Until I Die (6 page)

“Yes?” I said, tilting my head toward his.

“Hurting me,” he gasped, clenching his teeth.

“Oh no, what did I do?” My hands flew to my mouth.

His pressed his hand to his chest and tested it gently. “I forgot about the rib,” he said. We looked at each other for a second, and then both started cracking up, Vincent laughing carefully, his eyes scrunched up in pain.

“I guess I don't know my own strength,” I joked, and then leaned toward him again, holding him more softly this time, and losing myself in the kiss. And, what seemed like two seconds later, we were in the middle of the sun bed, Vincent lying down and me hovering above him on hands and knees with my hair draped around his face, sealing out the world. We were in our own mini universe. He reached up to hold my head in his hands as our lips met in a kiss that communicated everything we hadn't been able to express with words.

Vincent kissed me like it was his very last chance to touch me. And, feeling feverish and wild, I returned his kiss unreservedly.

As if he could tell I was losing myself, Vincent's kisses became softer. He pulled me down so that my body was covering his and every part of us was touching. Lying like that for the longest, sweetest moment, he brushed his lips against mine once more before sitting up, scooting back against the wall, and pulling me to him. I sat between his legs, leaning back carefully on his chest as he held me and we stared up into the night sky at the reflecting gold of the rising moon.

Unfolding Vincent's arms from beneath my breasts, I shifted around so that I was looking into his eyes. I didn't need to say anything. Watching him was enough. But after a moment, he spoke. “Kate, I've spent a lifetime waiting for you. Before I saw you, I hadn't cared for anyone for . . . well, for the good part of a century, and it felt like my heart had been permanently disconnected. I wasn't even looking anymore. And without expecting anything . . . without any hope at all, suddenly you were here.”

He raised his hand, and running his fingers from my temples through my hair, he spoke softly. “Now that you are here—now that we're together—I can't imagine going back to the life I had before. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you now. I love you too much.”

My throat constricted. He had said the magical three words. Out loud. When he registered my stunned expression, his lips curled up at the corners. “But you knew that already, didn't you?”

My heart became a gooey mess inside my chest, and then he said it again.

IT WASN'T UNTIL LATER THAT NIGHT THAT THE
idea occurred to me. I had returned to my grandparents' apartment to find that they had left for a dinner party. Mamie had stuck a note to the fridge with dinner instructions. I pulled out the plate of leftovers she had prepared for me and sat at the table for a few minutes, picking at it distractedly as a plan took form in my mind.

Vincent had said he was trying to come up with a solution for our quandary. Well, why did I have to sit around and wait for him to come up with all the answers? Maybe I could do some research myself. I was living in an apartment with a fully stocked antiquities library. It wouldn't hurt to go digging around and see if I could discover something in Papy's book collection.

The previous year I had seen a Greek amphora in his gallery that was decorated with naked warrior figures he called “numina.” His startled reaction when I forgot myself and stupidly remarked that the word sounded like “numa” made me suspect that he had come across the term before. And if he had found out about revenants in the course of his research, that book might still be around.

From everything I had heard at La Maison, revenants boasted a long and colorful history. Gaspard was constantly checking his documents for examples of past aberrations. Well, maybe Papy had some books that Gaspard didn't. In any case, if Vincent was searching for an alternative, one might actually exist. And maybe I could find some information he didn't already have.

There was still so much I didn't know. Vincent had told me the basics about revenants, and I had learned more by spending time with him and his kindred. Of course, I had searched for revenants on the internet as soon as I knew what Vincent was. But all I had found were references to the old French tradition of a revenant being a “spirit that has come back from the dead” and all sorts of contemporary spin-offs like zombies and other undead monsters. Nothing that spoke of “real” revenants—the ones I knew.

I asked Vincent once if “revenant” was just the word used in France. He said that most languages used that same word with little variation, because it came from the Latin word
venio
: “to come.” So that was what I had to start with: the word “revenant”; a basic knowledge of what they were; the fact that their enemies were depicted on an ancient Greek vase; and . . . nothing else. It wasn't much to go on, but I was determined that if anything revenant-related remained in Papy's library, I would find it.

I left my barely touched meal and hurried to his study. All four walls were lined with shelves. And all the shelves were packed with books. I had no idea where to start. Although some titles were in French and English, that didn't even account for half. I recognized Italian and German, and Cyrillic letters clued me in that some books were Russian. At first glance, I felt completely overwhelmed.

Break
it
down
, I thought. I started at the bookcase closest to the door, pulling up a footstool to reach the highest shelf.
The Church of Hagia Sofia
.
Architecture in the Ancient World
.
Roman Architecture and City Planning
. Papy obviously organized his books by themes. The shelf beneath it was the same. As was the next.

Underneath that began a shelf on Chinese funerary statues. And the bottom shelf was all about ancient Asian seals and snuffboxes. That was one whole column of shelves that could be ruled out, and it took only five minutes. This might be easier than I thought.

An hour later, I had narrowed down Papy's entire library to six shelves of interest. Although there were dozens of books on Greek pottery, I wasn't going to pore over all of them to find another example like Papy's numa amphora. Even if I was lucky enough to find one, it probably wouldn't have the in-depth information I needed. No, it was the shelves on mythology that I would focus on.

I began flipping through tomes on Greek, Roman and Norse mythology. But they were all published in the twentieth century and were the type of books found in any library. Besides listing the major gods, the mythological beings were all the typical ones you'd come across in a Narnia book: satyrs, wood nymphs, and the like. No revenants. Of course.

If they had managed to stay incognito for so long, they wouldn't appear in a mainstream book. I began to skip anything that looked like it had been printed in the last hundred years and inspected more closely those that seemed to have been created on an ancient printing press. Papy protected most of these in archival boxes. One by one I pulled the boxes out, placed them on his desk, and gently went through their contents. Some were just pages of manuscript, and I studied the old parchments for any words that looked like “revenant” or “numa.” Nothing.

Finally I got to an ancient-looking bestiary—a type of old
-
fashioned monster manual. The margins were illustrated with pictures of the mythical beings described on the page. Or so I assumed, since I couldn't make heads or tails of the Latin text.

Flipping past griffins and unicorns and mermaids, I came across a page with an illustration of two men. One was drawn with an evil face, and the other had radiant lines around its head like it was shining. Its entry was entitled “Revenant: Bardia/Numa.”

I shook my head in amazement. Trust Papy to have a book illustrating a species of undead beings who are so meticulous about preserving their identity that they're completely unknown to the modern world.

A shiver of excitement ran down my spine as I tried to decrypt the short paragraph beneath the heading. But besides those first three words, I didn't recognize a thing. I felt like kicking myself for not taking more than a year of Latin in middle school. I pulled a sheet of paper from Papy's printer and carefully copied the text onto it. When I finished, I put the book back in its place, grabbed the Latin dictionary off Papy's reference shelf, and retreated to my bedroom.

Due to Latin's weird verb tenses and the fact that there seemed to be no order to where words appeared in a sentence, I worked on the short text for quite a while. Finally I had deciphered enough to understand that it defined revenants as immortals who are divided into the guardians of life—
bardia
—and the takers of life—
numa
. That both types are limited by the same rules of “death sleep” and “spirit walking.” That they take power from their human saves or kills. And that they are virtually impossible to destroy.

Well
,
nothing
new
there
, I thought with a pang of disappointment. Except for the term “bardia.” I wondered why the revenants didn't use it for themselves, since the word “numa” was obviously still current.

I looked back at my notes to translate a paragraph that had been written in smaller script at the bottom of the page. It was just two sentences, and I found them easier to decrypt than the rest, getting them pretty much word for word. As I deciphered them, I felt a chill creep through my body until, when I finished, my fingers felt numb.

“Woe to the human who encounters a revenant. For he has danced with death, being either delivered from or into its cold embrace.”

I shivered, and glanced toward the clock as I heard my grandparents return. Midnight. I would have to continue my research another day. But having already discovered something on the first try, I was determined to find more.

AND LIKE THAT, THE HOLIDAYS WERE OVER AND
I was back in school. Junior year had proven to be easy so far, and Georgia, in her last semester of high school, kept me from feeling lonely between classes. But the excitement of being with Vincent and the revenants made this facet of “real life” feel bland. School was just something I needed to get out of the way. I wasn't even thinking past graduation.

Georgia, however, had her future figured out. She would be starting a communications degree at the Sorbonne in the fall. And she had a new boyfriend, Sebastien, who not only
wasn't
an evil killer like her last boyfriend, but had no criminal record that I knew of and was actually really nice. Of course, he was in a band. But you couldn't be a nobody and date Georgia. Glamour and fame were her lowest common boyfriend denominators.

Georgia and I were on our way home after our post-holiday two-day school week and were passing the Café Sainte-Lucie when I heard someone shouting my name. I looked over to see Vincent in the café's front door, waving us over. “I hoped you would pass by,” he said. Folding my hand in his, he steered us through the crowded room, where I saw a table full of revenants in the corner.

“Hi,” I said, leaning in to give cheek-kisses to Ambrose and Jules as Vincent took two chairs from a nearby table and placed them between him and Violette.

“Georgia, meet Violette and Arthur.” I gestured toward the newcomers. “This is Georgia, my sister.”

Arthur nodded and stood formally, taking his seat again once Georgia had sat down.

“Let me guess,” Georgia said, gawking appreciatively at his gallantry. “If it weren't for that divinely handsome mask, you'd probably look like the crypt-keeper. What are you, like . . . pre-Napoleonic? Friends of Louis XIV?”

Violette gasped and placed a protective hand on Arthur's shoulder. Her shock was offset by his look of amusement.

Ambrose cracked up. “Keep going backward, Georgia. You'll get there in a couple hundred years.”

Georgia whistled, impressed. “It seems you have to hang with the geriatrics to find a true gentleman nowadays. Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

Violette's ivory complexion turned puce. “Am I mistaken, or does every human in Paris know of our identity?”

Vincent smiled his charming smile at her and said, “Georgia had the 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 of relief. “Can I sit here?” I asked, motioning to an armchair next to her. She smiled evenly and said, “Of course.”

“So . . .” I fished for a topic of conversation. “What have you and Arthur been doing for the last week?”

“We have been walking with the others—mainly Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard. They are introducing us to the territories of Paris. Arthur and I have been here before, but things have changed in the last century.”

Surreal conversation
, I thought for the millionth time. Although I was starting to get used to it.

“Is it weird to be away from your home?” I asked.

“Yes. We have lived in Langeais for a few centuries, so it does feel quite odd to have such a drastic change to one's routine. But, of course, it is for a good cause, helping Jean-Baptiste subdue the numa.”

She leaned in closer and spoke earnestly, as if what she was asking was important and confidential. “And you, Kate? How does it feel to be outside of the world
you
are used to—having fallen in with immortals? Do you ever wish you could go back to the normal life of a human girl?”

I shook my head. “No. That life was over for me anyway. At least, that's what it felt like. My parents died around a year ago. When I found Vincent”—or was it when he found me? I wondered—“I might as well have been dead too.”

“It is a strange choice for a beautiful, vibrant girl to spend her time with the undead.”

She really did sound like an old lady at times. “I feel accepted here,” I said simply.

Raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow, she nodded and then took my hand and squeezed it, in what felt like a gesture of solidarity. Girl-to-girl in a house full of men.

“Is everyone here?” Jean-Baptiste strode to the place of authority in front of the fire and looked around the room. “Good,” he said.

I felt someone touch my shoulder and looked up to see Vincent standing behind my chair. He gave me a sexy wink, and then fixed his attention on the older man.

“We all know about the drop-off in numa activity since Lucien's death. It's as if they've disappeared. But why? What could they be waiting for?”

“May I?” Gaspard asked, raising a trembling finger and facing us. “They've always been undisciplined in the past. Although Lucien was their leader, he could never seem to stop them from occasionally acting on individual initiatives. But, as we've mentioned, judging from their recent behavior, we suspect they may have a new leader—one who is actually able to keep them under control. And Violette has now confirmed that suspicion.” He waved a hand toward the revenant beside me, as if handing her the mic.

“I can not say that it is exactly ‘confirmed,'” Violette piped up. “But there have been rumors. My sources have mentioned a numa from overseas—from America, more specifically—who has begun positioning himself as an international leader.”

There were exclamations of surprise around the room. Ambrose spoke up. “I've never heard of something like this. I mean, we have our international Consortium, but the numa? I can't even imagine it. It's not in their nature to work together.”

Violette nodded. “I agree that
if
it is true, it is unprecedented. But from what I have heard, the numa in question was a man of great power during his lifetime. People trusted him with their fortunes, and he deceived them all, sending many to ruin and several to suicide.”

“How did he die then?” I asked.

“Killed in prison,” she replied simply.

“So what's this mean for us?” asked Jules. For once, his expression was serious.

Jean-Baptiste took the imaginary podium. “Violette has her sources, and we hope that they continue to feed her information. But we can begin to contact our kindred elsewhere to see if they have heard anything else on the matter.

“In the meantime, we should strengthen our defenses. Step up our surveillance. And, as I discussed with a couple of you, I am lifting the ban on offensive—” I felt Vincent's body tense behind me, and as Jean-Baptiste's eyes flitted to him, the older revenant stopped in the middle of his sentence, casting the room into an uncomfortable silence.

“May I interrupt at this point?” came a melodic voice from across the room. Everyone stared at its source. This was the first time I had heard Arthur speak: He was constantly brooding away in some corner, scribbling in a notebook. Everyone else seemed just as surprised by this uncharacteristic outburst.

Arthur shot a look at Violette, who clenched her jaw and glared at him.
Okay
, I thought,
this must have something to do with the argument I interrupted
.

“Perhaps I am stating the obvious, but we are discussing sensitive strategic information in the presence of one who is not of our kind.”

What?
The blood drained from my face as I felt everyone stealing glances my way. I stared at Arthur, but he avoided my eyes, smoothing a blond lock behind his ear, as if he needed to do something with his hands.

Vincent's hands clamped my shoulders like steel vises. I looked up to see that his face had turned to stone, and had a hunch that if revenant superpowers included shooting flames from their eyes, Arthur would be a revenant barbecue.

Everyone was silent, waiting. Arthur cleared his throat and glanced back toward Violette. Her tiny fingers clenched the arm of the couch, her fingernails digging into the leather.

“Although I allow that humans have interacted with us throughout history, except for the rarest of cases, like our own Geneviève's marriage, serious interaction with humans has always been on an employer-employee basis. I realize that this human has done you a service by killing your foe. But I must question her presence in a tactical meeting involving the protection and survival of our own.”

He might as well have slapped me in the face. Tears came unbidden to my eyes, and I wiped them angrily away. Within a second Jules and Ambrose were on their feet, facing Arthur like they were in some kind of gang rumble. Vincent pulled me back toward him as if he could physically protect me from Arthur's words.

Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Wait, kindred. Please hear me out. I do not know Kate as well as you, but I have seen her enough to know she is a good and trustworthy human.” He finally dared to meet my eyes, and his look was apologetic. I didn't care. Apology not accepted. “I am not suggesting that she is not welcome here among us,” he continued. “Only that she not be involved in this meeting. For her own safety, as well as our own.”

There was a cacophony of voices as everyone began speaking—or rather yelling—at once. Jean-Baptiste raised a hand and barked, “Silence!” He looked at each person in the room for a second, as if measuring their feelings in the matter, ending his silent inquisition with me. “Kate, my dear,” he said in his noble monotone, which made the “dear” sound anything but endearing, “forgive me for asking you to take your leave from this meeting.”