Die for Me

by Amy Plum

  “No.” I shook my head. I had to go back and clean up the mess that Hurricane Vincent had left for my family.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Then I’ll walk you home,” I insisted. “You can tell me on the way.”

  “Good,” he said, taking my hand as we began walking down the lamp-lit streets toward his house. “So, Kate. You know how there’s a bad guy in every story?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, Lucien’s the bad guy in my story.”

  “What do you mean your story?” I ventured uneasily. “I mean, is it just a case of the two of you being on opposite sides of the good-and-evil divide?”

  Vincent shook his head. “No. It’s me against him. We have a long history.”

  “Wait,” I said, putting together the puzzle pieces in my mind. “Is he the one you guys are always referring to? ‘The Man,’ or whatever?” I paused, thinking. “Was it Lucien you saw at the Village Saint-Paul . . . and who Jules spotted nearby when Ambrose got stabbed?”

  Vincent nodded.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “As a human, during World War Two, he was part of the French Militia, or la Milice, a paramilitary force formed by the German-controlled French government to fight the Resistance.”

  “The Vichy regime?”

  Vincent nodded. “Besides executing and assassinating Resistance members, the Milice helped round up Jews for deportation. They were famous for their torture methods: They could extract information and confessions from anyone they captured.

  “To be honest, they were more dangerous than the Gestapo or SS, since they were one of us: They spoke the language, knew the topography of the towns, and were friends and neighbors of the people they betrayed.” Vincent looked me in the eyes. “It was a dark time for my country.”

  I nodded and remained silent. We crossed a tree-lined avenue and continued toward his house.

  “Lucien betrayed hundreds, or indirectly, thousands, of his own countrymen to their deaths, torturing and murdering his way up through the organization’s ranks. He quickly became a top man in the Vichy regime’s information and propaganda ministry.

  “In June of 1944, a group of Resistance fighters, dressed as members of the Milice, broke into the Ministry of Information building where Lucien and his wife had been moved for their safety. It was late at night. They found the couple in their bed and killed them.”

  My jaw dropped. It seemed like he was telling the story from personal experience. “Were you one of them?” I ventured.

  Vincent nodded. “Along with a couple of other revenants. The rest were humans who didn’t know what we were.”

  “But Lucien was still human then. You told me revenants try not to kill humans.”

  “Our order was to capture and imprison Lucien until he could be tried by the authorities for his crimes. But one human in our group had had his family killed by Lucien himself, and he couldn’t restrain himself. He shot them both.”

  I shuddered at the gory scene reenacted in my mind. In stories like this, you always want the bad guys to be taken out. But thinking about the actual act: to be shot with his wife . . . in his bed. It was too horrible to consider.

  “Lucien remembered our faces from that night, and when he came back as a revenant, he hunted us down. He succeeded in killing the majority of the humans who had taken part in the assassination, and was eventually able to destroy the other two revenants involved. I’m the only one left. We’ve come up against each other on several occasions, but he’s never managed to kill me. Nor I him.”

  “Then why in the world would Charles have been talking to him?” I asked.

  “This is what you have to understand about Charles. He’s not a bad kid. He’s just messed up. I told you he’s had a hard time accepting our fate. It’s a difficult existence, continually living and dying. When you save someone and see them go on to have a good life, it makes it all feel worthwhile. But sometimes things don’t turn out like that.

  “The person you rescued from a suicide attempt tries again and succeeds. The kid you save in a drug deal gone bad doesn’t see it as a reason to mend his ways and returns to the mess he was in before. That’s one reason Jean-Baptiste doesn’t want us following our rescues’ lives too closely.

  “But one of the worst feelings is when you try and fail. Charles couldn’t save the little girl. He saved the other child, but he can’t focus on that success. He is obsessed with his failure. And its consequences on the child’s mother.

  “He has a good heart,” he continued softly. “Maybe too good of a heart. But this was the final straw for him. The only reason I can think of that Charles would go to Lucien is because he can’t cope with our lifestyle any longer. He wants to die. If he puts himself in their hands, all he has to do is ask them to kill him and burn his body. And they’d be all too happy to comply.”

  “He’s committing suicide?” I stopped walking, horrified by the thought of Charles delivering himself to his death.

  “That’s what it looks like.” Vincent took my arm and pulled me forward. We were almost there.

  “If Lucien is a vicious killer, then . . . what about Georgia?” Charles’s story was heartbreaking, but all I could think about at the moment was the danger my sister could be in.

  “What’s their relationship?” Vincent asked.

  “It seems like they’re kind of dating.”

  “Do you think it’s serious?”

  “Georgia doesn’t do serious.”

  Vincent thought about it. “Lucien is always surrounded by women, and he would have no reason to kill someone like Georgia. If she doesn’t let herself get sucked into his clan and their activities, then the worst she probably risks is getting used and dumped by him.”

  Well, that’s comforting, I thought, not at all comforted. She’s swapping spit with a homicidal maniac, but if she doesn’t get too involved, she should be fine. Although I was still frightened, Vincent’s words had made me feel less panicky. It was true: Georgia never got too involved in anyone besides herself.

  We arrived at Jean-Baptiste’s gate. Vincent took my hand in his. “Listen. I’m sorry if I’ve messed up things between your sister and your grandparents tonight. But I couldn’t just sit there and say nothing after hearing her mention that . . . monster.”

  “No, you were right. And it didn’t matter where you said it, in front of everyone or one-on-one: Georgia would have had the same reaction.”

  “You’ve got to talk to her,” he urged. “Even if things don’t go too far with Lucien, she’s hanging out with some dangerous people.”

  I nodded at him. “I’ll do my best.”

  Danger was constantly lurking in the shadows for Vincent and his kindred. But now that one of my family members was at risk, it seemed much more real. It made me feel closer to him. We now had a common foe. But I hoped that Georgia would listen to me and remove herself from that danger.

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked.

  “I’m going to get the others and start hunting Lucien down.” Vincent’s voice shifted an octave lower and his eyes blazed with anger. He looked lethal.

  “You’re going to be careful, right?” I asked, fear gripping me as I realized what this could mean.

  “I would take him out tonight if I could. But there’s a reason I haven’t been able to destroy him yet. If he doesn’t want to be found, we’re not going to find him. The cards are in his hands.”

  Then, seeing my expression, some of the steeliness went out of his features. “Don’t worry, Kate. Try to come over after school tomorrow if you can.”

  “Are you still going to be alive tomorrow after school?”

  “Yes,” he said with his lips. But his eyes were telling a different story. He would do anything to destroy this enemy. It was clear that his own safety wasn’t his priority.

  “I’m sorry I have to leave you like this,” Vincent said, drawing me to him and brushing his lips against mine. Every point of contact w
ith his body seemed to trigger a shower of fiery sparks inside me. Is danger an aphrodisiac? I wondered. I’d rather him be safe than have a Fourth of July celebration in my nerve endings. But since I didn’t have a say, I grabbed him tighter and responded to his kiss.

  Too soon, he pulled away. “I have to go.”

  “I know. Good night, Vincent. Please be safe.”

  “Good night, mon ange.”

  I knocked softly on Georgia’s bedroom door. It opened violently a second later, and my sister stood there looking like a Fury. “What the hell was that about?” she raged, slamming the door shut behind me.

  I perched on the edge of her bed while she threw herself belly-down onto a fluffy white rug in the middle of her floor and stared at me.

  “I’m sorry Vincent embarrassed you in front of Papy and Mamie. But from what he’s told me, Lucien does sound like really bad news.”

  Georgia almost spit her reply. “Oh yeah? What exactly does he say?”

  “He said that Lucien’s kind of in a . . . Mafia type of organization.” I tried to remember how Vincent had described the numa that night in the Marais restaurant. “And that his colleagues are involved in all sorts of illegal dealings.”

  “Like what?”

  “Prostitution, drugs—”

  “Oh, give me a break!” Georgia rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen Lucien. He’s an entrepreneur. He’s got bars and clubs all over France. Why in the world would he even need to be involved in stuff like that?” She looked at me with distaste.

  “I really don’t think Vincent would make that up,” I replied.

  “Yeah?” she asked bitterly. “How’s he know him?”

  “He doesn’t,” I lied. The last thing I wanted to do was to make some sort of link between Vincent and Lucien with Georgia and me in the middle. “He just knows his reputation.”

  I paused, weighing how far I should go. “He said there’s even talk of Lucien’s associates being involved in murders.”

  Georgia looked shocked for a moment, and then shook her head. “I’m sure that in the world that Lucien moves in, there have got to be some shady dealings. It must go with the territory. But to suggest that he could work with murderers . . . I’m sorry, I just don’t believe it.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to believe it. But do you have to see him again?”

  “Kate, we’re barely even seeing each other. It’s not serious. We only see each other out in public. I’m sure he dates other people, and so do I. No big deal!”

  “Well, if it’s not a big deal, and there’s even the slightest chance that he’s bad news, then why don’t you just . . . you know . . . ditch him? Please, Georgia. I don’t want to worry about you.”

  For a split second after hearing my pleading voice she looked uncertain, and then a stubborn look stole over her pretty face. “I don’t have to see him again. But I’m going to see him again. I don’t believe a word you or Vincent has said about him. And why are you and your new boyfriend getting all involved in my private life anyway?”

  I knew I couldn’t say a thing that would change her mind. And how would I say it, anyway? “The reason my boyfriend hates yours is because Vincent’s a good zombie and Lucien’s a bad zombie?” I could only hope she would lose interest in Lucien before anything bad happened.

  She was really mad now. Her light dusting of freckles was becoming mottled by angry red patches. I knew my sister, and when she got to this point, there was no more reasoning with her. I began to stand, but she sprang up and beat me to the door. Opening it, she pointed to the hallway. “Go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THE NEXT DAY GEORGIA LEFT FOR SCHOOL BEFORE I even got to the breakfast table. From behind his newspaper, Papy asked tiredly, “Are you girls on World War Four now, or is it Five?”

  I didn’t see her between classes, and she disappeared afterward. My sister was avoiding me, and that hurt. But I knew I had done the right thing by warning her about Lucien. Vincent had said that nothing might happen to her. But in these circumstances, “might,” for me, was too big a word.

  I headed to Jean-Baptiste’s on the way home, texting Vincent from the street, and the gates were opening by the time I arrived. He was waiting for me, the same worried look on his face as he had worn when he left me last night.

  “Any news?” I asked as we walked to his room.

  “No.” He leaned forward and opened his door, politely standing aside to let me by before following me in. There are some advantages to dating a guy from another era, I thought. Though I am a big believer in gender equality, chivalry scores high in my book.

  “We were out all night searching. It’s like all the numa in town just up and disappeared. We went to every bar and restaurant that we know they have a finger in, and only saw human employees—no trace of them.”

  “That could have been really dangerous, couldn’t it?” I tried to imagine what would happen in a standoff between the good and evil revenants. The undead leaping around with swords among a frightened bar clientele.

  “If they had been there, then it could have been dangerous. But with humans around they wouldn’t dare attack us.”

  I thought about Ambrose getting stabbed just a few feet away from a crowd of humans and suspected Vincent was downplaying the danger for my benefit.

  “But no one was in sight for us to interrogate. They don’t have one fixed residence like us. So it’s impossible to know where they’re based.”

  “How’s Charlotte taking it?” I asked.

  “Not well,” Vincent said. “She’s out with the others right now, looking.”

  “Why aren’t you with them?”

  “Tonight’s the ‘big night.’ And I’m already feeling weak. I wouldn’t be much help if we actually found anything.”

  “So when does it start . . . the dormancy thing?” I asked.

  “During the night,” he responded. “The evening I begin dormancy, I usually end up watching movies and loading up on some calories, since I’m no good for anything else.” He waved his hand toward the coffee table, which was set with tea and an assortment of mini pastries.

  I looked at him in amusement. “Jeanne?”

  “Who else?” he responded with a chuckle. “Every time you stop by she acts like we’re receiving visiting royalty.”

  “As she should,” I said, holding my chin a bit higher before throwing myself onto the couch in order to attack a mini chocolate éclair. “So where’s the TV?” I asked.

  “Oh, I watch in our screening room. Ambrose is a movie buff, and he convinced Jean-Baptiste to build our own cinema here. It’s in the basement, alongside the gym.”

  “Now that is something I would love to see,” I said.

  “I may just have one or two of your favorite films waiting downstairs for you. We could even order some pizza and dine in style. Is it a date?”

  “A real date! I accept!” I almost squealed, and then, trying to dampen my enthusiasm, continued, “Only since you claim you’ll be such boring company, of course. Otherwise I’d be fine just sitting here, staring into your eyes all night.”

  Vincent paused, looking at me suspiciously for a second, and then, grinning, asked, “Sarcasm?”

  “Yes,” I laughed. “You’re pretty quick for an old guy.”

  “Damn, and I thought I had finally found a true romantic,” he joked, and then hesitated as a serious look stole over his face. “Speaking of boring company, do you mind talking about what we’ll do while I’m asleep?”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering what could possibly come next.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be body-and-mind dead. I would rather you not see me when I’m unable to communicate. But starting Friday morning, my mind will be awake. So that you won’t feel like I’m stalking you, do I have your okay to come and see you . . . in volant form?”

  “Hmm. That’s got to be the strangest offer I’ve ever received,” I laughed. “I don’t know . . . can you do anything to let me know you’re there?
Like write me a ghostly text message? Or make my pen move?”

  He shook his head. “Only if someone comes along who can hear me, like Charlotte or Jules.”

  Thinking of my messy bedroom, which I hoped he hadn’t already secretly seen while floating around, I countered, “Aren’t you going to be on ‘walking duty’ with someone?”

  Vincent smiled, tiny lines of fatigue creasing the corners of his eyes. “Well, yes, if anyone’s walking I’ll be going along. But I’d like to come see you in my downtime.”

  “Then why don’t I come here?” I asked. “That way whoever’s home can ‘interpret’ for me.”

  “If you don’t mind, that would be nice,” Vincent said. I noticed he was steadying himself on the couch with one hand.

  “Are you okay, Vincent?” I asked.

  “Yes. Although I’m starting to feel weak. No biggie.” He exhaled deeply and sat down on the couch next to me. “So tomorrow’s a no-go, but I’d love to see you Friday.”

  “Deal. I’ll come over in the morning. Since tomorrow’s Thanksgiving in the States, school’s out tomorrow and Friday. I’ll just bring my homework and do it here.”

  We ordered pizza and curled up on the couch to wait for it to arrive. “How did it go last night with Georgia?” he asked.

  I had been scrupulously avoiding the issue, hoping I wouldn’t have to tell Vincent that I had failed.

  “We’re not speaking,” I admitted.

  “What happened?”

  “I didn’t tell her that you knew Lucien. I was afraid she might say something to him. I just told her that you knew his reputation, and what kind of criminal dealings he and his associates were known for. She didn’t buy it. She wants you and me to stay out of her business.”

  “You’re upset,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

  “Yes. I’m upset . . . not that Georgia and I are fighting. That’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’m upset because I’m afraid for her. She told me that they’re only seeing each other casually. But I can’t help but worry.”

  “You’ve done everything you can,” Vincent said. “You can’t control your sister. Just try to put it out of your mind.”