Die for Me

Throwing the previous day’s clothes on, I walked groggily down the hallway to the kitchen. When Jea

“Oh, my little Kate. It’s good to have you back. I was so happy when Vincent told me you were stopping by last night. And he actually ate this morning, for a change! I thought he was on a hunger strike, but he was just so sick over losing you. . . .” She stopped herself, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Listen to me run on, and you having just woken up. Sit, sit. I’ll get you some breakfast. Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” I said, flattered by all the attention.

Jea

Jea

“Where’s the gym?” I asked, curious about a side of Vincent’s life I didn’t yet know.

“Silly me, I keep thinking you know your way around, when you’ve only been here a couple of times. It’s in the basement. The door to the left as you leave the kitchen.”

I heard them before I saw them. The clang of steel against steel. The heavy breathing, groans, and exclamations. It sounded like the special effects sound track for a martial arts film was being played full blast in an echo chamber. I got to the bottom of the stairs and gasped as I looked around.

The room extended the entire length of the house. The stone ceiling was curved in a barrel arch. Tiny windows were hewn into the top of the wall along its length, at what must be ground level outside. Rays of sunlight angled into the room, transforming swirling dust motes into spooky-looking columns of smoke.

The walls were lined with arms and armor, everything from medieval crossbows, shields, and swords to battle-axes and pikes. Mixed in were more contemporary swords and an assortment of hunting rifles and old army guns.

In the middle of the room, Vincent was swinging a massive, two-handed sword at another man, whose black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. He parried, holding up his own dangerous-looking blade to deflect the blow. Their speed and force was astonishing.

Vincent was wearing baggy black karate pants but was barefoot and shirtless. When he spun with the sword, his rock-hard abdominal muscles and broad chest rippled as he raised and lowered his weapon. He was chiseled, but not pumped up like Ambrose. His body was perfect.

After a few minutes of blatant spying, I stepped down into the room, and the other man glanced toward me and nodded.

“Kate!” Vincent called, jogging over to me. He took my face in his hands and gave me a sweaty peck on the lips. “Good morning, mon ange,” he said. “Gaspard and I were just working out. We’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“Gaspard!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t even recognize you!” With his wild hair pulled back from his face, he looked almost . . . normal. And in the intensity of the fight, he had lost all his awkwardness and hesitation.

“Don’t let Gaspard’s usual mad-poet appearance fool you,” stated Vincent, reading my mind. “He’s used the last hundred and fifty-odd years to study weaponry, and deigns to serve as martial arts instructor for us youngsters.”

Gaspard forced the sword into its sheath. He approached and, making a half bow, said, “Mademoiselle Kate. I must say it is a pleasure to see you here again.” Without his sword in hand, he quickly lost his smooth ma

“If you stop there,” I laughed, “I’ll still be able to take it as a compliment.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” He smiled nervously and nodded toward Vincent’s sword lying on the floor. “Would you like to give it a try, Kate?”

“Do you have life insurance?” I laughed. “Because I could quite possibly kill the three of us if you let me hold a deadly blade.”

“You might want to take off that sweater,” Vincent said. I self-consciously pulled it off to reveal only a tank top underneath. He whistled appreciatively.

“Stop it!” I whispered, blushing.

Gaspard lifted his sword, and his face became calm. He smoothly urged me forward with his chin. Vincent positioned himself behind me, holding the grip in my hands between his own.

The sword looked like it had been stolen from the set of Excalibur—the kind you saw knights in suits of armor staggering around with under its massive weight. The hilt was in the shape of a cross, with a grip long enough to fit one hand over the other and still leave lots of space. Together, Vincent and I raised the sword off the ground. Then Vincent let go, and it dropped to the floor.

“Holy cow, how heavy is that thing?” I asked.

Vincent laughed. “We work out with the heaviest swords so that when we go to something smaller and more wieldy, it’s like holding a feather. Try this instead,” he said, and grabbed a smaller rapier off the wall.

“Okay, I can deal with this one,” I laughed, testing its weight in my hand. Gaspard stood at the ready, and I advanced with Vincent standing behind me, arms around my own. Feeling his bare torso pressed tightly against my back and warm skin brushing my naked arms, I forgot what I was doing for a second, and the sword drooped toward the floor. Forcing myself to focus, I pulled it upright. Concentrate, I thought. I wanted to have at least a passing chance at avoiding complete humiliation.

They showed me a few traditional fencing moves in slow motion, and then changed to more dynamic, martial-arts-style swoop-and-spin movements. After five minutes I was already winded. Sheepishly I thanked Gaspard, saying I’d better sit the rest of the session out and start from scratch another time.

Taking the sword from my hand, Vincent gave my waist a playful squeeze and let me go. I watched from the sidelines for the next half hour as they changed from weapon to weapon, both of them displaying an awe-inspiring mastery of each one.

Finally I heard steps on the stairway, and Ambrose walked into the room. “So, Gaspard, are you done playing with the weakling and ready for a real man?” he jibed, and then, catching sight of me, flashed me a big smile.

“Katie-Lou, well I’ll be. So we didn’t manage to scare you off for good?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No such luck. Looks like you just might be stuck with me.”

He gave me a hug, and then leaned back to look at me affectionately. “Fine with me. We could use some eye candy around here.”

Hanging out with a houseful of men was going to be good for my self-esteem, I thought, whether or not those men were technically alive.

“Okay, back off, Ambrose. You might be bigger than me, but I’ve got a sword,” Vincent said.

“Oh really?” laughed Ambrose and, reaching up with one hand, grabbed a battle-ax as tall as him from off the wall. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Romeo!” And at that, the men began a three-way fight that topped anything I’d ever seen in the movies—and without any Hollywood special effects.

Finally Vincent called for a time-out. “Not that I couldn’t fight you all day, Ambrose, but I have a date, and it’s bad ma