Die for Me

“Not Ambrose. It’s Jules.” The words came from Ambrose’s lips, but his eyes stared blindly ahead.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Vincent finally reached us. “It’s Ambrose,” I said. “He got stabbed or shot or something. And he’s delirious. He just told me he was Jules.”

“We have to get him out of here before they come back with reinforcements for his body,” Vincent said to me in a low voice, and then said more loudly, “He’s fine, he’s fine . . . thanks!” to the small group of people who were now coming to our aid. He grasped one of Ambrose’s arms and draped it around his shoulder.

“But what about Georgia?” I gasped.

“Whoever did this saw you standing with Ambrose. It’s too dangerous for you here.”

“I can’t leave my sister,” I said, turning to make my way through the crowd to get her.

Vincent grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him. “She was inside the restaurant when they attacked. She’s safe. Come with me!” he commanded, and I took Ambrose’s other arm and pulled it across my back. He was walking, but seemed very weak. We got to the end of the block, and Vincent hailed a taxi and maneuvered us inside before slamming the door. I peered down the street as we pulled away. No sign of Georgia.

“Is he okay?” asked the driver, looking in his rearview mirror and checking out the massive man slumped over in his backseat.

“Drunk,” Vincent responded simply, pulling off his sweater as he spoke.

“Well, make sure he doesn’t throw up in my cab,” the man said, shaking his head in disgust.

“What happened?” Vincent asked me quietly in English, glancing up to see if the driver could understand. He handed his sweater to Ambrose, who unzipped his jacket and stuck it under his shirt. He leaned his head against the seat in front of him.

“We were just standing there when two guys shoved him up against the wall. They ran off before I even knew what was happening.”

“Did you see who did it?” he asked.

I shook my head.

Ambrose said, “It was two of them. I didn’t see it happening ahead of time or I would have warned you.”

“It’s okay, Jules,” Vincent said, placing his hand reassuringly on Ambrose’s back.

“Why did you just call him Jules?”

“Ambrose isn’t in there. It’s Jules,” Vincent said.

“What? How?” I asked, gripped by horror as I jerked away from the slumping form next to me.

“Ambrose is either unconscious or . . . dead.”

“Dead,” responded Ambrose.

“Is he going to . . . come back to life?” I asked, horrified.

“The cycle resets when we’re killed. Day one of our dormancy starts the second we die. Don’t worry—Ambrose will reanimate in three days.”

“So what is Jules doing? Possessing him?”

“Yes. He wanted to get Ambrose out of there before our enemies could come back and take the body.”

“You can do that, I mean, possess someone?”

“Other revenants, yeah, under certain circumstances.”

“Like?”

“Like if their body’s still in good enough shape to move.” Seeing my bewilderment, he clarified. “If they’re in one piece. And rigor mortis hasn’t set in.”

“Eww.” I grimaced.

“You asked!” He glanced up at the driver who, judging by his lack of interest, was oblivious to the gist of our conversation.

“How about humans?” I asked.

“If they’re alive, yes, but only with their permission. And taking into consideration that it’s very dangerous for a human’s mental state to have two minds active in there at once,” he said, tapping his forehead. “They’d go insane if it went on for long.”

I shuddered.

“Don’t think about it, Kate. It rarely ever happens. It’s just something we do in the most extreme situations. Like this one.”

“What . . . am I creeping you out, my darling Kates?” the words came from Ambrose’s lips.

“Yes, Jules,” I responded, wrinkling my nose. “I can honestly say that I am completely creeped out right now.”

“Cool,” he said, a smile forming on Ambrose’s lips.

“Jules, bad time to joke around,” Vincent said.

“Sorry, man. It’s not often I get to do magic tricks for a human, though.”

“Can you just concentrate on slowing down the bleeding if at all possible? This driver’s going to freak if we mess up his backseat,” Vincent whispered.

“So, if they already killed him, why would those guys want to come back for his body? Why would they even kill him in the first place, if they know he’s just going to come back to life three days later?” I asked Vincent, ignoring their surreal conversation.

Vincent seemed to weigh whether or not he should tell me. And then, looking at Ambrose’s body half slumped over on mine, he whispered, “It’s the only way we can be destroyed. If they kill us, and then burn our body, we’re gone forever.”

Georgia was furious. And I didn’t blame her.

By the time we got to Vincent’s house, we had fought it out by text.

Georgia: Where are you guys?

Me: Ambrose sick. Had to take him home.

Georgia: Why didn’t you come in and get me?

Me: Tried to. Couldn’t get through the crowd.

Georgia: I seriously hate you right now, Kate Beaumont Mercier.

Me: I am SO SORRY.

Georgia: Saw some friends here who rescued me from complete humiliation. But I still hate you.

Me: Sorry.

Georgia: You are NOT forgiven.

Vincent and I tried to help Ambrose, but he righted himself after getting out of the taxi and brushed our hands away. “I’ve got it now. Damn, this guy is heavy. How can he even move with all these lumpy muscles all over the place?”

When we got to the door Vincent turned to me, looking conflicted.

“I think I’ll go home,” I said, beating him to the punch.

He looked relieved. “I can walk with you if you can just wait a few minutes for us to get him settled.”

“No, I’ll be okay. Really,” I said. And curiously enough, I meant it. Through all the horror and weirdness of the evening, I felt strangely okay. I can handle this, I thought to myself, as I walked out of the gates toward my grandparents’ house.

Chapter Twenty

GEORGIA SULKING IS NOT A PRETTY SIGHT. Although I had apologized a million times, she wasn’t speaking to me.

Things were pretty uncomfortable around the house. Mamie and Papy tried to ignore the fact that anything was wrong, but on the fifth day after my unforgivable crime, Papy pulled me over and said, “Why don’t you come see me at work today?” He glanced over at Georgia’s brooding silhouette and gave me a significant look, as if to say, Can’t talk here. “It’s been months since you’ve stopped by, and I have a lot of new inventory you haven’t seen.”

After school I headed directly to Papy’s gallery. Walking into his shop was like entering a museum. In its muted light, ancient statues were lined up facing one another from either side of the room, and glass cases displayed artifacts shaped in pottery or cast in precious metals.

“Ma princesse,” Papy crowed when he saw me, shattering the room’s opulent silence. I flinched. That was my dad’s pet name for me, and no one had called me that since his death. “You came. So, what looks new to you?”

“Him, for starters,” I said, pointing to a life-size statue of an athletic-looking youth stepping forward with one foot and holding a clenched fist tightly down by his side. The other arm and his nose were missing.