Die for Me

That made sense. If he kept going with the human analogies, I might be able to stomach this whole bizarre scenario a bit better. From the way they were arguing, they clearly weren’t used to having to explain their situation. It was up to me to figure things out.

I turned to Jules. “You’re over a hundred years old.”

“I’m nineteen,” he said.

“So you never age?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, we age all right. Look at Jean-Baptiste—he died at thirty-six, but he’s in his sixties!” said Charles.

“And how old would Jean-Baptiste be if he hadn’t . . . you know?” I fumbled for words.

“Two hundred thirty-five,” answered Gaspard without hesitation and, looking at the others, continued, “May I?”

Charles nodded, and the rest stayed quiet.

“After we animate, we age at the same rate as anyone else. However, each time we die, we subsequently reanimate at the same age that we died the very first time. Jules died when he was nineteen, therefore each time he dies, he starts again at nineteen. Vincent was eighteen when he died, but hasn’t died for, what’s it been now? A bit over a year?” He directed his question to Vincent, but I cut him off.

“What do you mean, ‘each time you die’?” I asked. The spine-chilling icy finger was making another appearance. Vincent tightened his hold on my hand.

“Let’s just say there are a lot of people who need to be saved,” said Jules, winking.

I stared at him, struggling to understand what he was inferring. Then my eyes widened. “The man in the subway!” I gasped. “You saved his life!”

He nodded.

“But how—I mean, didn’t—” I burst out, not able to form one single thought as a dozen flooded my mind simultaneously. I remembered Vincent diving after the girl, and Charlotte saving me from death-by-crushing.

“You died saving someone, and you keep doing it after death,” I said finally. Maybe I was stating the obvious, but the lightbulb had finally flicked on above my head.

“It’s the whole reason for our being,” Vincent said. “We’re bound to that one mission for the rest of our existence.”

I stared at him. I didn’t even know how to react. My mind was a blank.

“I think it’s time to wind down this Q and A session,” Vincent said to the others. “Kate’s getting to the information-overload stage. And I’m too tired to continue.”

“You can’t tell her—” began Gaspard.

“Gaspard!” Vincent yelled, and then closed his eyes from the effort. “I . . . swear I will not tell Kate anything else . . . of importance . . . without consulting you first. Cross my heart.” Vincent drew an X across his chest and glared at the man.

“Well, then,” Ambrose said, getting up. “Now that we’re done scaring the human—I mean, Katie-Lou here”—he paced over and clapped me on the shoulder affectionately—“it’s time for some grub,” and he walked through the doorway.

Charlotte touched my arm softly as the others left. “Come have breakfast with us. You probably won’t be allowed to”—she glanced at Vincent—“leave right away anyway.”

“What time is it?” I asked, realizing I had no clue how long I had slept.

Charlotte looked at her watch. “Almost seven.”

“Seven a.m.?” I asked, astonished that I had fallen asleep in a strange house under such disturbing circumstances. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay and talk to Vincent.”

“You should eat,” said Vincent softly. “Jean-Baptiste’s going to come storming through that door in a few minutes anyway, after Gaspard gives him his update.”

“Let me stay with you till then,” I asked. “I’ll come find you when Jean-Baptiste kicks me out,” I told Charlotte.

“’kay!” she said with an encouraging smile, and shut the door behind her.

I turned to Vincent. But before I could open my mouth to speak, he stole my words. “I know,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Fourteen

WE WERE ON OUR OWN. FINALLY. AND WHAT should have been a terrifying situation—me . . . alone in an old castle . . . sitting next to someone I had just discovered was a monster—well, it wasn’t terrifying at all. Incredibly, it seemed more awkward than anything.

I sat facing him on his bed, this boy who seemed to be on the verge of death. Even in his feeble state he was beautiful. I had every reason to be afraid, but instead I was gripped by the strangest emotion. I felt like protecting him.

“So . . . ,” Vincent said.

“So . . . you’re immortal?”

“’fraid so.”

He looked tired and worried, and for the first time, very vulnerable. I suddenly felt like I held all the power in my hands. Which, concerning us, I suppose I did.

“How’s that make you feel?” he asked.

“Um. It’s a lot to take in all at once. But it definitely explains things.” I felt his fingers clutch my own. “Is the reason I’m not afraid right now because you’re holding my hand?”

“What do you mean?” he said with an uneven smile.

“It’s one of your superpowers, isn’t it? What is it? The Tranquilizing Touch or something?”

“Superpowers!” He chuckled. “Um. Yeah, Miss Perceptive. How did you figure that one out?”

“Charlotte used it on me earlier. And I doubt I could have gotten through this informational meeting without the few hits you gave me.”

The corners of his mouth curved slightly. His fingers loosened and then curved back around my hand. “I see. And no, even though I’m touching you, I’m not doing the ‘Tranquilizing Touch’ as you call it. It doesn’t happen every time I touch you. I have to will it. But at the moment, you seem to be managing fine on your own.”

I glanced at his bedside table and saw that my photo had been placed downward. Resting on top of it was the letter I had written to him the day before. It already seemed like years ago.

“You got my note,” I said.

“Yeah. It helped explain why you went all stalker on me.” He laughed. “I still can’t believe that Jean-Baptiste let you in. It’s just as much his fault that you found me as my own for bringing you here the first time. I’m definitely not letting him hold that one over my head. How you managed to convince him to let you past the front door, I will never understand.”

Vincent’s laugh was edged with something that sounded like victory. “You’re amazing,” he said, his eyes radiating warmth. I sat there basking in it, until he closed them and laid his head back against the pillow.

“Are you okay?” I asked, worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just feeling really weak. Do you mind giving me something from that table?” He nodded toward a folding tray set up next to the head of his bed, holding an array of fruits and nuts.

I picked up a plate of dates and then sat back down next to him with it.

“Thanks,” he said, touching my hand again before picking up a fruit and popping it into his mouth.

“So the necklace was for Charlotte,” I said, watching his face carefully.

He gri

“Not that it matters,” I said quickly, embarrassed.

“Of course not,” Vincent said, faking a serious look and nodding solemnly.

I looked down at my hands. “You said it takes a while to recover from . . . whatever. When will you be up and about?”

“It depends on what condition you’re in when you become dormant. I wasn’t injured or anything, so by tonight I’ll be as good as new. Better, actually.”

I could tell he was trying to lighten the mood, but he looked so exhausted I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Oh, Vincent.”

“It’s not bad, really, Kate. It’s actually good to have some downtime . . . to recharge a little, since after this I won’t sleep again for weeks.”

My frown made him stop. “We don’t need to talk about this now. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m the one who’s worried about you. How—how are you?”