Die for Her: A Die for Me Novella (9 page)

I move to the space next to Ambrose’s head so I can listen, and hear Kate speaking frantically. “Ambrose, Vincent’s gone. Violette and a numa killed him and took his body. They’ve got him, Ambrose!”

For a second I don’t understand what she’s talking about. And then suddenly I do, and I feel sick with horror. Violette betrayed us.
She
is the leak. The one working with the numa. And I think of how much she knows and how much power she actually holds; I am awash with panic.

Ambrose orders Kate to get back to La Maison with Arthur and her sister. He hangs up and says, “Jules. You can get there fastest—you’ve gotta go. Violette’s in a white delivery van with Vincent’s body. Left the base of Sacré-Coeur two minutes ago. If you can find them, tail them until you see where they’re heading. I’ll mobilize everyone, and we’ll be ready to go as soon as you return to us.

I fly faster than I ever have before, spurred on by my panic. I arrive at Montmartre in barely three minutes, but I’m already too late. The delivery van is nowhere to be seen. I frantically search the neighborhood for any sign of them, but find nothing. Not even a lead. And finally, I have to give up and head home to give them the news.

I am in a state of disbelief and shock. How could this have happened? Why would Violette have killed Vincent? And her acting with the help of numa? It’s all too hard to believe.

At La Maison, JB splits the Paris kindred into search parties, dispatching us to comb the streets for signs of Violette—or any numa, for that matter.

Gaspard and I head south, and return hours later with devastating news. A numa we found in Denfert confessed he had been told that Violette took Vincent’s body out of the city, and was headed south. She could be anywhere by now.

After giving our report to JB, I go to find Kate. I must make sure she’s with someone who can care for her. I have to encourage her. To tell her there’s still hope, while knowing that that hope is very slight. I feel devastated. I can’t imagine how she is handling it.

I find her in the courtyard, sitting on the angel fountain talking to Ambrose. She’s been crying, but hasn’t given up hope. I want to take her in my arms. To console her and to be consoled by her.

“What do you think she’ll do?” she asks Ambrose.

“Katie-Lou, regarding Violette, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“If she burns his body today . . .” Kate prods.

“He’ll be gone,” Ambrose responds truthfully.

The mournful look on her face touches me to the core. She loves Vincent body and soul. He is her true love. She will never feel for me what she does for him. But I will never stop loving her. And I have to learn to live with that.

Kiss Kates for me
, I ask Ambrose.
Tell her to have courage; we’ll find Vince
.

He puts his massive arm around her, pulls her toward him, and plants a firm kiss on her cheek. “That’s from Jules. He says to tell you, ‘Courage, Kates. We’ll
find your man
.’”

I leave. I can’t bear seeing the pain in her eyes and not being able to touch her. To console her. I join JB, Gaspard, and Arthur in the library, where they are strategizing—coming up with a plan to fit every eventuality.

We wait all evening, but there is no word. Violette hasn’t attempted to contact us. Spirits are beginning to fall when, just after midnight, it happens.

I’m coming down the stairs with Gaspard and Arthur when Kate bursts through the front door. Her eyes are wild, and she’s panting like she’s been running miles.

She tells us that Vincent just came to her volant to say good-bye. He told her his body was in Violette’s Loire Valley castle being prepared for the fire. Then he was cut off midsentence as his body was immolated.

Kate’s face is a study of shock. Her true love’s body has been destroyed, and we don’t know what’s happened to his spirit. And yet, she is still strong. Most would have crumbled in the face of such news, but she ran all the way back to us. To Vincent’s kindred. I am in awe of her bravery.

As Gaspard leads Kate to the meeting room, I know what my old friend would want. The years of finishing each other’s sentences—the decades of speechless communication—allow his voice to come through as loudly as if he were here speaking it into my ear.

Kate is my responsibility now. I must guard her with my life.

MY GRATITUDE TO MY EDITORS, CHRISTOPHER
Hernandez and Tara Weikum, for prompting me to add more color to Jules’s portrait. And many thanks to my readers, who, when given several choices for revenant points-of-view, chose Jules’s story to be written. He gives each and every one of you slow, sexy
bises
.

Read on for a look at
IF I SHOULD DIE,
the final book in the Die for Me series.

IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT I SAT ON A BRIDGE SPANNING
the Seine, watching a bouquet of crushed white lilies float toward the spotlit Eiffel Tower. I strained to listen for the words I thought I’d just heard. The words of a dead boy—of my boyfriend’s ghost. I could have sworn he spoke to me a second ago. Which was impossible.

But there they were again—his words appearing once more in my mind, the two syllables cutting me as sharply as a whip crack.

Mon ange.

My heart hammered. “Vincent? Is that really you?” I asked with a trembling voice.

Kate, can you hear me?

“Vincent, you’re volant. Violette hasn’t destroyed you!” I leapt to my feet and spun around, searching anxiously for a glimpse of him, though I knew there would be nothing to see. I stood alone on the Pont des Arts. The surface of the water rippled and moved beneath me like the back of a great, dark serpent—the twinkling lights on the riverbanks reflected in its writhing smoothness. I shivered and pulled my coat tighter around myself.

No. She hasn’t destroyed my corpse . . . yet
.

“Oh my God, Vincent, I was sure she had done it.” I wiped a tear from my cheek before a flood of others followed. Just moments earlier, I had given up all hope of ever hearing from him again. I had been positive that he was gone forever, his body burned by his enemy. But here he was. I didn’t understand. I choked back tears.

Kate. Breathe
, Vincent insisted.

I exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe you’re here, talking to me. Where are you? Where did she take your body?”

I’m lying dormant in Violette’s castle in the Loire Valley. I only became conscious a few minutes ago. As soon as I figured out what she was doing, I came to you.
Vincent’s words sounded bleak. Hopeless.

My hands shook as I whipped my phone out of my pocket. “Tell me exactly where you are. I’m calling Ambrose—he’ll get a group together and we’ll be right there.”

It’s too late for a rescue, Kate. Violette has been waiting for my mind to awake, and now that I’m volant, she will burn my body. When I left, some of her henchmen were stoking a fire while she performed some kind of ancient ritual she claimed would bind my spirit to her once I’m reduced to ashes. I only have a few minutes, and I want to spend them with you.

“It’s never too late,” I insisted. “We could try to stop whatever it is that Violette’s doing. I’m sure your kindred could come up with some kind of distraction. We have to try.” Why was Vincent giving up so easily?

Kate. Stop
, he pleaded.
Please don’t waste the little time I have trying to call Ambrose when there is no way that you can reach me in time. There is
no way,
believe me.

The force in his voice made me hesitate, but I kept staring at my phone as a lump formed in my throat. If I couldn’t do anything, it meant that all was lost. My initial shock was being overtaken by an icy shawl of realization: The boy I loved was minutes away from being burned on a pyre. “No!” I cried, willing the horror to go away.

Vincent was silent, allowing the truth to sink in. I was losing my love—forever. If Vincent’s body was destroyed, I would never touch him again. Never feel his mouth against mine. Never hold him in my arms.

But he won’t be completely gone. Will he?
I had to make sure. My voice came out in a strangled croak. “At least you’re volant, right? If Violette had burned you before your mind awoke, you would be gone forever—body
and
spirit.”

I wish she had
. Vincent’s words were bitter.
She said she needed my spirit present in order to perform the power transfer
. A few seconds passed before I heard his voice again.
I think I’d rather be nonexistent than help Violette become powerful enough to destroy my kindred.

I didn’t agree. Vincent still existed, even if his body didn’t. The boy I loved so desperately hadn’t completely disappeared.
That’s something
, I thought, feeling a glimmer of hope. And then I remembered,
I will never see him. Or feel his skin against mine as we touch hands. Lips. Never again.
And the hope disappeared.

Fury fought despair inside me. “Why did it have to be you?” I asked. “Why are you the one with the power she’s ready to kill for?”

If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

“I wish it were someone else,” I said selfishly. “I want
you
to live.” But I knew Vincent wouldn’t agree. His whole existence was about sacrificing himself for others. He would give himself in a heartbeat to save one of his kindred.

I looked out over the rippling water and imagined Vincent materializing before me. The soft black of his hair. The sapphire flash of his dark eyes. His tall, solid frame. Vincent’s phantom hung suspended over the waves for a moment, glimmering transparently in the moonlight, before dissolving back into my mind’s eye.

I don’t want to watch her burn my body.

There was fear in his voice. Vincent had experienced many violent deaths, but
this
end was final. I wanted to take his hand. I wanted to touch him. Comfort him. But all I had were words. “Then don’t go back. Stay here with me until the end.” I tried to sound brave, but I was trembling.

“I love you.” I spoke the words, while silently urging myself not to cry. The last thing Vincent needed right now was to see me mourn him.

You are my life, Kate. I have been fighting my destiny to be with you, and after all that struggle I find myself powerless; I can’t stop Violette.

I didn’t respond. Because if I did, I would scream. My heart felt like it was being wrenched from my chest as Vincent was being separated from me for eternity. The boy who I had given so much to love—who I had gone against my sense of self-preservation to be with—was being taken away from me by a megalomaniac adolescent, and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do about it. I couldn’t hold it back: I began crying again. But not from sadness. My tears were tears of impotent fury.

Will you pass a message on to Jean-Baptiste and the others for me?

“Of course,” I gasped, trying to speak around the boulder of hatred lodged in my throat.

Remind them that since I didn’t offer myself voluntarily to Violette, she will not receive my full power. That’s the only ray of hope I can see.

Apologize to JB for me. For my disbelief
, he continued.
I wish I had figured out what all of this meant while I still had a chance.

“Yes. I’ll tell them.” My breath made little puffs of cloud in the frigid air. I rubbed my hands briskly on my arms. Leaping down off the end of the bridge, I strode swiftly in the direction of La Maison, knowing that Vincent’s spirit would accompany me. Even if it was too late to save him, I had to tell the others what was going on.

Kate, I want you to know that I awoke the first time I saw you.

I had managed to pull myself together in order to carry out the monumental task of putting one foot in front of the other, but a declaration of love from the boy I was about to lose was too much for me. Tears blurred my vision as he continued.

Something inside me that had been still and silent since my first death all of a sudden sparked and began to live again. I knew there was something different about you, and I had to find out what it was.

“When was the first time you saw me?” I asked, trying to distract myself—to keep myself from breaking down right then and there on the riverbank. “Are you talking about the Café Sainte-Lucie?”

No
. He laughed.
I had seen you around our neighborhood—long before the café. We kept crossing paths for weeks before you actually noticed me. And I couldn’t help wondering who you were and why you were so tortured—so mournful. I kept hoping your sister or your grandparents would say your name. We just called you the sad girl.

“Who is ‘we’?” I asked, my pace slowing.

Ambrose, Jules, and me.

“Then they must have recognized me that first day in the café,” I said, surprised by this new perspective on our story.

His silence was an affirmation.
You’ve intrigued me from the very beginning. And you still do. You’re different. I wanted to spend the rest of your life discovering who you were. But now
. . . His words dissolved and then reappeared with renewed determination.