Until I Die (20 page)

“No, I was kind of too busy carrying out a mission for Jean-Baptiste to photograph Charles's hair.”

“We don't care about his hair,” Geneviève said, laughing. “Tell us how he is. What he's doing there. When he's coming back.”

“See, this is why I think he's in exactly the right place.” Vincent leaned forward, speaking eagerly. “That particular clan in Berlin is made up of young revenants, who at some point all became disillusioned with our mission. Bitter about our fate. The place is like an undead Alcoholics Anonymous. They have meetings all the time where they talk about their feelings.

“And their leader is really motivational. Always going on about how revenants fit into the whole cycle of life. That we're angels of mercy, allowing humans who haven't lived out their destiny to survive until they can. So when Charles and his kindred walk, it's like they're truly on a mission. They're so psyched about it . . . it's really amazing to see.”

Charlotte was closing her eyes as she listened, imagining it. When Vincent finished, she gave a rueful smile. “I can't even tell you how good it is to hear you say that. It's been awful not knowing where he was or what he was doing,” she said. “He never really recovered from his depression after the whole thing with Lucien, and I was afraid that he was going to do the same thing again: find some numa to destroy him. But I figured he had intentionally gone somewhere far away this time, where it wouldn't put the rest of us in danger.”

Geneviève spoke up. “Maybe our little group is too tight for him in Paris. He didn't have room to grow—to find himself. It
is
pretty intense living with the same people for decades.”

“You're right,” said Charlotte. “Being on his own is obviously what he needs right now. But . . . do you think he'll come back?”

“Honestly? I don't know,” Vincent said.

There was a minute's thoughtful silence, and then I asked, “How are
you
, Geneviève?”

“I'm taking it one day at a time,” she responded, her eyes losing their sparkle. “Charlotte does a good job distracting me. It would have been hellish to have stayed in Philippe's and my house in Paris. The new scene is good for me, and we're close to Nice, where a group of around a dozen of our kind have been living for a while.”

“Anyone interesting in the group?” I teased Charlotte.

She shook her head. “Interesting friend-wise, but no one special. My feelings haven't changed.” She glanced quickly at Vincent, who looked away as if to give us some privacy.

We talked into the night until I could barely keep my eyes open. “Sorry, I'm beat. I know you guys will be up all night but I, for one, need a bed.”

“I picked out your bedroom,” Charlotte said. “I'll show you where it is.”

“I'll come check on you later,” Vincent said with a sexy wink as I rose to follow Charlotte out of the room.

“Wow,” was all I could say as I put my bag down next to a king-size bed facing a floor-to-ceiling window with a harbor view.

“Nice, no?” Charlotte grinned.

“This is perfect, Charlotte. Thank you so much,” I said, hugging her. “I really do miss you.”

“And I miss you,” she said. “All of you.” She looked out the window at the sea, and her sadness was tangible.

“Does he ever call?”

Charlotte took a deep breath, and then said, “Ambrose calls all the time. Just not for me.”

“What?” I exclaimed, and then it dawned on me. “No!”

“Yes. I mean, it's innocent. So far. Geneviève just thinks he's being nice. Caring. But he confessed it to me. He said he'd been in love with her for decades. Ambrose thought that when Philippe died he might have a chance at winning her heart. He asked me not to say anything. He doesn't want to rush her, because he knows it will take time for her to get over her husband's death. He's just so in love that he wants to know how she's doing all the time.”

“Oh my God, Charlotte. That's just awful.”

“Awful for me. But maybe not awful for them. Who knows? Maybe Geneviève will fall for Ambrose someday.”

I took her in my arms again, and as I hugged her, she started crying. “Oh, Kate,” she whispered. “I wanted him to choose me.”

“So did I, Charlotte. I've been hoping for that this whole time. It's really not fair. You would be perfect together.”

“I thought so too.” She sniffed and wiped her tears away. “But I can't think like that now. I love Geneviève and I love Ambrose, and if they could be happy together, then I would never get in their way.”

Charlotte gave me another squeeze and then left me alone. I didn't even bother getting undressed. Wondering why life—or death, in Charlotte's case—couldn't be easier, I lay down on the bed, closed my eyes, and let the sound of the waves lull me into unconsciousness.

THE NEXT MORNING I AWOKE TO SEE VINCENT
lying beside me, watching me sleep. “
Bonjour, mon ange
,” he said, playing with a strand of my hair. Then, rolling over, he plucked something out of a bowl on the bedside table and, before I could see what it was, popped it into my mouth. I bit down in surprise. And my mouth was filled with the sugary sweetness of a strawberry.

“What—” I began, but couldn't talk around the berry.

Vincent tried not to laugh. “When I was volant, you made such a big deal about not having to brush your teeth before talking to me that I thought I'd run a better chance of getting a first-thing-in-the-morning kiss if I spared you the indignity of morning breath.”

“So now I have strawberry breath.”

“My favorite,” he responded with a teasing smile.

“Wanna try?” I proposed, and leaned forward for a kiss.

“Mmm,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Good. Good. But just for the record, I think I prefer Kate au naturel.”

I laughed and put my arms around him. “This is the best, waking up next to you.”

“We've spent the night together,” he replied, “when I've been volant.”

“Yeah but I couldn't do this,” I said, and pressed my lips back to his. He took my head in his hands, returning the kiss, and then, wrapping me in his arms, he pulled me toward him. Our limbs wound themselves around each other's until our bodies were completely tangled, and I couldn't feel the point where mine stopped and his started.

His hand moved inside the back of my shirt, and the novelty of his warm skin brushing against mine sparked a powerful longing inside me. I didn't want him to stop until he had marked every inch of my body with his touch. And as he continued, it felt like I was expanding. Like my body was too small to contain me and I would burst out of my skin like a supernova.

“Kate.” Vincent's voice sounded like it was coming from a distance. “Are you ready for this? Do you want it to be now?”

“Yes,” I said automatically, and then, opening my eyes, I hesitated. Vincent had sat up and begun pulling his shirt over his head, and I saw that his chest was marked with bruises—bigger, darker facsimiles of the ones under his eyes. And although they didn't repel me—if anything, they triggered something in me that wanted to take care of him—they were shocking enough to clear away the mist from my passion-muddled thoughts.

We're both hiding something.
The words flashed through my mind with a clarity that made me wonder if they had been spoken out loud.

It was true. We were both keeping something important from the other. And suddenly it seemed dishonest for our bodies to join when our spirits were divided.
That's not how I want this to start
, I thought, and as he folded me back into his arms, I said, “Wait, Vincent. I'm not . . . I'm not ready yet.”

Vincent ‘s grasp on me loosened. He paused, then moved his mouth next to my ear. “That's okay,” he said, his hot breath on my skin making me shudder. “I've waited this long for you—I'm in no rush. We'll have all the time in the world.”

We lay there motionless for a few minutes as I savored the sweetness of feeling his body pressed against my own. Finally we eased apart enough to look into each other's eyes. “Kate. Don't cry.” Vincent looked concerned.

“I'm not,” I said, and then realized that my eyes were filled with tears.

I wasn't crying from frustration: My desire for Vincent wasn't only physical. It wasn't confined to the here and now. I wanted him, body and soul. And I wanted the hours we had together to be full of life and love and joy at having found each other.

But looking at the boy lying inches from me was like being laughed at by misery and death. Besides the bruises on his chest, his lovely face was marred by the pallor of exhaustion and the circles under his eyes. And although he was still stronger than any boy I knew, his strength had been markedly sapped.

Seeing him waste away before my eyes was making our future feel even bleaker than ever. This was not how things were meant to be. We had avoided it for long enough . . . now it was time to talk.

“You did
what
?” Vincent said, aghast.

We sat facing each other in the middle of the bed. I grasped his hands firmly between mine, unsure if my death grip was meant to keep him calm or provide myself with the support I needed to spit the story out.

“Vincent, are you even hearing me? There is a
guérisseur
. A long line of
guérisseurs
, actually, who have had a special relationship with revenants. I am positive that Gaspard doesn't know about them. Because the healer said it had been centuries since her family had even seen a revenant. This is
new
information. She might actually be able to help us.”

“Kate, how could you even think of doing something like that without me? You could have been in serious danger. This is
my
world we're talking about here. A world where death is always present.”

“It's my world now too.”

That shut him up. And I took advantage of his silence to tell him the whole tale, beginning with finding the references in the books to tracking down the shop to seeing the
signum
in the
guérisseur
's bowl and what followed. As I finished my story, I saw the glimmer in his eye. If it wasn't an actual glimmer of hope, it was at least a glimmer of interest.

“Okay, Kate. I agree that this could be promising. But I wish you had told me about it before. I can't help but freak out when I think of you going alone to see someone who could have been a complete wacko. You could have been hurt . . . or worse. And I would never have known where to find you.”

“Jules came with me,” I said, trying to sound firm, but the confidence that I had begun the conversation with was quickly fading.

“JULES?” Vincent responded, incredulous. “Jules took you to see this
guérisseur
?”

“Well, he didn't exactly know where he was taking me—or why—until after it was all over.”

My heart sank as I recognized the expression on Vincent's face. It was a look of betrayal, as he realized that his best friend and his girlfriend had done something behind his back.

“Vincent, stop!” I insisted. “I talked Jules into it. If there's anyone you should be mad at, it is me. If it helps at all, Jules was furious and said if I didn't tell you about it, then he would. I did
not
do this with the express purpose of deceiving you, Vincent. I did it to help
us
: you and me.”

“I am already doing everything I can to help us.” Vincent's eyes flashed with anger.

“What? What is it exactly that you are doing?” I said, my voice rising. “Because from what it looks like to me, whatever you're doing is causing you more harm than good.”

“That's because you don't understand how it's supposed to work,” Vincent shot back, rubbing his temples in frustration.

I touched his knee. “Then explain it to me.”

Our eyes met, and we held the gaze for a long while before he exhaled. “Fine. Just give me a little time to think. But we'll talk tonight, I promise.”

THE MORNING PASSED QUICKLY, WITH THE FOUR
of us wandering lazily through the little town and across the abandoned winter beach. After a lighthearted lunch, during which Geneviève banned any serious or depressing subjects, we headed to the harbor to where a sleek blue speedboat was moored between massive luxury yachts.

“Wow, I wonder whose that is,” Charlotte remarked. Then, leaping over the railing, she plopped herself down in the driver's seat. “All aboard!” she yelled, and then cracked up when she saw my expression. “Don't worry, Kate, it's ours.” She patted the seat next to her. “Come on!”

We spent the next couple of hours speeding up and down the coast, the landscape shifting rapidly from magnificent beaches to vertiginous cliffs towering over the sea. Vincent leaned toward me at one point and said, “I don't think I've ever seen you look this ecstatically happy before.”

“It's the closest thing I can think of to flying,” I admitted.

“To-do list with Kate,” he said to himself, looking satisfied. “More speedboats.”

After dinner that night, Vincent stood and took my hand. “If you'll excuse us, I'm going out with Kate,” he told Geneviève and Charlotte. We walked down the steps from the terrace, past a covered swimming pool, and through a gate into the trees. After a minute, we reached a rocky outcrop with a perfect view of the bay.

“I've been coming here as long as I've known Jean-Baptiste,” he said, settling himself on the edge of the cliff and lifting his hand to pull me down next to him. “It's his favorite home-away-from-home. He had it built in the 1930s, after he saw photos of Le Corbusier's buildings. The house is amazing, but I've always come here—to this spot—when I needed to stop and remember what life was about.” He wrapped an arm around me and we sat quietly, our legs dangling over the side of the rocks, watching the lights of the boats shimmer on the water.

“Close your eyes and tell me what you hear,” he said, and waited.

I smiled. “Is this a game?”

“No, it's a meditation.”

I shut my eyes and calmed my breathing, letting my senses take over. “I hear waves crashing. And the wind in the trees.”

“What do you smell?”

I switched senses. “Pine trees. Brine.”

He took my hand and ran my fingers over the stone we sat on. I responded without him asking. “Cold, smooth rock with little indentations all over, the size of my fingertips.” Opening my eyes, I breathed in the chilly sea air and tasted its pure flavor—such a change from the city air of Paris.

I felt nature move around me and through me, as my pulse slowed to the rhythm set by the crashing waves and staccato sea breeze. Our two insignificant human bodies became indecipherable from the titan agelessness of the elements around us. As we sat in silence, I knew Vincent was experiencing the same mesmerizing calm as me. Finally he spoke.

“You know how you meditate in front of paintings? Well, I do it in nature, when I need to remember that my universe isn't fantasy fiction—that I still exist in the real world. And that my immortality isn't some cosmic joke. This is the purest place I know. And what I feel here is the closest I've felt to happiness in all the years after my death.

“But now I have something that blows that feeling out of the water. Every time I need a hit of joy, I think about you. You are my solace, Kate. Just knowing that you are in this world, everything makes sense.”

He leaned forward and, smoothing my hair off my face, gave me a short, sweet kiss before continuing.

“I want us to work, Kate. That is why I've been searching for something—anything—to make our time together as easy as it can be. Without the pain that my regular revenant existence—that my deaths—would bring. And, although things might not look great on the surface, I do think I've found it.”

Although my heart leapt at his enthusiasm, a feeling of dread quashed my joy. This was going to be worse than I had imagined. Vincent was approaching the subject way too carefully, and the look in his eye said he was worried about how I would take it.
Here it comes
, I thought, and braced myself.

Vincent held my gaze. “You know how dying for humans satisfies a need within us? That saving people is our very purpose for being?”

I nodded, a bud of fear blossoming in my chest.

“Ancient texts call that ‘lifestyle' the ‘Light Way,'” he said. “It is the natural order of things. It wipes the slate clean, giving us a year or so before we start feeling the pull again.

“But there is another way to assuage the need to die. It's called the ‘Dark Way.' It's a temporary cure, and doesn't bring us back to our death age. But some have been known to use it as a method to resist . . . when there is a dire enough reason to.”

I shivered, knowing that whatever it was, I didn't want him to be doing it.

“Remember the energy transfer that Arthur got when he saved Georgia?”

“Yes.”

“Well, with the Dark Way the same principle applies, but in reverse. When a revenant kills a numa, we are temporarily infused with their energy.”

This is very, very bad
, a voice inside my mind told me. Shuddering, I forced it to shut up and listen.

Vincent continued. “Historically speaking, there's a good reason for this: If a wounded revenant is able to kill a numa in battle, the immediate power surge gives him enough strength to escape to safety. You saw how strong Arthur was after killing that numa in the alleyway. He got right up to his feet after sustaining a pretty serious wound. Since he received the numa's energy, as well as the strength from saving Georgia, he didn't suffer at all.”

I nodded, trying to wrap my mind around it. Even though most of the revenants' rules for functioning sounded strange at first, they all had some sort of rational purpose behind them.

“So that's one short-lived benefit of killing a numa. But on top of that, if the revenant hasn't died for a while, it also alleviates that desire to die—scratching his itch, you could say.

“For one pursuing the Dark Way, killing numa on a regular, continual basis not only scratches the itch but prevents it. Completely. At least that is what Gaspard and Violette have concluded from the old texts. We don't actually know of anyone who has tried it in recent times.”

“Why?” My voice was hollow. “Because it's dangerous?”

“It's not dangerous in and of itself.”

“Then why?”

“The idea itself is unappealing.” Vincent sighed deeply. He
really
didn't want to talk about this. “Humans are good by nature. When we get their energy, it's that positive power of their innate goodness that we're infused with. Numa are evil, and so is their energy. So when we kill them, it's the negative power of their rage that's transferred.”

“That . . . evil . . . numa power . . . has been going into you?” I tried to hide the disgust in my voice. Vincent had been right to assume that the idea would freak me out. I wasn't only freaked. I was deeply, intensely disturbed.

He nodded, quickly adding, “But it's not like their character can rub off on me or anything. It won't change me . . . make me evil or whatever. It just has these unfortunate side effects”—he touched the mottled shadow under his eyes—“but they're not going to last. They mean my body is building up resistance.”

“Then why are you in an even more awful state this month than last?” I exploded. “If you're building up resistance, shouldn't it be getting better, not worse?”

“The texts say that it will work.”

“Damn the texts, Vincent.”

I rose to my feet, and Vincent followed my lead. “I have to walk,” I said, feeling like moving would disperse the storm clouds inside my head. I felt overwhelmed. And scared. And I honestly didn't know what to think anymore.

“Let's go to the beach,” Vincent said, and taking my hand, he led me down the hill until we were walking on the sand, the tide lapping just a short distance from our feet. I couldn't look at his face, and kept my gaze on our feet as we walked.

“Killing numa is an honorable thing,” he said finally. “We just don't usually hunt them down and kill them for the pure purpose of achieving the Dark Way. But only because we are programmed to save humans—that is our primary reason for being.”

I felt so cold that my teeth were chattering, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Even if absorbing nasty”—I grimaced—“numa energy isn't dangerous, doesn't it worry you that all the numa in Paris are going to be after your head?”

“I pick them out when they're on their own, and make sure that no one sees it happen. We destroy the bodies with fire, so there isn't a trace left. As far as the numa know, their members are merely disappearing, not being slain.”

My horror was now tangible. It wasn't just my teeth chattering—my whole body was trembling. “How long has this been going on?” I asked.

Noticing my shaking, Vincent pulled me to a stop and tried to draw me close to him, but I resisted. His forehead wrinkled in frustration. “Since just after the New Year,” he answered. “Six weeks. A few numa each week. Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard gave their approval, since they needed the surveillance work done anyway.”

“Do the others know about this?”

“One of their conditions was that I only do it while walking with the others. So, yes—Jules and Ambrose have been helping me.” Vincent looked steadily into my eyes.

“You've been hiding this from me because you were worried that it will change the way I think about you.” I watched him carefully.

His silence and the vulnerable look on his face confirmed my hypothesis. “So does it?” he asked.

“I'm calling this off,” I said, avoiding his question. “This is going way too far.”

“Kate, if this works, it's our answer. I'll be able to avoid death until . . .”

“Until I die,” I filled in the gap.

Vincent shook his head as if to banish the thought from his mind. “Isn't the death of numa better than my own?”

“That's not the issue. You risk being permanently dead if something goes wrong. If they catch you, they will destroy you. That is, if this Dark Way black magic doesn't destroy you first with its scary side effects. Just look at you, Vincent. There has to be another way for us besides your single-handedly becoming the Numa Slayer.”

“Well, there's not,” Vincent said with finality.

“What about my
guérisseur
, Vincent? You obviously haven't investigated every possibility out there. And I'm not going to sit back and let you risk your immortal existence just for a chance that you and I can have a few good years together. At least you've got to let me search for an alternative. Something safe. As you yourself said, my life is short. Just a blip out of the centuries—who knows, the millennia, even—that you will live. You're not going to risk all that for me.”

By this point we were facing each other on the beach, hands by our sides and fists clenched. As if echoing our emotions, the ocean wind picked up and blew a spray of seawater high in the air, showering us with ice-cold droplets that ran down my face like tears. Vincent took my hand and led me farther from the water, and then clasped my shoulders, pleading now.

“Without you, my immortal existence—as you call it—it's just survival. That's what it's been so far, at least. But with you, Kate, I'm not just surviving. I'm actually living. I'd trade this one second with you”—he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against mine—“for a thousand years without you. And if I can stretch this second out to last a few decades . . . well, having my immortality extinguished seems a very fair trade.”

“I hate the thought of that energy being inside of you. And I can't even bear the thought of what would happen if some vengeful numa caught you,” I said, determination running hot through my veins. “Finish this crazy experiment if you have to, but I will be looking for another way. If this
guérisseur
can't find a solution, I'm just going to keep on searching.”

Vincent cocked his head, studying my face. “If that's the way you feel, then we'll both search. And when you return to the healer's next week, I'm going with you.”

We stood for another minute—half-angry, half-relieved. Nothing had been resolved, but at least we were harboring no more secrets. So why did I feel further away from him than I ever had?

We ran back up the hill and escaped the wildly whipping ocean wind for the calm of the house. “Vincent?” I asked. “Stay with me tonight.”

I fell asleep with my fingers resting on Vincent's cheek, and woke up twice during the night to see him lying on his back, watching the ceiling as I slept.

In the morning when I woke, he was gone. I walked into the kitchen to see him making coffee, a pan of eggs bubbling on the stove. Charlotte and Geneviève were already at the table, drinking coffee and eating croissants.

“Not even a cuddle?” I whispered as I gave him a good-morning hug in the kitchen.

“I might be supernatural, but I'm not made of steel, Kate,” he said, smiling. “And unless you changed your mind in the last twenty-four hours, I thought it safest to be in another room when you awoke.” He leaned in to give me a slow, warm kiss. “Does that make up for it?”

“For the moment,” I said, eyeing him coquettishly. He raised an eyebrow, grinning, and I took my cup of coffee from him and headed to the table.

The day passed in slow-paced luxury. We drove into Italy, turning off the coastal road to drive through rolling hills dotted with ruins of ancient villages. Stopping in the medieval hill town of Dolceaqua, Geneviève stocked up on olive oil and Charlotte on amaretti cookies before we headed to a simple but decadent lunch in a tiny five-table restaurant. Hearing the beautiful language spill effortlessly off Vincent's tongue made me long for an extended Italian vacation with him. It was hard not to plan ahead. Hard to remember that we weren't just a normal couple like the people sitting around us.