Die for Me

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Well, if you’re not doing the calming thing and I haven’t freaked out and run screaming from your house, I guess I’m doing pretty well.”

“Amazing,” he said again.

“Okay, stop it with the flattery,” I teased. “Save it for the next victim you draw helplessly into your lair.”

Vincent’s laugh was cut short by the sound of the door opening. I turned to see Jean-Baptiste striding into the room, with Gaspard trailing along in his wake.

“Kate, go find Charlotte and the others,” Vincent said softly, “but once you’re told you can go, don’t leave without coming back to see me. Please.”

Gaspard walked me to the open door. “They’re in the kitchen,” he said, indicating the far end of the corridor. Then, leaving me in the hallway, he closed the door behind him.

I followed the delicious smell of fresh bread toward the kitchen, but hesitated in front of the swinging door. Taking a nervous breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside. The whole crew was sitting around a huge oak table. As one, they looked up and waited for me to do something.

Ambrose broke the ice. “Enter, human!” he said in a Star Trek voice, muffled slightly by a full mouth.

Charlotte and Charles laughed, and Jules waved me over to an empty chair next to him. “So you survived the wrath of Jean-Baptiste,” he said. “Very brave.”

“Very stupid for coming here,” Charles added, not looking up from his plate.

“Charles!” Charlotte scolded.

“Well, it was!” Charles said defensively.

“What would you like, dear?” interrupted a motherly voice from above my shoulder.

I turned to see a plump middle-aged woman wearing an apron. She had soft rosy cheeks, and her graying blond hair was tied up in a bun.

“Jea

“Yes, dear Kate,” she answered. “That’s me. I’ve been hearing all about your eventful evening from the others. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you before, but unlike the rest here, I need a good night’s sleep.”

“Then you’re not . . .” I hesitated.

“No, she’s not one of us,” Jules responded. “But Jea

“Over two hundred years,” Jea

Putting a fist on her hip, she looked up at the ceiling as if trying to remember a poem she had memorized. “My great-great-great-grandfather (plus a few) was Monsieur Grimod de La Reynière’s valet, and went to war with him when he fought under Napoleon. It was that ancestor, only fifteen at the time, whom Monsieur Grimod saved, pushing him from the path of a ca

She recounted this incredible story like she would describe her trip to the market that morning. It must seem natural to her, having been raised by a mother and grandmother who told her the same story. But I felt overwhelmed as my mind tried to twist its way around the repercussions.

“Thanks, Jea

“I’m fine,” I responded, smiling at her. “I’ll just have some bread and coffee, thank you.”

Jea

“I’m off,” Charles said, pushing his chair under the table, and after coolly bumping fists with Jules and Ambrose, he marched out of the kitchen without a second glance at me.

I looked at the others. “Was it something I said?”

“Kate,” Ambrose said, chuckling, “you’ve got to remember—even though Charles’s body should be eighty-two, his maturity level is stuck at fifteen.”

“I’ll go with him,” Charlotte chirped, seemingly embarrassed by her twin’s rudeness. “Bye, Kate.” She leaned over to kiss me on both cheeks. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.”

“So what happens now?” I asked as the door closed behind her. I felt oddly torn between the urge to go back to my grandparents’ house and see my real, living, breathing family and the desire to stay here, among these people who, after just a few hours of knowing me, already seemed to accept me. Or at least most of them did. Never mind that they weren’t human.

Before anyone could answer, Gaspard stuck his porcupine hair through the door. “You can go, Kate. But Vincent asked to see you on your way out.” He disappeared back into the passageway.

As I rose to my feet, Jules stood and said, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

Ambrose nodded, and with a full mouth said, “Walk her home.”

“No, that’s okay, I can get home on my own.”

“I’ll walk you to the door, then,” Jules said, pushing his chair under the table.

“Good-bye, Jea

“So what did they say?” I asked, approaching the bed. Vincent was whiter and weaker-looking than before, but smiled consolingly.

“It’s okay. I’ve promised to take full responsibility for you.”

Though I didn’t know what that meant, I felt torn between thinking I didn’t need a babysitter on the one hand, and rather liking the idea of being Vincent’s ward on the other.

“You can go home now,” he continued, “but as Jean-Baptiste said before, you can’t talk about us to anybody. Not that they would believe you anyway, but we try to stay as under the radar as possible.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“You’ve heard of vampires?” he asked, smiling mysteriously.

I nodded.

“You’ve heard of werewolves?”

“Of course.”

“Had you ever heard of us?”

I shook my head.

“That’s called ‘staying under the radar,’ dear Kate. It’s what we’re good at.”

“Gotcha.” I took his outstretched hand.

“Can I see you again in a few days?” he asked.

I nodded, suddenly uncertain when I thought of what the future could hold. Pausing at the door, I called, “Take care,” and then immediately felt stupid. He was immortal. He didn’t have to take care. “I mean rest up,” I corrected myself.

He smiled, amused by my confusion, and saluted me.

“Milady.” Jules stepped forward, bowing like a doorman in a Merchant-Ivory film, and placed my hand on his arm. “Shall we?” I couldn’t help but laugh. He was going all out to make up for upsetting me.

Back in the grand foyer, I picked up my book bag. As I stepped outside, he touched my arm and said, “Listen. I’m sorry I was rude before today, you know . . . in my studio and at the museum. I swear it was nothing personal. I was just trying to protect Vincent and you . . . and all of us. Now that it’s too late for that, well, please accept my apology.”

“I totally understand,” I told him. “What else could you do?”

“Whew—she forgave me,” he said, hand on heart, his playfulness obviously returning. “So. You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked me, stepping closer with a look that struck me as more than just friendly concern for my well-being. He saw me read his face and smiled flirtatiously, lifting an eyebrow as if asking a question.

“I’ll be fine, really. Thank you,” I responded, blushing, and stepped over the threshold onto the cobblestones.

“Vince’ll come see you as soon as he can,” he said, thrusting his hands into his jean pockets and nodding good-bye.