the door and swept me into his arms as the counting continued. “So what do you think of our first New Year’s Eve together?” he asked, looking at me like I was his own personal miracle. Which, funnily, was exactly how I felt about him.

“I’ve had so many firsts lately, it feels like I swapped my old life for a brand-new one,” I said.

“Is that a good thing?”

In response, as the counting reached “one,” I pulled his head to mine and he wrapped me tightly in his arms. Our lips met, and as we kissed something inside me pulled and tugged until I felt my heart was going to burst. With a drowsy, eyes-half-closed smile, Vincent whispered, “Kate. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Well, I’m here because of you,” I whispered.

He looked at me quizzically.

“You saved me from my darkest place.”

I wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if I hadn’t met Vincent and emerged from the prison of crippling grief that I’d been locked inside after my parents’ fatal car crash. I would probably still be curled up in a fetal position on my bed at my grandparents’ house if he hadn’t been there to show me that there was a very good reason to go on living. That life could be beautiful again.

“You saved yourself,” he murmured. “I was just there to lend a hand.”

He swooped me up into an eternal hug. I closed my eyes and let his affection soak through me like honey.

Finally releasing him, I held his hand and leaned my head on his shoulder as we took in the scene around us. In the flickering candlelight, Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard stood proudly side by side at the front of the room, their elbows practically touching in their yes-we’re-the-hosts-of-this-grand-event pose. Gaspard leaned over to whisper something conspiratorially, and Jean-Baptiste responded with a loud guffaw. The tenseness created by his speech had all but disappeared in the romance of the enchanted evening.

Ambrose was hugging a delighted Charlotte, holding her like a rag doll about a foot off the ground in his tree-trunk arms. Jules stood near the bar, watching me and Vincent. When my eyes caught his, he puckered his lips and gave me a sarcastic air-kiss, before turning to the sultry young revenant talking to him. Violette was standing next to Arthur, her head leaned affectionately against his upper arm as they surveyed the crowd. And I noticed several other couples among the revenants who were hugging or kissing.

Some do find love, I thought.

Charlotte had told me that Ambrose and Jules were players, dating human girls but never getting serious with anyone. Jean-Baptiste didn’t exactly encourage revenant/human relationships—he banned all human “lovers,” as he put it, from the house. Besides a few police officers and ambulance drivers the revenants had in their pocket—and a few other human employees like Jeanne, whose families had worked for Jean-Baptiste for generations—I was the only outsider who had been taken into their confidence and allowed into their home.

Since the enforced secrecy of their existence pretty much ruled out the possibility of their dating a human, finding someone among their own kind was the only possibility for love. And, as Charlotte had said, there weren’t a lot of revenants around to choose from.

An hour later the crowd began thinning, and I told Vincent I was ready to go home. “We have to wait for Ambrose,” he said, draping my coat around my shoulders. My heart fell a little. I had been dying to ask him about being Jean-Baptiste’s second and the whole “Champion” thing. But it looked like that would have to wait, since I doubted he would want to discuss it in front of Ambrose. Jules was right about Vincent’s modesty. Bragging wasn’t his style.

“Do I need two bodyguards?” I joked as we headed out the front door toward the gate.

“Three,” Ambrose responded. “We’ve got Henri, an old friend of Gaspard’s, along playing guard-ghost.”

“Oh, right. Bonjour, Henri,” I said out loud, thinking, Okay, that felt weird.

As I had learned a few months ago, for three days each month the revenants returned to a dead state, which they called being “dormant.” The first of those days they might as well be stone-cold dead. But for the next forty-eight hours their minds were awake and could travel. This was being “volant.” When they were out looking for humans to save, revenants walked in pairs accompanied by a volant spirit who, seeing a few minutes into the future, could tell them what was about to happen nearby.

“All this security for me?” I said, smiling as I took the arms of my two embodied escorts. “I thought Gaspard said I was getting better at fighting.”

“Ambrose and Henri are here for my safety as much as for yours,” Vincent reassured me. “Tonight might be the moment the numa finally decide to attack. It would make tactical sense, with most of Paris’s revenants grouped together in one building. But even if they don’t, there are enough drunk weirdos wandering around on New Year’s Eve to make things interesting.” Vincent smiled his crooked smile and pressed a button next to the gate.

The automatic lights flicked on, and I looked up and waved at the security camera. If anyone ever bothered to look at the video, they would see me wearing an evening dress worthy of a red carpet, accompanied by two handsome men in tuxedos. Not bad, I thought, for a girl who never had a real date until a few months ago!

The moon was like a spotlight, casting molten silver onto the leaves of the ancient trees lining Paris’s streets. Couples in formal dresses and suits made their way home from their own celebrations, giving the town a festive, holiday feel. The mouth-watering smell of baking pastry dough wafted from a boulangerie whose pastry chef was conscientious enough to stick to his early-morning baking hours on a holiday. Danger was the very last thing on my mind as I squeezed Vincent’s arm.

But a couple of blocks from my house, the casual manner of my companions suddenly changed. I glanced around, failing to notice anything dubious, but both were on the alert. “What is it?” I asked, watching Vincent’s features harden.

“Henri’s not sure. Numa would be heading straight for us, but these guys are acting weird,” he said, exchanging a glance with Ambrose. They immediately picked up the pace. We jogged across the avenue, my high heels making me decisively more wobbly than my usual Converses would have. As we headed down a side street toward my grandparents’ building, I wondered what would happen if we were set upon by the revenants’ enemies.

“Numa wouldn’t do anything in public, would they?” I asked breathlessly, yet remembering how a couple of them had stabbed Ambrose outside a restaurant a few months earlier.

“We never fight in front of humans . . . if we can help it,” said Ambrose. “Neither do the numa. Our secret status would be a bit compromised if we started pulling out battle-axes left and right in front of mortal witnesses.”

“But why? It’s not like people are going to hunt you down and destroy you.”

“The human radar isn’t the only one we want to stay off,” he continued, one of his long strides matching two of my own. “Like I said, there are others—and no, I’m not going into a discussion of which supernaturals actually exist outside of fantasy novels. We all have our own code of honor, you know.”

“Henri says that whatever they are, they’re headed this way,” Vincent said, his grave tone erasing all further questions from my mind.

We sprinted the last few yards to my front door, and I speed-typed my digicode as if all our lives depended on how fast my fingers could fly. Vincent and Ambrose stood behind me like overdressed bodyguards, their hands on the hilts of whatever weapons they wore beneath their coats.

As the security lock released and I pushed the front door open, the noise of a speeding car came from the direction of the avenue. Headlights lit up the dark street, as the three of us turned to face the oncoming vehicle.

With radio blasting, an Audi full of teenagers pulled up in front of us. The door opened to allow a guy and a girl to spill from the passenger seat. The four partygoers sitting in the back let out a whoop as my sister picked herself up from the sidewalk and made a dramatic bow. “Good night, y’all,” she drawled in her best Southern belle impression.