Until I Die - By Plum, Amy Page 0,25

distinction of finding out about us the hard way. She was the one who was friends with Lucien.”

Violette inhaled sharply. “You are the human who is banned from entering the house.”

“The one and only,” said Georgia, brushing off Violette’s comment with a laugh. “But I’ve always felt that any establishment that doesn’t welcome me with open arms doesn’t actually deserve my patronage.”

Violette sat there staring at her, seemingly not understanding a word Georgia said.

“Translation . . . JB doesn’t want me around—I don’t want him around. I have better people to hang out with than stick-up-their-butt centuries-old royal-family wannabes.” Georgia pronounced this in such a matter-of-fact way that the words didn’t sound like as much of a slam as they really were. My sister—a master of diplomacy. Oh Lord. Here we go. I put my hand on Georgia’s arm, but she just covered it with her own and stared defiantly at the tiny revenant.

As the meaning of Georgia’s words finally sank in, Violette stood abruptly. In a voice low enough so only our table could hear, she sputtered, “Do you know what we do for you, you unappreciative human?”

Georgia looked thoughtfully at her fingernails. “Um, from what I understand, you go around saving people’s lives in order to prevent yourselves from coming down with a supernatural case of delirium tremens.”

After a second, the entire table burst out in laughter. Violette grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and strode out of the café. Arthur, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his amusement, stood, gave us a little bow, and followed her out.

“Touché, Georgia,” Jules murmured appreciatively. “Violette could stand being taken down a notch, but don’t expect to be BFFs now.” Georgia gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Hanging with the aristocracy has never been my style.”

“So what are you guys up to?” I asked, hoping that the change of topic would shut Georgia up. I was going to have to do some apologizing once I saw Violette again.

“We were seeing Geneviève off,” Vincent said, finishing his glass of Coke. “She’s gone to the south to stay with Charlotte and Charles. Said she couldn’t stand hanging around her house without Philippe in it.”

I nodded, knowing how she felt. I couldn’t wait to get out of our home in Brooklyn after Mom and Dad died. Everything I looked at reminded me of them—it was like living in a mausoleum.

“Now it’s back to work, bringing Arthur and Violette up to speed with the Paris goings-on . . . at least it was until you drove them off.” Jules winked at Georgia as she smiled demurely and raised her hand to attract the attention of a waiter.

As we left the café a half hour later, Vincent draped his arm around my shoulders. “Come back with us,” he urged. “We’re having a house meeting since no one’s dormant today. It would be good if you were there.”

“I’ll see you back home,” Georgia said. Since she wasn’t welcome back at the house, she was clearly letting him off the hook as far as extending the invitation. After enthusiastically kissing each of the boys good-bye, she headed toward Papy and Mamie’s.

Ten minutes later we were back in the great hall, just like a couple of months previously when Jean-Baptiste was handing out punishments and rewards after the numa battle and Lucien’s death: exile for Charles and Charlotte and acceptance into the household for me.

The two new members of the kindred were seated on a leather couch in front of the fire, heads close together as they whispered heatedly. They seemed to be having an argument. I steeled myself and walked up to them.

“Violette?” I asked.

She peered up at me, seeming as fragile as a porcelain cup. “Yes?” she responded, looking away to nod at Arthur as if dismissing him before turning back to me. He stood and walked over to Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard, who were studying a map off in a corner.

“I just want to say that I’m sorry that my sister offended you. She can be like that sometimes, and I’m not making excuses for her, but I just want you to know that I don’t feel the same way she does.”

Violette thought for a second, and then solemnly nodded her head. “I would not judge you by your sister’s words.” She reached out to touch my hand. “What is that phrase you use in English . . . ‘Sticks and stones’? I hold no offense,” she said in her stilted language.

I breathed a silent sigh