Die for Her: A Die for Me Novella

by Amy Plum

  Kate draws a sharp breath, and I look back down at my sketch, breaking her magnetic hold on me. “He’s trying to figure things out,” I continue. “To find a way around the situation. He asked me to tell you that.”

  I study the drawing I’ve made of Kate, and then tear the sketch off the place mat and hand it to her.

  “I look beautiful,” she says in astonishment.

  “You are beautiful,” I say, and leaning forward, allow myself to kiss her forehead. Her warm, baby-soft skin. Get out of here now, before you do something foolish, my conscience tells me, and I stand and book it out of the café. I breathe in the cold winter air, and my thoughts are immediately calmed.

  Don’t look back, I think, and walk faster. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I cannot be falling for Kate, no matter how I felt in the café. No matter how I’m feeling right now. I can’t let myself.

  Vincent’s waiting for me in the front hall when I get home. “What did she say?” he asks, just as Jean-Baptiste walks out of the sitting room.

  “Same thing,” I say. “She can’t bear to see you.” Vincent nods grimly, as if he knew that would be her answer. He glances over at JB, who has stopped next to us and is unabashedly listening in on our conversation. “But I gave her your message anyway,” I say. I turn to JB. “I have important news—Kate saw Charles.”

  “What? Where?” asks Jean-Baptiste, suddenly on alert.

  “She saw him last night at a club near Oberkampf. Said he was standing outside. She couldn’t remember the name of the club. But at least we know he’s still alive and still free to come back home . . . if he wants to.”

  “Did you ask who he was there with?” JB asks.

  I shake my head.

  “We need to get more information from her.” He looks solemnly at Vincent. “You look horrible,” he states.

  Vincent shrugs, and turning, heads toward his room.

  JB crosses his arms and watches Vincent leave. “I think it’s time that I pay Kate’s grandparents a visit.”

  TEN

  “WHY DO THESE SMELL LIKE AN OUTHOUSE?” I ask, holding up an old, crinkled parchment covered with scrawling in Latin. Gaspard, Vincent, and I are in the library combing through old documents that smell like they were left out in the rain and then shut up in an airtight box.

  “Because they were not properly cared for before they came into my possession,” Gaspard replies curtly. “Just look for the words ‘tenebris via.’ You don’t have to try to read the whole thing.” He’s more on edge than usual, probably because he’s got two library neophytes handling his priceless documents.

  Just then JB barges through the door, and Gaspard practically leaps out of his chair in surprise. JB calmly walks over, picks up the paper that Gaspard dropped, and hands it to him, then looks at Vincent with a concerned expression. “I had a conversation with your young lady friend and her grandmother, Vincent. And I have come to the decision that, as a family, they are trustworthy and can be taken into our confidence if necessary.”

  Vincent stands, walks over to the elder revenant, and leaning down, wraps his arms around him, giving him a hug that is heartfelt, but obviously something JB isn’t used to. He pats Vincent uncomfortably on the back and says, “There, there. I did it for all of us, not just for you.”

  “I know,” Vincent says, his voice choked with emotion. “But thank you. It means so much to me.”

  “Of course,” JB says, extricating himself from Vincent’s arms.

  “How is she?” Vincent asks him.

  “As feisty as ever,” JB says, looking bemused. “She gave me a real telling off.”

  Although Gaspard looks shocked, I can’t help a huge smile from spreading across my face. Of course she gave him a telling off. I can only imagine JB giving her attitude, and her giving it right back. That’s my Kate! I think with pride, and then do a quick auto-correct. She’s not mine. She loves Vincent. And remembering that makes me feel like someone dumped cold water over me. I have to stop thinking about her.

  But that’s kind of hard when Vincent enlists me to come along with him that night on his daily lights-out-in-Kate’s-room routine. “You’re my best friend,” he pleads. “I need your support.”

  “Vincent, I support you. I just don’t feel like going out and standing around in the pouring rain.” But one look at his drawn face and the dark circles under his eyes, and I grab my coat. “Let’s go.”

  It never seems to really pour when it rains in Paris. You usually get a light sprinkle with an occasional shower. But tonight it’s coming down in buckets. We stand outside Kate’s building, Vincent staring up at her window, taking the rain full in the face, and me fitting as much of myself as possible inside the doorway, but still getting soaked.

  “Oh my God, Jules,” Vincent calls. His voice is barely audible in the downpour. “She’s at the window. She’s looking at the sky—out at the storm.” And then he’s struck silent. He stares intently up for a full ten seconds, and then slowly lowers his face until our eyes meet. “Jules, she looked my way,” he says.

  “That’s great. Can we go now?” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. Unless I’m swimming or in the shower, I hate getting wet.

  “No, I mean she really saw me. And I think she’s coming down!” he says.

  “Which is my cue to leave. Good luck, mon ami,” I say, dashing out into the rain and clapping my hand to his shoulder before turning to go. But something inside of me does this little leap, and instead of leaving, I walk to the corner and wait to see if she actually comes.

  And then there she is, face radiant as she runs out the door, drops her umbrella, and throws herself into Vincent’s arms. He picks her up off the ground and clasps her so tightly I’m surprised she can breathe.

  Suddenly I’m imagining myself in Vincent’s place, holding her warm body to me, nuzzling my face in her hair. And a jolt of emotion knocks me back a step. One look at their joy and my heart feels like it’s being pulled apart. Why am I so conflicted? I love Vincent like a brother. Being without the girl he loves has made him physically ill. So why does their reunion hurt so much?

  That night, Kate stays at La Maison. Spends the night in Vincent’s room. Sleeps in his arms.

  And something happens to me that has never happened before. I feel the acid burn of jealousy and it overwhelms me. I leave the house, jog the half-hour trek to my studio, and lose myself in my painting.

  She wants to be with him, not with me. She thinks I’m a joke. A flirt. Of course—that’s what I’ve led her to believe. But she doesn’t see through it, like something in me hoped she would.

  My feelings for her are laughable. Ineffectual. Never meant to be. So why am I cursed with them? Why can’t I forget about her? I have sacrificed my very existence to the whims and desires of fate. I am fate’s slave, and yet it is mocking me.

  I look in despair at the mess I’ve made on the canvas, and sit on the ground, my head in my hands. I must get control of myself. If things continue as they have started, this girl is going to be a part of my life. A part of our clan’s life. And I have to learn to deal with it without showing my feelings. I have to get over her. I take my phone out of my pocket and call the first number that comes up: Evelynn.

  “Hello, bella. I know it’s been a long time, but would you happen to have a pot of tea for a poor, lonely artist?”

  I go to the only thing that I know will make me feel better. Another woman’s embrace.

  ELEVEN

  “CHARLES WAS WITH LUCIEN!” VINCENT SAYS AS he bursts into the kitchen, where JB and Gaspard are having a rare dinner with the rest of us instead of eating alone. Jeanne laid out the good china for the occasion, and left us with a feast of cochon de lait, an entire roasted suckling pig that would normally feed a dozen people, but with Ambrose eating for six, will only last the night.

  Everyone stops eating and stares at Vincent. “What did you say?” JB asks in a strained voice. “I just came from dinner with Kate’s family. And she saw Char
les with Lucien the other night. They were talking outside of the nightclub.”

  Charlotte raises her hands to her mouth, and moans, “Oh no.” I scoot over and put my arm around her. But I know what she’s thinking: Charles has finally done it. He’s asked the numa to destroy him. I’m overwhelmed both by sadness that Charles’s depression has led him this far, and anger at the thought of a numa blade severing his neck.

  “But there’s not only that,” Vincent says. “Kate’s sister is apparently seeing Lucien. As in, romantically.”

  “What?” Ambrose roars, banging his knife handle on the table.

  “Of course, she doesn’t know who he is. Or what he is,” Vincent says. “And he has obviously discovered our link with Kate’s family.”

  Charlotte starts crying, and I pull her in toward me so that she’s sobbing into my chest. My eyes meet JB’s.

  “I’m ordering an immediate general alert,” he says, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin and rising from his chair. “We’ll have the entirety of our Paris kindred out on the street looking for him. I promise, Charlotte. We’ll find your brother.”

  But we find no trace of Charles or the numa, and two days later Lucien calls with an ultimatum. He has killed Charles and left his body in the Catacombs. If we don’t come get it that night, he will wait until Charles is volant and destroy his body, damning Charles to eternal disembodiment.

  We know it’s a trap. But we go anyway. And although we manage to kill a few numa and rescue Charles’s body, Lucien uses the setup to act upon an even more diabolical scheme. He uses Kate’s sister to get into La Maison, and drags the girls to where Vincent’s body lies dormant and empty—his spirit is volant at the Catacombs with us.

  What Lucien doesn’t plan on is Kate. Kate, who overcomes her fear and horror to fight him. Kate, who lets Vincent possess her in order to combine his strength with hers, and kill the numa chief. By the time Ambrose and I get there, Lucien is headless and about to be charbroiled in Vincent’s own fireplace.

  Kate is adopted into the house. She has finally won not only JB’s full approval, but his welcome, and what I both hope and dread most comes true. My fear that Kate will be harmed by the numa is replaced by the fear of how I will react seeing Kate practically every day.

  TWELVE

  “SHE’S A NATURAL,” GASPARD SAYS AS WE WATCH Kate float through the double doors into the ballroom wearing a floor-length, pewter-colored gown that makes her look like a princess from JB’s time. And man, does the eighteenth century suit her well.

  “A natural what?” I ask him, unable to tear my eyes from her.

  “Fighting,” he replies. “She started training with me just weeks ago, and she’s already got all of the basics down. I show her a move twice, and she has it mastered. The rhythm of the fight is in her blood.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” I say, and set out across the ballroom toward her, drawn to her like a bee to a flower in full bloom. Ambrose is playing Louis Armstrong, and couples flood to the middle of the room to take advantage of the danceable beat.

  Kate is so lost in the scene, she doesn’t even see me approach. I’ve attended Jean-Baptiste’s balls for years, and I still find them breathtaking. This year he’s done the room up in silver and white, and the entire space is illuminated by candles—candelabras gleaming on the side tables and the chandelier prisms glowing like diamonds.

  I stand just behind her without her noticing, and our proximity makes my pulse work overtime. “How’s your dance card look?” I murmur from just behind her.

  She jumps, and seeing me, breaks into a wide grin. “Double-check your century, Jules. No dance cards.”

  I sweep her out onto the floor and, folding her in my arms under the glow of the chandeliers, I allow myself complete freedom. I hold nothing back, knowing that she won’t take me seriously. “Kate, my dear, the candlelight does suit you so.” She blushes and I savor my reward, brushing her cheek with my fingertip. Her skin is petal soft, and shock waves from the illicit touch course through my body. She glances up at me, questioning, but I give her an overblown wink and she just laughs.

  I take her hand in mine and place my other hand on her back, and pull her to me until our bodies touch. I feel more alive than I ever have—like myself times ten. With Kate in my arms I feel like a better person. Capable of anything.

  She is close enough that I feel her breath on my neck, and closing my eyes, I let my lips brush the crown of her head. Her hair smells like coconut, and suddenly that’s my favorite scent. I squeeze her and she laughs and looks up at me. “Jules, you incorrigible rake,” she scolds, and then gives me a smile that makes me feel we’re in zero gravity. Floating inches above the floor. Weightless and timeless, and I wish this song would last forever.

  I know how ineffectual my actions are, but I do them on purpose—to punish myself. I deserve the pain that closeness to her brings. I want to hold her like this every day. I want to be the focus of her radiant smile. I let myself pretend for the duration of the song, and when it is over I touch her face again and imagine that we are together.

  My ploy—speaking only the truth—works so well that even after pressing her to me, holding her close, whispering flattery in her ear, Vincent only smiles at me and Geneviève makes an off-the-cuff remark to Kate that I’m harmless.

  It’s with a feeling of despair that I return her to his arms. I want him to be angry. I want him to challenge me. Because then the truth will be out and I won’t have to hide my feelings. But he trusts me too much to suspect me. And I love him too much to hurt him.

  Jean-Baptiste calls a house meeting in the library a few days later. Charles and Charlotte departed on New Year’s Day for the south of France, and Violette and Arthur have already arrived to replace them. But they have gone to comfort Geneviève after the death of her husband, so we are only five: Gaspard sits fidgeting by JB’s side, and Vincent, Ambrose, and I warm ourselves by the fire.

  Jean-Baptiste takes a sip of wine, sets his glass on an end table, and addresses us. “As I have already mentioned, I am convinced that the numa have a new leader. Violette has sources among her contacts who will try to discover his identity. But in the meantime, I want to address a plan that Gaspard and Vincent have devised, which may allow Vincent to resist dying.

  “As you all know, we have a cease-fire with the numa that prevents us from attacking each other unless provoked. However, Gaspard and Vincent’s proposal would necessitate the unprovoked killing of numa. I am strongly considering calling off the cease-fire since Lucien already broke it by personally attacking us within our own walls.”

  “Yee-haw,” whoops Ambrose, who jumps to his feet in anticipation. “Are you taking volunteers?”

  “Calm, please, Ambrose,” JB says. “I haven’t yet made a definitive decision. But I would ask Vincent to tell you what is involved.”

  Vincent pulls his chair in front of the fire and leans toward us, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped tightly together.

  “The plan we’ve come up with could prove dangerous, and I want to ask you for your help,” he says. “A few weeks ago, Gaspard and I found the information we were looking for, about something called ‘the Dark Way.’ It involves killing numa to absorb their power.”

  “That’s nothing new,” Ambrose says. “The power rush when you whack one of those bastards is half the fun of doing it.”

  “That is correct,” interjects Gaspard, “but the Dark Way is a systemized killing of our enemies. It will potentially give Vincent the strength necessary to resist death so that he may fulfill a promise he made to Kate. It wasn’t even a possibility before, what with the cease-fire.”

  I have a bad feeling about this. I understand that Vincent will go to any length to allay Kate’s fears. I would too if I were him, I think, and feeling a pinprick of jealousy, push that thought aside. Vincent’s asking for my help, but this seems dangerous on so many levels. “If you only have a few old examples, how do you know it’s going to work?” I ask. “
I mean, if it doesn’t, it means we’ve infuriated the numa and risked precipitating a retaliatory attack.”

  “Violette has verified the authenticity of the Dark Way stories,” Gaspard says. “She’s convinced it can work. In addition, her sources warned her last night about possible increased numa activity in Paris starting today. Even though Vincent will be staging an offensive strike on our enemies, we will need to consider a defensive strategy to protect those coming to and going from La Maison—not only us, but Jeanne, Kate, and any delivery people.”

  “I’m ready to start,” Vincent says, and his decisive tone leaves no question about his determination to make this Dark Way work. “Can I depend on the three of you to help me?”

  “You know you can count me in if it has anything to do with zombie slaying,” Ambrose says, rubbing his hands together expectantly.

  “Your wish is my command,” I say.

  “Great. Thanks. But please don’t breathe a word of it to Kate. I want to make sure it works before I tell her what I’m doing.”

  “You mean she would freak out if she knew what you were doing,” I state. Vincent runs his hand over his head worriedly, and nods.

  “My lips are sealed,” promises Ambrose.

  Vincent thanks us and proceeds directly to strategy. “Okay, Violette’s source is aware of a group of numa operating out of the Quartier de l’Horloge. Ambrose can come with me. We’re going to scope it out and find out if we can provoke a confrontation without alerting humans.

  “Gaspard, Kate is scheduled for fight training with you this morning. Can you proceed with that as if nothing has changed?” Gaspard nods. “And Jules, JB asked one of us to accompany Jeanne to and from her apartment today. Could you do the same for Kate?”

  I nod. Vincent leans forward and clasps my arm. “I’m trusting you with her life, Jules,” he says in a low voice. “You know how much she means to me.”