Until I Die (2 page)

“And more worryingly there have also been absolutely no numa sightings by our kindred. They haven't abandoned Paris. But the fact that they are avoiding us on such a thorough basis is so egregiously out of character for our old foes that we can only surmise that they have a plan. Which also means that they must have a leader.”

This was a revelation to the group in the room: Their patient expressions suddenly changed to looks of consternation. Whispering began among a few, but Vincent's steady gaze toward the speaker told me that he was already privy to this information.
Jean
-
Baptiste's
second
, I thought with a mix of wonder and uneasiness. I couldn't wait to get Vincent on his own so I could quiz him about it.

Jean-Baptiste silenced the discussions with more spoon clinking on his glass. “Kindred, please.” Once again, the room fell silent. “We all know that Nicolas was Lucien's second. But surely, considering his short temper and love of ostentatious gestures, if he had taken over we would have heard something by now. Silence is our clue that someone else has assumed control. And if we don't know who we are up against, or when and where their eventual attack will come from, how can we prepare our defense?”

The murmuring started back up. This time Jean-Baptiste's raised voice quieted the crowd. “AND SO . . . in the face of a
potential
critical situation, we are honored to have the assistance of the person who knows more about our history and that of the numa than anyone else in this room. The person regarded as the most knowledgeable among our kindred in France, and an influential figure in our worldwide Consortium. She has offered to help us investigate the problem at hand and plan our strategy for self-defense, or—if necessary—a preemptive strike.

“Without further ado, I introduce to those of you who haven't had the opportunity to make her acquaintance, Violette de Montauban and her companion, Arthur Poincaré. We are honored to have them join our house during the absence of Charlotte and Charles.”

From behind Jean-Baptiste stepped a couple I had never seen before. The girl's snow-white complexion was set off by black hair that was pulled back from her face with a bunch of vivid purple flowers. She was tiny and fragile-looking, like a sparrow. And though she looked younger than me, I knew that for a revenant that didn't mean a thing.

The boy moved in a distinctly old-fashioned style, stepping up to her side and holding his arm out for her to take it with the tips of her fingers. He was probably around twenty, and if his streaky blond hair hadn't been tied back into a tight ponytail and his face so clean-shaven, he would have looked exactly like Kurt Cobain. With a major case of blue-blood.

They bowed formally to Jean-Baptiste and turned toward the room, solemnly nodding their acceptance of the enthusiastic welcome. The girl's eyes paused on me and continued to Vincent, who was standing behind me with his hand resting on my hip. Her eyes narrowed slightly before moving on to scan the crowd, and then, seeing someone she knew, she stepped forward to chat. Jean-Baptiste followed her cue and began talking to a woman standing next to him.

The speech seemingly over, I searched for Charlotte to gauge her reaction to her replacements' presentation. Their introduction during the twins' party must have been a last-minute decision.

Charlotte stood at the back of the room with Ambrose, who had his arm draped securely around her shoulders. I guessed that the support he was giving was both physical and moral. Although she didn't look surprised, it looked like her smile was costing her a lot of effort.

“I'm going to go talk to Charlotte,” I murmured to Vincent.

“Good idea,” he said, casting a worried glance at her. “I'll make sure Charles is holding up.” He leaned over to kiss my temple and then, straightening, walked away.

I set off toward Charlotte. “Just wondering if you wanted to go outside for a breath of fresh air,” I said.

“I would love that,” she said, and reaching for my hand, she transferred herself from Ambrose's custodianship to mine. Not for the first time, I wondered how she was going to hold out in the south of France—a whole nine-hour drive away from her support system. I didn't doubt Charlotte's strength. She had certainly been a solid shoulder for me to lean on. But now that she needed her friends the most, she was being forcibly separated from them.

We grabbed our coats on the way out and stepped into the bracing December air. The moon lit up the courtyard, illuminating its large marble fountain, which contained a life-size statue of an angel holding a woman in his arms. It was an image I never failed to compare to Vincent and me. In my eyes, the personal symbolism it held was as weighty as the stone it was carved from.

Charlotte and I sat down on the edge of its empty basin and huddled against each other for warmth. I looped my arm through hers and pulled her close. Getting close to Charlotte had helped me ignore the guilt of cutting off my friends back in New York. During the very worst period of my grieving for my parents, I had deleted my email address and hadn't contacted them since.

“Did you know that your”—I hesitated, searching for a word less offensive than “replacements”—“that Violette and Arthur were coming today?”

Charlotte nodded. “Jean-Baptiste told me yesterday. He said he didn't want me to feel like he was in a rush to replace us. But Violette offered to come, and he needs her. I can't help but feel bad about it anyway. You know . . . unwanted. Like I'm being punished.”

“Even if it feels like a punishment, which Jean-Baptiste has assured everyone it
isn't
, you're not the one who's being sent away. It's Charles who messed up, no matter how unintentionally.” I squeezed her arm in support. “Jean-Baptiste's rationale does make sense. If something big is going on with the numa, this would be a dangerous time for Charles to be here in the middle of it, indecisive and confused. Plus, he said
you
could stay if you wanted.”

“I can't live without Charles,” she said mournfully. “He's my twin. We've been through everything together.”

I nodded. I understood. We had a lot in common, Charlotte and I . . . if you didn't take our mortality into account. Both of us had experienced the death of our parents. We were both left with only a sibling to link us to our former lives. I had my grandparents, of course, but my sister felt like the last remaining thread that connected me to reality. Although the meaning of the word “reality” had radically changed for me in the last few months.

“So do you know the new guys?” I asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I've never met them, but everyone's heard of them. They're part of the ‘old guard.' If you think Jean-Baptiste's old, they're ancient. Although they're just as aristocratic as him.”

“Yeah, that's pretty obvious,” I laughed. “Violette looks like she died really young.”

Charlotte smiled. “Fourteen. Her father was a marquis or something, and she was a lady-in-waiting to Anne of Brittany. She died saving the young queen's life during a kidnapping attempt.”

“Queen Anne? That makes her practically medieval!” I racked my brain for names and dates from my French history classes, but Charlotte beat me to the punch.

“She died right around 1500.”

“Holy cow. She's more than a half a millennium old!”

Charlotte nodded thoughtfully.

“How about Arthur?”

“He's from the same era. They actually knew each other in life. He was one of her father's counselors, I think. In any case, they both reek of courtliness. She and Arthur live in a medieval castle in the Loire Valley, where I'm sure they feel right at home.” There was a bitter tone in Charlotte's voice. It sounded like she wished they would go back to their château and leave us all alone.

“Their coming here is like a dream come true for JB. They've been around so long they're like living encyclopedias. Kind of like Gaspard times ten. And Violette's known all over the world for being the expert on revenant history. She knows more about the numa than anyone. Which makes her the perfect candidate for helping JB strategize.” She shrugged as if that conclusion were obvious.

The creaking sound of the front door opening interrupted us. We turned our heads to see the topic of our conversation, her nobility so tangible it was like a cloud of expensive perfume suspended in the cold winter air.

“Hello,” Violette said. Her voice mixed the high pitch of a little girl's with an older woman's self-assurance. This creepy discrepancy quickly disappeared as her rosebud lips curved up into a friendly smile that was so infectious, I couldn't help but smile back.

Bending over, she gave us the regulation kiss on the cheeks, and then stood. “I would like to present myself. Violette de Montauban.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Charlotte, studying her shoes as if the silver strappy heels held the answer to the universe, and might just reveal it if she stared hard enough.

“You must be Charlotte,” Violette said, acting as if she hadn't noticed the brush-off, “and you”—she turned to me—“you must be Vincent's human.”

The sound that burst from my mouth was a half sputter, half laugh. “Um, I actually have a name. I'm Kate.”

“Of course, how silly of me. Kate.” She turned her attention back to Charlotte, who still refused to meet her gaze. “I'm sorry if our sudden arrival has caused you distress,” Violette said, accurately reading Charlotte's body language. “I was afraid it might come across as unduly insensitive myself, but once I offered our services, Jean-Baptiste insisted that Arthur and I come with the greatest of haste.”

“‘Greatest of haste'? You don't get out much, do you?” said Charlotte rudely.

“Charlotte!” I reproached, nudging her with my elbow.

“That's okay,” Violette laughed. “No, Arthur and I keep to ourselves. I spend most of my time with my nose in old books. And as guardians-in-residence of the Château de Langeais, we don't, as you say, ‘get out very much.' I'm afraid that is apparent in my mode of speech.”

“If you're never around humans, how do you integrate enough to save them?” Charlotte said, visibly trying to temper her bitterness.

“As I'm sure you're aware, the longer we are revenants, the less compulsion we have to die. I was nearing sixty when I spoke with Jean-Baptiste a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I managed to save a few gypsy children playing on the train tracks, and Arthur rescued a hunter from an attack by a pack of wild boar. So we're refreshed and ready for the job ahead of us. But that's the most animation”—she paused to smile at her pun—“we've seen for decades.”

I shivered, not from the cold but from the thought that this young girl had recently looked the age of her own grandmother—that is, if her grandmother weren't already lying around mummified somewhere. And now here she was, younger than me. Although I should be used to it, the whole revenant concept of reanimating at the age you first died was still hard for me to wrap my head around.

Violette studied Charlotte's face for another second, and then touched her arm with an elegant finger. “I don't have to stay in your room if you don't wish me to. Jean-Baptiste offered me the guest room if I preferred. Your taste in decorating is, of course, much more appealing to me than his penchant for dark leather upholstery and antler chandeliers.”

Charlotte couldn't keep herself from laughing. Reaching out toward Violette, she took her hand and stood to face the ancient adolescent. “I'm sorry. This is just a really hard time for me and Charles. I consider these kindred my family, and the fact that we have to leave them during a crisis is literally killing me.”

I stifled a smile. Charlotte noticed and grinned. “Okay, not literally. You know what I mean.”

Violette leaned toward Charlotte and, opening her arms, gracefully wrapped them around her. “Everything will be okay. Arthur and I will look after your kindred for you, and the present difficulties will be over before you know it.”

Charlotte returned her hug, a bit stiffly since the younger girl was standing as if she was wearing a corset. But it seemed like peace had been made between the two. I couldn't help but wonder if Charles was faring as well.

ONE OF THE BALLROOM WINDOWS SWUNG OPEN,
and Vincent leaned out looking like an old-fashioned movie star in his vintage tuxedo. “Ladies, it's almost midnight. And I, for one, hoped not to have to resort to kissing Gaspard when the clock strikes twelve.” He grinned and looked over his shoulder at the older man, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in despair.

Violette, Charlotte, and I made our way back to the room just as the guests began the New Year's countdown. The air practically crackled with excitement. Considering how many times some of these people had celebrated New Year's Eve, I found it intriguing that they hadn't tired of it long ago. Humans saw it as the beginning of a fresh new year: one of only several dozen that fate would allot them. But with revenants' unlimited number of fresh new beginnings, it was curious that they would treat this as a special day.

Vincent was waiting for me by the door and swept me into his arms as the counting continued. “So what do you think of our first New Year's Eve together?” he asked, looking at me like I was his own personal miracle. Which, funnily, was exactly how I felt about him.

“I've had so many firsts lately, it feels like I swapped my old life for a brand-new one,” I said.

“Is that a good thing?”

In response, as the counting reached “one,” I pulled his head to mine and he wrapped me tightly in his arms. Our lips met, and as we kissed something inside me pulled and tugged until I felt my heart was going to burst. With a drowsy, eyes-half-closed smile, Vincent whispered, “Kate. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Well, I'm here because of you,” I whispered.

He looked at me quizzically.

“You saved me from my darkest place.”

I wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if I hadn't met Vincent and emerged from the prison of crippling grief that I'd been locked inside after my parents' fatal car crash. I would probably still be curled up in a fetal position on my bed at my grandparents' house if he hadn't been there to show me that there was a very good reason to go on living. That life could be beautiful again.

“You saved yourself,” he murmured. “I was just there to lend a hand.”

He swooped me up into an eternal hug. I closed my eyes and let his affection soak through me like honey.

Finally releasing him, I held his hand and leaned my head on his shoulder as we took in the scene around us. In the flickering candlelight, Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard stood proudly side by side at the front of the room, their elbows practically touching in their yes-we're-the-hosts-of-this-grand-event pose. Gaspard leaned over to whisper something conspiratorially, and Jean-Baptiste responded with a loud guffaw. The tenseness created by his speech had all but disappeared in the romance of the enchanted evening.

Ambrose was hugging a delighted Charlotte, holding her like a rag doll about a foot off the ground in his tree-trunk arms. Jules stood near the bar, watching me and Vincent. When my eyes caught his, he puckered his lips and gave me a sarcastic air-kiss, before turning to the sultry young revenant talking to him. Violette was standing next to Arthur, her head leaned affectionately against his upper arm as they surveyed the crowd. And I noticed several other couples among the revenants who were hugging or kissing.

Some do find love
, I thought.

Charlotte had told me that Ambrose and Jules were players, dating human girls but never getting serious with anyone. Jean-Baptiste didn't exactly encourage revenant/human relationships—he banned all human “lovers,” as he put it, from the house. Besides a few police officers and ambulance drivers the revenants had in their pocket—and a few other human employees like Jeanne, whose families had worked for Jean-Baptiste for generations—I was the only outsider who had been taken into their confidence
and
allowed into their home.

Since the enforced secrecy of their existence pretty much ruled out the possibility of their dating a human, finding someone among their own kind was the only possibility for love. And, as Charlotte had said, there weren't a lot of revenants around to choose from.

An hour later the crowd began thinning, and I told Vincent I was ready to go home. “We have to wait for Ambrose,” he said, draping my coat around my shoulders. My heart fell a little. I had been dying to ask him about being Jean-Baptiste's second and the whole “Champion” thing. But it looked like that would have to wait, since I doubted he would want to discuss it in front of Ambrose. Jules was right about Vincent's modesty. Bragging wasn't his style.

“Do I need two bodyguards?” I joked as we headed out the front door toward the gate.

“Three,” Ambrose responded. “We've got Henri, an old friend of Gaspard's, along playing guard-ghost.”

“Oh, right.
Bonjour
, Henri,” I said out loud, thinking,
Okay, that felt weird
.

As I had learned a few months ago, for three days each month the revenants returned to a dead state, which they called being “dormant.” The first of those days they might as well be stone-cold dead. But for the next forty-eight hours their minds were awake and could travel. This was being “volant.” When they were out looking for humans to save, revenants walked in pairs accompanied by a volant spirit who, seeing a few minutes into the future, could tell them what was about to happen nearby.

“All this security for me?” I said, smiling as I took the arms of my two embodied escorts. “I thought Gaspard said I was getting better at fighting.”

“Ambrose and Henri are here for my safety as much as for yours,” Vincent reassured me. “Tonight might be the moment the numa finally decide to attack. It would make tactical sense, with most of Paris's revenants grouped together in one building. But even if they don't, there are enough drunk weirdos wandering around on New Year's Eve to make things interesting.” Vincent smiled his crooked smile and pressed a button next to the gate.

The automatic lights flicked on, and I looked up and waved at the security camera. If anyone ever bothered to look at the video, they would see me wearing an evening dress worthy of a red carpet, accompanied by two handsome men in tuxedos.
Not bad
, I thought,
for a girl who never had a real date until a few months ago!

The moon was like a spotlight, casting molten silver onto the leaves of the ancient trees lining Paris's streets. Couples in formal dresses and suits made their way home from their own celebrations, giving the town a festive, holiday feel. The mouth-watering smell of baking pastry dough wafted from a
boulangerie
whose pastry chef was conscientious enough to stick to his early-morning baking hours on a holiday. Danger was the very last thing on my mind as I squeezed Vincent's arm.

But a couple of blocks from my house, the casual manner of my companions suddenly changed. I glanced around, failing to notice anything dubious, but both were on the alert. “What is it?” I asked, watching Vincent's features harden.

“Henri's not sure. Numa would be heading straight for us, but these guys are acting weird,” he said, exchanging a glance with Ambrose. They immediately picked up the pace. We jogged across the avenue, my high heels making me decisively more wobbly than my usual Converses would have. As we headed down a side street toward my grandparents' building, I wondered what would happen if we were set upon by the revenants' enemies.

“Numa wouldn't do anything in public, would they?” I asked breathlessly, yet remembering how a couple of them had stabbed Ambrose outside a restaurant a few months earlier.

“We never fight in front of humans . . . if we can help it,” said Ambrose. “Neither do the numa. Our secret status would be a bit compromised if we started pulling out battle-axes left and right in front of mortal witnesses.”

“But why? It's not like people are going to hunt you down and destroy you.”

“The human radar isn't the only one we want to stay off,” he continued, one of his long strides matching two of my own. “Like I said, there are others—and no, I'm not going into a discussion of which supernaturals actually exist outside of fantasy novels. We all have our own code of honor, you know.”

“Henri says that whatever they are, they're headed this way,” Vincent said, his grave tone erasing all further questions from my mind.

We sprinted the last few yards to my front door, and I speed-typed my digicode as if all our lives depended on how fast my fingers could fly. Vincent and Ambrose stood behind me like overdressed bodyguards, their hands on the hilts of whatever weapons they wore beneath their coats.

As the security lock released and I pushed the front door open, the noise of a speeding car came from the direction of the avenue. Headlights lit up the dark street, as the three of us turned to face the oncoming vehicle.

With radio blasting, an Audi full of teenagers pulled up in front of us. The door opened to allow a guy and a girl to spill from the passenger seat. The four partygoers sitting in the back let out a whoop as my sister picked herself up from the sidewalk and made a dramatic bow. “Good night, y'all,” she drawled in her best Southern belle impression.

The boy on whose lap she had been balancing stood, brushed himself off, and gave her a peck on the lips. “Door-to-door service. Only the best for Georgia,” he said, and leapt back into the car. “
Bonne année!
Happy New Year!” rang a chorus of voices as they sped out of sight.

Ambrose and Vincent let their coats drop back down over their weapons, so Georgia didn't even notice our heightened state of alert.

“Hi, Vincent! And hello, Ambrose, you handsome thing,” she cooed, striding over to us in her short, lacy dress. Her pixie-cut strawberry blond hair was gelled into a dramatic style, feathering down around her freckle-dusted skin. “Just get a look at you boys in black tie. If only the Chippendale dancers we ordered for the party had been as handsome as you, then it might not have been a complete disaster.”

She glanced at her watch and gasped in horror. “It's not even one thirty in the morning and I'm already home! How humiliating! Why the police think they have the right to close down a party for being too noisy on
New Year's Eve
, I will never understand. This was the lamest night ever!”

She looked at where I was half-hidden behind the door. “Kate, what in the world are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, she smiled her most dazzling smile at the boys, and then, giving my arm an affectionate squeeze, brushed past me into the building's foyer.

“Is it just me, or is she in Georgia Overdrive?” chuckled Vincent.

“She's making up for lost time after taking a five-week break,” I responded, remembering how Georgia had sworn off men after almost getting us killed by her then-boyfriend, numa leader Lucien.

“Well, we could definitely hire her as extra security. She and her entourage could scare off every shady character in the neighborhood,” Ambrose said with a smirk.

Which reminded me . . . “What happened to whatever was following us?”

“The mobile New Year's party scared them off,” Ambrose responded.

“Listen, Kate,” Vincent said, peering warily down the darkened street. “Jean-Baptiste was right in saying that we don't know when the numa will strike. And with whatever it was back there following us around, I'm wondering if maybe you could use a chaperone once in a while. I have some projects that JB has asked me to take care of”—he exchanged a look with Ambrose—“so I can't be around all the time.”

“A
chaperone
?” I said with a different kind of alarm.

“What's wrong with a guardian angel? Or two?” Ambrose asked. “You date a revenant, Katie-Lou, you better count on being followed around.”

“Well, if I'm not hanging out with you moving targets, I'm not of much interest to the baddies, am I?” I retorted. Walking around with my boyfriend was one thing. The idea of being trailed around Paris by other revenants was something completely different. I shook my head. “Do I get a good-night kiss or would that interfere with your
chaperoning
?”

I lifted my face to Vincent and he obliged with a slow, tender kiss that made my body turn to marshmallow.

“Bye, Katie-Lou.” Ambrose gave me a little salute and turned to leave.

“Good-bye,” I called as the two revenants walked away from me into the dappled moonlit shadows. When they were out of sight, I turned to follow my sister up to our grandparents' apartment.

Georgia had already stripped off her party dress and replaced it with an oversize T-shirt by the time I got to her room. “What's the deal with the two-man escort?” she asked.

“Three,” I responded. “Some guy named Henri was floating around above us. Vincent's paranoid about me being leapt upon by bad zombies. With their leader gone, the numa are in hunker-down mode, and the revenants are waiting for a surprise attack.”

“Disappearing numa sounds like a good thing to me.” She leaned in toward her mirror and wiped her lipstick off with a tissue. “Personally, I'm happy I haven't run into a murderous killer since, well . . . since you chopped my ex's head off with a sword.” Although my sister was playing lighthearted, a shadow of fear still lurked behind her practiced carefree demeanor.

“Vincent's talking about giving me a bodyguard when he's not around.”

“Cool!” Georgia said, eyes wide with expectation.

“
Nyet
to the coolness,” I responded. “I don't want someone following me everywhere I go. That's so . . . weird.”