would have expected. Not that I expected her to go running, screaming out of the house. But discovering that there is a whole world of undead superheroes existing side by side with the regular human world would freak most people out. Kate takes it in stride. Only a teenager, and she accepts what we tell her with courage and grace. I am officially amazed.
However, Jean-Baptiste is furious that a human who wasn’t preapproved by him entered our house and learned our secrets. And while he’s chewing Vincent out, Kate actually comes to the kitchen and has breakfast with us—not only a crowd of people she’s just met, but people she’s just discovered are basically monsters. She stands there at the door looking uncertain until Ambrose bids her to “Enter, human,” and laughing, she comes to sit next to me.
She meets Jeanne, and I can tell that knowing there is another human in the room comforts her. And by the time she digs into the bread and coffee Jeanne serves her, she’s chatting with the group like she’s known us all her life.
When Gaspard sticks his head in and tells Kate she’s free to go, I leap at the opportunity to walk her out. After she says good-bye to Vincent, I put on my very best nineteenth-century manners, bow, and place her hand on my arm as I escort her to the front door. And when we get there, I do what I’ve been wanting to all morning: I apologize.
“I’m sorry I was rude before today, you know . . . in my studio and at the museum. I swear it was nothing personal. I was just trying to protect Vincent and you . . . and all of us. Now that it’s too late for that, well, please accept my apology.”
She watches me quizzically, as if she’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not. And then she picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “I totally understand,” she says. And she gives me a lips-closed smile with a teasing sparkle in her eye. “I’m a mere mortal. What else could you do?”
This girl is oozing with graceful charisma, like a teenage Audrey Hepburn, and I totally get what Vincent sees in her. Knowing she’ll probably be around a lot, I really pour on the charm.
I press my hand to my chest. “Whew—she forgave me.” And I step toward her so that only a few inches of space separate us. “You’re sure you don’t need me to walk you home?” I say, lifting an eyebrow and giving her my most flirtatious smile.
She refuses, but blushes deeply—hot pink spreading across her cheeks. As usual, I feel a wild rush of success. I love flirting more than food. Or even fighting. And evoking a blush is one of the most satisfying results I can hope for.
I like this girl , I find myself thinking. I’m actually looking forward to her being around.
The next week Vincent comes home two days in a row with this grin on his face that’s got to mean he’s been hanging with Kate.
“So you’re going to keep her to yourself,” I joke with him as we jog down the stairs to the armory. “Finally we’re allowed to have a pretty girl in the house and you’re hoarding her.”
“No, I’m not,” he insists. “Ambrose is going as Kate’s sister’s date with us this Saturday.”
“Um, excuse me,” I say, grabbing a pair of short swords off the wall. “Best friend, here? The guy who is always offering to set you up with hot babes, and you leave me out ?”
“Jules. Saturday. You’re volant,” he reminds me as he chooses his own weapon: a Japanese katana.
“Oh, right,” I admit. “But that still doesn’t mean I can’t tag along. You guys could use some ghostly backup if you’re going to be out on the town with two very distracting ladies on your arms.”
Vincent laughs and faces me in a two-handed assault pose. “I knew you’d want to come. I was just waiting for you to ask. You know . . . grovel a bit after treating Kate so rudely.”
I lift my swords. “Dude, I’m done with the groveling, and fair Kate agreed to forgive me my
However, Jean-Baptiste is furious that a human who wasn’t preapproved by him entered our house and learned our secrets. And while he’s chewing Vincent out, Kate actually comes to the kitchen and has breakfast with us—not only a crowd of people she’s just met, but people she’s just discovered are basically monsters. She stands there at the door looking uncertain until Ambrose bids her to “Enter, human,” and laughing, she comes to sit next to me.
She meets Jeanne, and I can tell that knowing there is another human in the room comforts her. And by the time she digs into the bread and coffee Jeanne serves her, she’s chatting with the group like she’s known us all her life.
When Gaspard sticks his head in and tells Kate she’s free to go, I leap at the opportunity to walk her out. After she says good-bye to Vincent, I put on my very best nineteenth-century manners, bow, and place her hand on my arm as I escort her to the front door. And when we get there, I do what I’ve been wanting to all morning: I apologize.
“I’m sorry I was rude before today, you know . . . in my studio and at the museum. I swear it was nothing personal. I was just trying to protect Vincent and you . . . and all of us. Now that it’s too late for that, well, please accept my apology.”
She watches me quizzically, as if she’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not. And then she picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “I totally understand,” she says. And she gives me a lips-closed smile with a teasing sparkle in her eye. “I’m a mere mortal. What else could you do?”
This girl is oozing with graceful charisma, like a teenage Audrey Hepburn, and I totally get what Vincent sees in her. Knowing she’ll probably be around a lot, I really pour on the charm.
I press my hand to my chest. “Whew—she forgave me.” And I step toward her so that only a few inches of space separate us. “You’re sure you don’t need me to walk you home?” I say, lifting an eyebrow and giving her my most flirtatious smile.
She refuses, but blushes deeply—hot pink spreading across her cheeks. As usual, I feel a wild rush of success. I love flirting more than food. Or even fighting. And evoking a blush is one of the most satisfying results I can hope for.
I like this girl , I find myself thinking. I’m actually looking forward to her being around.
The next week Vincent comes home two days in a row with this grin on his face that’s got to mean he’s been hanging with Kate.
“So you’re going to keep her to yourself,” I joke with him as we jog down the stairs to the armory. “Finally we’re allowed to have a pretty girl in the house and you’re hoarding her.”
“No, I’m not,” he insists. “Ambrose is going as Kate’s sister’s date with us this Saturday.”
“Um, excuse me,” I say, grabbing a pair of short swords off the wall. “Best friend, here? The guy who is always offering to set you up with hot babes, and you leave me out ?”
“Jules. Saturday. You’re volant,” he reminds me as he chooses his own weapon: a Japanese katana.
“Oh, right,” I admit. “But that still doesn’t mean I can’t tag along. You guys could use some ghostly backup if you’re going to be out on the town with two very distracting ladies on your arms.”
Vincent laughs and faces me in a two-handed assault pose. “I knew you’d want to come. I was just waiting for you to ask. You know . . . grovel a bit after treating Kate so rudely.”
I lift my swords. “Dude, I’m done with the groveling, and fair Kate agreed to forgive me my
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