If I Should Die (7 page)

TWELVE

THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN, AND JULES RUSHED INTO
the room. “Just saw Gaspard,” he panted. “Is it true? Vincent's back?” He listened for a second, and then practically threw himself on me, talking to Vincent while simultaneously squeezing my breath out. “Oh, man, am I glad we got you back.”

I squeaked, “Jules! Oxygen!”

“Sorry, Kate,” he said, releasing me. “I'm just happy to see both of you, and you're the only one I can actually touch.”

I laughed as I smoothed my scrunched-up T-shirt. “That's okay.”

Bran, Jean-Baptiste, and Gaspard began talking in earnest about the prophecy, the Champion, and what could be done once he was identified. Jean-Baptiste looked away for a second and said, “Of course, Vincent. But come back before long. We need to ask you more about Violette and her plans.”

“They don't need us right now,” said Jules, his eyes sparkling like he had just won the lottery. “Vince, let's go to my room, okay?”

Vincent must have agreed, because Jules grabbed my hand and we were off, down the hall, up the double staircase and through a door next to the one leading to the roof terrace. I stood gawking at a room I had never seen. Jules's room was the attic. But instead of being the dark, musty kind it was suffused with sunlight streaming through a large frosted-glass window set in the ceiling.

Charcoal and pencil drawings filled the room, stacked on every surface and rolled up into tubes along the walls. A bed stood in one corner of the room with more drawings piled on it. The room had a musky, artsy smell, like cologne mixed with paper, ink, and pencil lead.

Jules led me to a garnet-colored velveteen couch under the skylight. “So how are you?” he asked. I paused, not sure who he was talking to. But the way he sat still, listening, I knew Vincent was answering his question.

“And you, Kate?” Jules asked, taking my hand.

“Fine. Thanks for texting with the non-update this morning. The last couple of days have been hellish.” I addressed the air. “Vincent, I was so worried about you.”

And I you
.

His words were like a caress. But they left me wanting more. “Are you okay? Did Violette hurt you?” I asked.

She couldn't do much worse than destroying my body—besides keeping me away from you
.

I began to speak, and then hesitated.

What?
Vincent asked.

“Does it feel weird to know you're not the Champion?” I asked carefully. “I mean, are you disappointed? Upset?”

There was a moment's silence and then Vincent said,
I couldn't be more relieved, to tell you the truth. If that had been the role fate dealt me, I would have embraced it. Done my best. But it was just one more thing that complicated matters for us. That made our situation even more precarious. So, thinking selfishly, I'm glad to see the title go to someone else.

Having heard my half of the conversation, Jules jumped in. “I never thought I'd say this, man, but I, for one, am glad you turned out to be just like the rest of us. Otherwise Violette would already be stomping around Paris like some kind of crossbreed numa Hulk. Although the present situation isn't exactly optimal.”

We were all quiet for a moment, and then I heard Vincent's words.
I would give anything to hold you right now
.

“Me too,” I whispered. Sadness crushed me as, once more, I realized that touching Vincent was something that would never happen again. I wrapped my arms protectively around myself.

Would it be okay . . .
Vincent paused.
Could I use Jules to hold you?

His words electrified me, striking me with conflicting emotions. I didn't want Jules. I wanted Vincent. But my need for him was so great that I was willing to compromise at this point. It just complicated things that Jules's flirting seemed like more than just lighthearted teasing at times. The thought of being physically close to him—like I wanted to be with Vincent—sounded a warning bell in my mind. What if he took things the wrong way?

If I were completely honest, I knew he had feelings for me. Then again, I suspected that he had similar feelings for half the female population of Paris.

Seeing the sudden curve of Jules's lips, I knew that Vincent had asked him the same thing. “So, Kate,” he said, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a full-on grin. “Will you accept me as surrogate hugger?” But his smile disappeared when he noticed my expression, and I knew his joking covered the same loss and pain I felt for his friend.

“Will I ever have you back again?” I asked the air.

You have me back,
mon ange
.

That wasn't what I had meant, and he knew it. I felt my eyes sting with tears.
We have a lot to think about,
came Vincent's words
, but for now let me hold you.

I nodded my assent, and Jules's body shuddered as if he had caught a sudden chill. And then it was as if two boys were staring out at me. The eyes of my loyal friend and the eyes of my true love both peered from behind Jules's boyish face. Unable to bear it, I looked away and leaned forward into his arms.

It felt like Vincent. The way he squeezed me tightly against himself. I knew his touch; it
was
Vincent. The exact pressure he used as he kneaded my back with his fingers—I knew those movements and they were Vincent's.

And it was my boyfriend's words speaking in his friend's voice as we held each other. “I was so afraid, Kate. I thought I would never see you again. That I would be bound for eternity to Violette and never be able to come back to you. That we would always be separated by a distance I couldn't cross.”

My words were like a river, flowing through my lips before wholly forming in my mind. “I missed you. I needed you. I was afraid you were gone.” I shifted my hands from the small of his back to his head, lacing my fingers through his hair and drawing him toward me. Pressing my lips to his, I kissed him while tears tripped down my cheeks and onto our mouths. I tasted salt as our kiss deepened.

It was the kiss I hadn't dared to dream of the past few nights. The kiss of finding each other again. Starting soft and growing more passionate, flooding my senses with the body of my love. His soft lips and warm mouth searching, exploring, finding me once again. His hands in my hair and his chest pressed hard against mine. The sound of his staggered breathing as his need for me became tangible through every inch of our touching skin. It felt like we were on the verge of consuming each other, body and spirit. That if we kept pushing toward each other we would actually mesh. Melt into one person.

Then I felt him flinch and I opened my eyes.

And though it was still Vincent looking out at me through the soft brown eyes, Jules was there too. I pulled back against my will, fighting my urge to ignore the facts and drown myself in the fiction. Running my fingers through his hair one last time, I disentangled myself from him and watched as a tremor shook Jules's body. Suddenly there was only one boy looking at me. And it wasn't affection in his eyes. It was pain.

I grabbed his hands and blurted, “I'm so sorry, Jules. I didn't mean to . . . I forgot who you . . .”

Jules pulled his hands from mine, and pressed his palms hard against his eyes. Breathing deeply, he leaned toward me, folding his arms across his chest. “Stop while you're still ahead, Kate, and I can take it as a compliment.” He attempted to rearrange his face into a carefree smile.

“No, really, Vince. You can use me as your sex puppet anytime, as long as it's with Kate,” he joked. My cheeks burned red with shame. I felt like crying but was too horrified to do anything but sit and watch Jules rise from the couch. He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned away from me hiding his distress. “Seriously, man . . . stop apologizing,” he said to the air. Crossing the room, he leaned on the windowsill and stared out through the glass.

I felt like I had parachuted out of a burning plane into an alien landscape: I had no points of reference—not even a clue which direction to walk in order to reach civilization.

After a few silent moments, Jules turned, and his face looked normal again. He walked up to me and ran a finger along my jawline from my ear to my chin, making me shudder. “I need to go,” he said softly. “But I don't want you to worry about this. As far as I'm concerned, it's forgotten. I'm glad I was here to help you two reconnect. You both mean everything to me.”

But as he left, his voice became gruff. “Where do you think I'm going?” he answered Vincent. “If it's not Guiliana, it'll be Francesca. Or Brooke. What do you care? You just stay here and make sure she's okay.” And then the door shut and Jules was gone.

THIRTEEN

“VINCENT?” I CALLED, UNSURE IF HE HAD FOLLOWED
Jules down the stairs.

I'm here, Kate
, came his words.

I put my head in my hands. “Okay, that was awful.”

Was it?

“I mean not awful in the oh-my-God-it-was-amazing-to-feel-like-I-was-touching-you way, but I . . . I couldn't help taking it further. It seemed like it was you.”

It
was
me. It was also unfortunately Jules.

“I didn't mean to kiss him.” I curled up into a ball on the couch, wrapping my arms around my knees. I wished I could rewind time by fifteen minutes and do a retake of the whole possessed kissing scene.

You meant to kiss me.

“Yes. You, not Jules. Oh my God, I practically mauled him.”

He didn't seem to mind much. And there is the fact that it stopped when it did.

I held my fingers to my burning cheeks to cool them down.

“I am
not
doing that again.”

I think that's probably a good decision.

“But then how can we . . .”

Don't worry,
mon ange
. Even though that wasn't a huge success . . .

“‘Total fail' is more like it.”

There are other ways that we can connect.

“Without actually connecting of course.” I paused, my blush flaring to sunburn intensity. “I mean . . . ,” I stammered, “I didn't mean in the anatomical sense. Although, yeah, I guess I kind of did.” I shook my head. “This is one of the most awkward conversations we've ever had.”

That's because it shouldn't have to be a conversation
.
Not a problem we have to solve. When we have to think practically about things like . . . how a ghost can make you feel like a flesh-and-blood boy could, it kind of strips away the seductive side of things.

I grinned, his words bringing some very interesting images to mind. “And just how does this ghost plan on making me feel like a flesh-and-blood boy could?” I was actually able to get the words out without wanting to bury myself in the couch cushions, probably because I was genuinely intrigued by what he thought was possible.

Well, since we blew my plan A sky high, you need to give me some more time to come up with a plan B. But, Kate . . .

“Yes, Vincent?” I said hesitantly. There was something about his “but” that made me nervous.

Plan A. Plan B. These are only temporary solutions. You and I can't really—
Vincent's pause stretched miles—
we can't be together like this,
mon amour.
You can't put up with having a spirit as a boyfriend for long. You need more. You deserve more.

“I don't want more, Vincent. I want you,” I said.

I can't touch you. Can't hold you in my arms. Bring you flowers. Row you down the Seine in a rowboat.

“I don't need that,” I insisted.

Kate, you're not listening to me. All I can do is talk to you.
He paused.
Can you feel this? Or this?

I felt nothing.

That was me touching your face and your hair. Don't you see, Kate? I can't be yours in any kind of real way.
But what I can promise you is that I will always be here for you, watching out for you, making sure you are safe. And happy.

A tar pit of anger began bubbling deep in my chest. “So you want me to find someone else? A human boy?”

That would be the best thing for you,
mon ange
. Someone who is flesh and blood. Who can give you a good life. A normal life.

“And you're just going to float around like my invisible bodyguard and watch me love someone else,” I prodded, trying to control my voice.

I'm not saying I'm going to like it. But I can't have you. And I can't leave you. What other choice do I have?

“That is total bullshit!” I yelled. “For one thing, who are you to say what's best for me? Maybe I don't want flesh and blood. Maybe I don't want a normal life. Maybe I still have hope that there is some way of having a life with
you
. Violette found that arcane binding spell. Maybe there are other spells out there that we don't know about. You're giving up before we even start to look for answers.

“So don't go telling me what I'm going to do. What I'm going to feel. Even if you have my heart, I've still got my brain. And I am going to keep using it to find a solution, damn it!”

I sat there fuming, wishing I could see where Vincent was so that I could stare him down. There was silence for a good long moment, and then I heard something that sounded like laughter. “You better the hell not be laughing at me,” I growled.

I'm not laughing at you,
chérie, came his voice, which sounded muffled by an effort to sound serious.

“You are totally laughing at me, Vincent Delacroix.”

It's just that you're so cu . . . I mean incredibly attractive and seductive . . . when you get angry and curse
, he replied, stifling serious laughter.

My anger melted in a second, and I couldn't repress a smile. “Vincent, you are seriously impossible,” I muttered, and then started laughing myself. I flopped back onto the couch grinning irrepressibly as I heard his laughter bubble forth in my mind.

Stretching out, I laid my head on a cushion and, kicking off my shoes, pulled a cashmere throw up to my shoulders. I waited to see if Vincent would talk first, but he seemed to be fine with just hovering. “Are you still there?” I asked finally.

I am as close to you as I can possibly be
.

I hugged the cushion tightly and wished it were him.

Vincent was quiet for a long time after that. I savored the silence, knowing that he was near. When I closed my eyes I could imagine his lean muscular form stretched beside me. After a while it seemed so real, I could almost feel the weight of his arm draped over me and his head nestled next to mine. He was like the ghost lover in one of those tragic Victorian stories. But unlike the swooning, fainting heroines of those tales, I felt empowered by my resolve that tragedy would not be our fate.