Die for Me

“She’s basically out every night that Papy and Mamie don’t force her to stay home. But unlike in New York, I don’t go with her.”

“I know,” he said, spearing a potato with his fork, and then stopped and looked quickly up to see if I had noticed his slip.

“What?” I asked, surprised, and then Ambrose’s words suddenly came back to me. We’ve been checking her out, and she’s not a spy. “You’ve been following us!” Feeling simultaneously flattered and appalled, I pulled my legs back from his and kept to my side of the table.

“No one was following Georgia, just following you. And it wasn’t me. At least after the day we talked at the Picasso Museum. After that, I felt I owed you some privacy. It was Ambrose and Jules; once they knew that I was . . . interested in you, they insisted on making sure you weren’t a danger to us. I never doubted you, though. Honestly.”

“A ‘danger’?” I asked, dismayed.

Vincent sighed. “We have enemies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s change the subject,” Vincent said. “The last thing I want to do is get you involved in something that could put you at risk.”

“Are you at risk?” I asked.

“We don’t come into contact with them that often. But when we do, it ends in each side trying to destroy the other. So since you asked me to be honest, I have to say yes. But I’ve had decades of experience protecting myself. I don’t want you to worry.”

I suddenly remembered my early morning walk with Georgia along the quay. “The night I saw you dive into the Seine after that girl. People were fighting under the bridge. With swords.”

“Well, then, you’ve already seen them. Those were the numa.”

Even the word sounded evil. I shuddered. “What are they?”

“They’re the same as us, but in reverse. They’re revenants, but their fate isn’t to save lives. It’s to destroy them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We become immortal when we die while saving someone’s life. They win their immortality by taking lives. The universe seems to like equilibrium.” His smile was bitter.

“You mean they’re resurrected murderers?” I felt a cold blade of panic scrape a path from my stomach to my heart.

“Not just murderers. They all betrayed someone to their death.”

I inhaled sharply. “What? Wait a minute. Do you mean that anyone who dies after betraying someone to their death turns into an immortal bad guy?”

“No, not all. Just some. It’s like us. Not everyone who dies saving someone else is resurrected. I’ll explain some other time—it gets a bit complicated. All you need to know is that the numa are bad. They’re dangerous. And they never die because they keep on killing. Which is facilitated by their line of work: They’re basically glorified mafiosi, ru

“And those are the . . . things, who were fighting under the bridge that night?”

Vincent nodded. “The girl who jumped. She had gotten involved with them. They drove her to decide to kill herself, and then went along to make sure she followed through.”

“But she looked so young. How old was she?”

“Fourteen.”

I flinched. “So why were you there?” I asked.

“Charles and Charlotte were walking, with Jules volant. Jules saw it before it happened and rushed home to get me and Ambrose. When we got to the scene, the twins held some of the numa off beneath the bridge while the girl . . . well, you saw what happened. I reached her just before she jumped.”

“Did you get the . . . bad guys?” I didn’t want to say the word, it had such an unsettling effect on me.

“Two of them, yes. A couple others got away.”

“So you don’t just save people. You kill people too.”

“Numa aren’t people. If we have a chance to destroy an evil revenant, we do. Humans can always change; that’s why we avoid killing them if we can. There is always a possibility of redemption in their future. But not the numa. They started on their path while they were human. Once they’re revenants, they’re past any hope for salvation.”

So Vincent was a killer, I thought. A bad-guy killer, but a killer nonetheless. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“And the girl who threw herself off the bridge?”

“She’s fine.”

“Are you obsessed with her?”

Vincent laughed. “Now that I know she’s fine, no.” Under the table, he pulled my legs back between his, and some of the warmth returned. “I’m just lucky revenants can’t read one another’s minds, because Jean-Baptiste would kill me if he knew I had told you about the numa.”

“Security breach?” I laughed.

Vincent smiled. “Yes, but I trust you, Kate.”

“No problem there,” I said. “You probably already know this from your spy network, but I don’t have anyone to tell even if I wanted to. It’s not like I have crowds of friends waiting around to hear my undead gossip.”

Vincent laughed. “No. But you have me.”

“I’ll be extra careful not to blab about monsters around you, then.”

“How is it that we just talked for two hours and I still don’t know anything about you?” I complained as we left the restaurant.

“What do you mean?” Vincent responded, starting up the scooter. “I told you a ton about us.”

“About you as a group, lots, but you as a person, nothing,” I shouted over the noise of the engine. “You didn’t let me ask you any questions. Puts me at a disadvantage.”

“Get on,” he said, laughing. I climbed up behind him and wrapped my arms around him, feeling close to bliss.

We crossed the river and began driving toward our part of town. With the wind whipping my hair wildly about below the edge of the helmet, and the warm body of my . . . potential boyfriend pressed up against me, I wished he would keep driving till we hit the Atlantic Ocean, more than four hours away. But when the Louvre Museum edged into view on the other side of the Seine, Vincent slowed down and pulled over to the riverside. He turned off the bike and locked it to a post before taking my hand and leading me toward the river.

“Okay, ask me something,” he said.

“Where are you taking me?”

Vincent laughed. “You get one question, and you’re going to use it on that? Okay, Kate. Because you’ve been so patient, I will answer.” We stepped up onto the Pont des Arts—a wooden footbridge leading across the river—and began walking across.

The city was lit up like a Christmas tree, and its bridges illuminated with spotlights that made them appear majestic and otherworldly. The Eiffel Tower twinkled in the distance, and the reflection of the moon shone on the surface of the water swirling below us.

We reached the center of the bridge. Vincent led me gently to the side rail and, standing behind me, wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close to him. I closed my eyes and inhaled, filling my lungs with the river’s distinct marine smell, which I had, over the years, come to equate with a state of tranquillity. My heart slowed, and then as Vincent’s muscles flexed around my shoulders, accelerated.

We stood there, looking out at the City of Light together for a few euphoric moments before he leaned his head down and whispered, “The answer to your question of where I was taking you would be . . . to the most beautiful place in Paris. With the most beautiful girl I have been lucky enough to set eyes on, and who I desperately hope will agree to meet me again. As soon as possible.”

I looked up over my shoulder and registered his sincere expression. He turned me slowly to face him. He gazed at me for a full minute with his big dark eyes, as if trying to memorize every inch of my face.

Then he raised his hand to brush a lock of hair back from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear as he lifted my lips to his.