Die for Me (10 page)

Paris disappeared. The rippling of waves beneath us, the hum of the cars passing on either side of the river, the whisperings of the couples passing us hand in hand . . . they all disappeared, and Vincent and I were the only people left on earth.

SOMETHING RUSTLED AT THE FOOT OF MY BED
. I forced one eye open, and through the haze of an interrupted dream, I saw my sister perched on the edge of my mattress. She looked way too overexcited for this time of the morning. Or was it still night? Raising one eyebrow, she commanded, “Tell me all!” and then, ripping back the covers that I threw over my head, attempted to sound severe. “If you don't, I won't allow you to see him again.”

Moaning, I wiped my eyes blearily and propped myself up on my elbows. “What time is it?” I yawned, noticing that Georgia was fully dressed.

“You've got exactly fifteen minutes to get ready for school. I let you sleep in.”

I looked over at my clock and saw that she was right. Panicking, I threw off my blankets and began leaping around the room, grabbing a bra and panties out of a drawer and digging through a stack of clean clothes sitting folded on a chair. “I thought that after getting in so late, you might need the extra sleep,” she cooed.

“Thanks a lot, Georgia,” I groaned, slipping a clean red T-shirt over my head and rummaging through my closet for a pair of jeans. And then, having a sudden flashback to the previous night, I sank into a sitting position on the bed. “Oh my God,” I said as I felt my lips forming a reveal-all dreamy smile.

“What happened? Did he kiss you?”

My glowing face must have said it all, because my sister jumped up and said, “That's it, I have to meet him!”

“Stop, Georgia, you're embarrassing me. Give me some time to figure out if I even like the guy,” I said as I stuck my feet through the pant legs and stood to shimmy them up my hips.

“We've gone over this before,” my sister said, grabbing me by the shoulder and scanning my face for one searching second. “And I'm sorry to inform you, Katie-Bean, but from the look of things, it's way too late for that.” And she pranced out of the room, laughing and clapping her hands.

“Glad to provide the morning's entertainment,” I grumbled, and leaned over to speed-tie my shoelaces.

The day passed quickly—I fell into a dreamlike state as soon as I sat down in each class, and spent the hours musing about the previous evening. It seemed too good to be true: Vincent confessing his feelings for me by the river, the candlelit dinner, and then . . . my heart lurched every time I thought of the kiss on the Pont des Arts. And of how after that Vincent drove me home and gave me another kiss, short but stunningly tender, in front of my building.

The look of total devotion that I had seen in his eyes as he took me in his arms had shaken me. I hadn't known whether to be afraid of it or respond in kind. But I couldn't let myself reciprocate. I wasn't ready to let my guard down.

At lunch I turned my phone on to check my messages. Georgia always sent me a few inane texts during the day, and sure enough there were two messages from her: one complaining about her physics teacher and a second, also obviously sent from her phone:
I love you, baby. V.

I wrote her back:

I thought I told you to buzz off last night, you creep-o French stalker guy.

Her response came back immediately:

As if! Your beet-red cheeks this morning suggest otherwise . . . liar! You're so into him.

I groaned and was about to turn my phone off when I saw that there was a third text from
UNKNOWN
. Clicking on it, I read:
Can I pick you up from school? Same place, same time?

I texted back:
How'd you get my number?

Called myself from your phone while you were in the restaurant's bathroom last night. Warned you we were stalkers!

I laughed, and thanked my lucky stars that revenants couldn't read minds, although I'd have to remember to watch what I did on the days he was floating around town as an all-seeing spirit.

Yes x 3. See you then
, I wrote, and for the rest of the day gave up all pretense of paying attention in class.

He was waiting for me when I walked out the gates. My heart rate accelerated as I saw him casually leaning against a tree near the bus stop. I couldn't prevent a huge smile from spreading across my face.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, handing me a helmet as I approached the Vespa. He pulled his glasses off and leaned forward to kiss me on either cheek. And that insignificant gesture that is repeated dozens of times a day in France—every time you say hello or good-bye, every time you are introduced to someone, or run into a friend—those two little pecks that make up the
bises
all of a sudden assumed an entirely different meaning for me.

In what felt like slow motion, Vincent's cheek touched my own, at which point my lungs forgot how to work. He pulled back slightly, and our eyes met as he leaned toward my other cheek and brushed his lips gently against my skin. I opened my mouth to inhale, attempting to send some oxygen to my brain.

“Hmm,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “That was interesting.” His smile was infectious, and I found myself laughing as I took the helmet from his hands and put it over my head, grateful for the chance to hide my face while I composed myself.

“Since it is unseasonably cold today, I was wondering if you'd be up for some of the best hot chocolate in Paris,” he said as he swung his leg over the bike.

“So now you're seducing schoolgirls with promises of chocolate? You're a bad man, Vincent Delacroix,” I laughed as he started the motor.

“So what does that make you for accepting my offer?” he yelled over the noise of the Vespa as we pulled away.

“Intentionally gullible,” I said, wrapping my arms around his warm body and closing my eyes in delight.

THAT NIGHT GEORGIA CORNERED ME IN MY ROOM
after dinner. “So where'd you disappear to after school? I was waiting for you.”

“Vincent picked me up after school and took me to Les Deux Magots.”

Georgia's eyes widened. “You've seen him two days in a row?”

“Well, today doesn't really count, being all of fifteen minutes. I had to rush since I have a test tomorrow to study for.”

“Doesn't matter! Holy cow, this is getting serious!” She made herself comfortable on the end of my bed. “So. Tell me about this ex-criminal mystery man.”

“Well,” I said, grasping for things I could actually say. “He's a student.”

“Where?”

“Um, I actually don't know.”

Georgia looked at me doubtfully. “What's he studying?”

“Ah . . . literature? I think,” I ventured.

“You don't know what he's studying, either? Well, what do you guys talk about?”

“Oh, just other stuff. You know. Art. Music.”
The undead. Immortality. Evil zombies.
There was no way I could tell Georgia anything about him.

Georgia stared me down for a moment and then snapped, “Fine. If you don't want to tell me about him, that's okay. You don't know much about
my
life either, but it's not for my lack of trying to include you. I've stopped asking you out because I know you'll say no.”

“Okay, Georgia. Who are you seeing?”

My sister shook her head. “I don't give you information if you don't give me any either.”

I reached out for her hand and pled, “Georgia, I'm not intentionally trying to exclude you from my life. You know I've a hard time with . . . well, everything. But I'm finally getting back on my feet, and I promise to make more of an effort.”

“Then you'll come out with me this weekend?”

I paused. “Okay.”

“With Vincent?”

“Um . . .”

Georgia shot me a look that said,
See?

“Okay, okay. We'll go out with Vincent. But not clubbing, Georgia, please.”

Georgia's black mood transformed instantly, and she bounced gleefully on my bed. “No club. Fine. How about a restaurant?”

“Sure. I'll check to see if he's around.”
More like, if he's alive.

“Call him now.”

“Some privacy, please?”

“Okay,” Georgia conceded, leaning over and giving me a kiss on my forehead. She walked to the door, and then turned. “Thanks, sis. Really. It'll be good to have you back.”

The streetlights were just coming on as we walked up to the subway station. Vincent and Ambrose, who had been leaning back against the magazine kiosk and chatting, straightened up when they saw us. My heart melted into a soppy mess as Vincent walked up and kissed my cheeks, and then, turning to Georgia, gave her his most dashing smile. “And you must be Kate's legal guardian . . . I mean, sister. Georgia, right?”

Georgia laughed and exclaimed flirtatiously, “Well, just look at you! Katie sure knows how to choose 'em!” She looked like she wanted to stay right there all night, staring into his eyes.

“Georgia!” I exclaimed, shaking my head.

Ignoring me, Georgia looked over Vincent's shoulder at Ambrose and gave him a flirty wink. “Don't worry, Katie-Bean. Looks like Vincent has brought someone along to keep me busy. And you would be . . .”

“Ambrose. Enchanted to meet Kate's lovely sister,” he said in French, giving me a sideways glance. I understood. If she knew he was American, she'd start asking questions. Maybe too many questions, although I was sure he was used to making up cover stories. “So where are you taking us, ladies?”

“I thought we'd go to a little restaurant I know in the fourteenth arrondissement,” she said.

Vincent and Ambrose gave each other a fleeting look, just as Georgia's phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, and turned to answer the call.

“Not our favorite neighborhood,” said Ambrose in a low voice.

“Why?” I asked.

“It's kind of ‘their' turf. You know, those people I was telling you about. The ‘other team,'” Vincent said, glancing up to make sure Georgia hadn't heard.

“What can they do to us outside, in a busy neighborhood, with two humans along?” asked Ambrose. He stared off into space for a second and then nodded his head and turned to me. “Jules said to tell you, ‘Hi, beautiful.'”

“Hey, watch it!” Vincent said.

“He says, ‘Whatcha going to do about it?'” Ambrose said, poking Vincent.

“Jules is volant . . . here? Right now?” I said in amazement.

“Yeah,” Vincent said. “We're not on official business tonight, of course, but he insisted on coming along. Said he didn't want to miss out on all the fun.”

“Can I talk to him?” I asked.

“When we're volant we can be heard only by other revenants—not humans. So Jules can hear what you say out loud, but he can only respond through me or Ambrose,” Vincent said. “But you'll want to be careful.” He gestured toward Georgia, who was getting off the phone.

“Too bad,” she said. “I had a couple of friends who were going to join us, but they're not able to come.”

“Shall we?” asked Ambrose, holding his arm out formally for Georgia to take. She laughed delightedly, draping her arm through his, and they headed down the stairs.

Once they were out of earshot I said, “Hi, Jules!”

Vincent laughed and said, “Looks like someone's got a bit of a crush.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Jules wants me to tell you that it's a shame you have to fall for someone as boring as myself. He wishes he could take my place and show you how well an older man can treat a lady.” He talked back to the air. “Yeah, right, buddy. What are you, like twenty-seven years older than me? Well, at the moment we're both nineteen, so back off.”

I did a quick mental calculation. Jules had told me he was born at the end of the nineteenth century. So Vincent must have been born in the 1920s. I smiled as I pocketed that information for later. If Vincent wouldn't tell me anything, maybe I could figure some of it out for myself.

We got out of the subway near the sprawling Montparnasse Cemetery and walked up a pedestrian-only street that was packed with bars and cafés. We stopped in front of a restaurant that had a crowd of about twenty people standing around outside. “This is it!” Georgia said enthusiastically.

“Georgia, look how many people are waiting. It'll take forever before we can get a table.”

“Have some faith in your big sis,” she said. “A friend of mine works here. I bet I can get us a table right away.”

“Go ahead. We'll wait for you out here,” I said, leading Vincent and Ambrose across the street and out of the crowd. We leaned up against a closed shop front and watched as Georgia worked her way through the swarm of people.

“Your description of her was right on the nose.” Vincent smiled as he put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder affectionately.

“My sister, the phenomenon,” I said, enjoying the hug.

Ambrose stood on the other side of me, watching the crowd and nodding to some rhythm in his head, when suddenly he stopped and looked hard at Vincent. “Vin, Jules said he sees the Man in the neighborhood. Just a few blocks away.”

“Does he know we're here?” Vincent asked.

Ambrose shook his head. “Don't think so.”

Vincent pulled his arm away and said, “Kate, we've got to get out of here. Now.”

“But Georgia!” I said, looking toward the glass door. I could see my sister inside, chatting with the hostess.

“I'll get her,” said Vincent, and began pushing his way through the crowd.

Just then, two men who had been walking past bumped hard into Ambrose, pushing him violently against the wall. He groaned and tried to grab for them, but the men dodged him and walked quickly away as he slumped to the ground.

“Hey! Stop!” I shouted at them, as they turned a corner. “Someone stop them!” I yelled at the crowd of people across the street. People turned and looked in the direction I was pointing, but the men had disappeared from view. The whole thing had happened so quickly that no one had even noticed.

“Vincent!” I called over the crowd. Vincent turned and, seeing my alarm, began to work his way back to me.

“Ambrose, are you okay?” I said, squatting down next to him. “Did that guy . . . ,” I began, but stopped, seeing that his shirt was ripped from his neck to his chest and drenched in blood. He wasn't moving.

Oh, please help him not be dead,
I thought.

I had seen more violence in the last year than I had in my entire life. I asked, not for the first time,
Why me?
Teenage girls aren't supposed to be on such familiar terms with mortality, I reasoned bitterly, while a feeling of panic rose from the pit of my stomach. I knelt next to his motionless form. “Ambrose, can you hear me?”

Someone began walking over to us from the crowd. “Hey, is he okay?”

Just then Ambrose shuddered and, leaning forward on both hands, began lifting himself off the ground. As he rose, he closed his jacket, effectively hiding the blood on his shirt, although there was already a pretty big puddle on the ground. “Oh my God, Ambrose, what happened?” I asked. I put out an arm to support him, and he leaned heavily on me.

“Not Ambrose. It's Jules.” The words came from Ambrose's lips, but his eyes stared blindly ahead.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Vincent finally reached us. “It's Ambrose,” I said. “He got stabbed or shot or something. And he's delirious. He just told me he was Jules.”

“We have to get him out of here before they come back with reinforcements for his body,” Vincent said to me in a low voice, and then said more loudly, “He's fine, he's fine . . . thanks!” to the small group of people who were now coming to our aid. He grasped one of Ambrose's arms and draped it around his shoulder.

“But what about Georgia?” I gasped.

“Whoever did this saw you standing with Ambrose. It's too dangerous for you here.”

“I can't leave my sister,” I said, turning to make my way through the crowd to get her.

Vincent grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him. “She was inside the restaurant when they attacked. She's safe. Come with me!” he commanded, and I took Ambrose's other arm and pulled it across my back. He was walking, but seemed very weak. We got to the end of the block, and Vincent hailed a taxi and maneuvered us inside before slamming the door. I peered down the street as we pulled away. No sign of Georgia.

“Is he okay?” asked the driver, looking in his rearview mirror and checking out the massive man slumped over in his backseat.

“Drunk,” Vincent responded simply, pulling off his sweater as he spoke.

“Well, make sure he doesn't throw up in my cab,” the man said, shaking his head in disgust.

“What happened?” Vincent asked me quietly in English, glancing up to see if the driver could understand. He handed his sweater to Ambrose, who unzipped his jacket and stuck it under his shirt. He leaned his head against the seat in front of him.

“We were just standing there when two guys shoved him up against the wall. They ran off before I even knew what was happening.”

“Did you see who did it?” he asked.

I shook my head.

Ambrose said, “It was two of
them
. I didn't see it happening ahead of time or I would have warned you.”

“It's okay, Jules,” Vincent said, placing his hand reassuringly on Ambrose's back.

“Why did you just call him Jules?”

“Ambrose isn't in there. It's Jules,” Vincent said.

“What? How?” I asked, gripped by horror as I jerked away from the slumping form next to me.

“Ambrose is either unconscious or . . . dead.”

“Dead,” responded Ambrose.

“Is he going to . . . come back to life?” I asked, horrified.

“The cycle resets when we're killed. Day one of our dormancy starts the second we die. Don't worry—Ambrose will reanimate in three days.”

“So what is Jules doing? Possessing him?”

“Yes. He wanted to get Ambrose out of there before our enemies could come back and take the body.”

“You can do that, I mean, possess someone?”

“Other revenants, yeah, under certain circumstances.”

“Like?”

“Like if their body's still in good enough shape to move.” Seeing my bewilderment, he clarified. “If they're in one piece. And rigor mortis hasn't set in.”

“Eww.” I grimaced.

“You asked!” He glanced up at the driver who, judging by his lack of interest, was oblivious to the gist of our conversation.

“How about humans?” I asked.

“If they're alive, yes, but only with their permission. And taking into consideration that it's very dangerous for a human's mental state to have two minds active in there at once,” he said, tapping his forehead. “They'd go insane if it went on for long.”

I shuddered.

“Don't think about it, Kate. It rarely ever happens. It's just something we do in the most extreme situations. Like this one.”

“What . . . am I creeping you out, my darling Kates?” the words came from Ambrose's lips.

“Yes, Jules,” I responded, wrinkling my nose. “I can honestly say that I am completely creeped out right now.”

“Cool,” he said, a smile forming on Ambrose's lips.

“Jules, bad time to joke around,” Vincent said.

“Sorry, man. It's not often I get to do magic tricks for a human, though.”

“Can you just concentrate on slowing down the bleeding if at all possible? This driver's going to freak if we mess up his backseat,” Vincent whispered.