Die for Me

“Sit,” he said to us, motioning with the knife to the couch. He began piling wood and kindling into the hearth and put a match to it.

With her face in her hands, my sister began weeping and lowered her head to my shoulder. “Kate, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“Shh. It doesn’t matter now. Are you okay?” I whispered. “Let me see your neck.”

She lifted her head, and I touched the knife wound. It wasn’t much more than a scratch. “It’s not that bad,” I said, wiping a drop of blood away with my finger.

“Who cares about my cut?” she whispered. “We’re never going to get out of here alive. We just saw him murder someone. What’s wrong with Vincent, anyway? Why isn’t he moving?”

“He’s kind of . . . in a coma,” I responded.

“What happened?” she asked, horrified.

“Georgia,” I said, looking at her steadily, “Lucien didn’t say anything when he brought you here? You don’t know . . . what they are?”

She shook her head, confused.

There was no way I could avoid telling her. And seeing as we might not live through the evening, I didn’t see the sense in hiding what should have been obvious by now. “Georgia, they’re not human . . . Vincent and Lucien.”

“What are they, then?”

“It’s complicated,” I began, and then, seeing tears of confusion begin to well up in her eyes, I took a breath and said, “They’re called revenants. They’re undead.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter, Georgia,” I insisted, grabbing her hands roughly and forcing her to look me in the eyes. I spoke the words slowly, as much for my benefit as for hers: “I don’t care what Vincent is. We can’t let Lucien destroy him.”

Her eyes searched my face. For once I didn’t regret being an open book. The bewilderment and fear left Georgia’s face and were replaced by a look of pure determination. My sister had always been there for me, and she was here for me now. However insane the words coming out of my mouth sounded, she didn’t doubt me for a second.

“What can we do?” she whispered. I shook my head and watched Lucien use a poker to move the logs around. The flames caught and shot up, exploding into a substantial blaze as the smell of wood fire flooded the room.

“He’s going to try to burn Vincent’s body,” I whispered back. “We can’t let him.”

As if validating everything I had told her, Lucien turned. “It’s such a pity to have to dispose of my old foe’s body before giving him a chance to see me kill his girlfriend with his own eyes. It would be fitting vengeance for shooting my wife while I watched.”

“Your going out with Georgia wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” I asked, the realization suddenly shaking me.

“Of course not! There are no coincidences,” he smirked, as Georgia’s breath drew in sharply beside me. “I saw you girls together at the river a few months ago after Vincent saved that pitiful teenager who jumped from the bridge.”

“You were the one who sped off in a car after almost knocking us over!” I gasped.

“Yours truly,” Lucien leered and gave a bow. “So when I saw Vincent come swooping out of the Métro with you in his arms after the second suicide in a row that he ruined for me, I figured that you must be someone special to him. And it was so easy to find out everything about you afterward, including the fact that your party-girl sister was a regular patron at several of my nightclubs. Which isn’t much of a coincidence either, since she isn’t terribly discriminating about the places she frequents and the crowds she moves in.”

I felt Georgia deflate at these words, and Lucien chuckled, enjoying her reaction. “You used me to get to Kate,” she muttered, stu

Lucien smiled and shrugged. “No offense, darlin’.”

“But how did you know I was here tonight? How did you know to bring Georgia along as your human door pass?”

“I could tell that Charles was speaking to a human on the phone. What other human would answer Vincent’s phone? Then I recognized your voice. And that gave me this wonderful idea!” He gestured to include the room and Vincent’s body. “How do you think I became such a successful businessman if I didn’t know how to grab an opportunity when it’s sitting right in front of me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, disgusted by his flippancy. “Lying, cheating, murdering . . . That would have been my guess.”

“Ah, flattery. It’s like music to my ears.” He cracked his knuckles loudly as he passed us on his way to the bed, and then, leaning over, picked up Vincent’s stiff body in his arms and spoke to him as if he were there.

“Too bad you have to miss out on the bloodbath in your own bedroom. Reminds me of my own death. But since your spirit happens to be elsewhere, when I destroy your body you’ll have the rest of eternity to float around and mull it over.” Struggling slightly from the body’s deadweight, he began walking toward the fireplace.

“No!” I screamed, jumping up and ru

“What are you going to do, little girl? Kick me in the shin?”

Georgia leaped from the couch and rushed up behind him, grasping at his arms. She let out a scream of pure rage as she clawed at him, merely managing to slow him down. I ran at him and tried to push him backward away from the blaze. But even giving it all my strength, he didn’t budge.

“Well, spit on my empty grave—if it ain’t the attack of the Disney princesses!” he snarled, a

She landed against the side of the bed, her head cracking hard against the wood bed frame. He walked over to her and, pausing until she met his gaze, said, “I’m sorry to have to do this,” and stepped on her hand. I heard the bones crunch sickeningly just before she screamed. “Actually, not that sorry,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he watched her writhe. The pain must have been excruciating: Her eyes rolled upward and she slumped over, unconscious.

Picking up the heavy iron fire poker from next to the hearth, I ran over to where he stood and brought it down with all my force on his back.

“Damn it, girl, give that to me,” he yelled, and yanked the weapon out of my hands, tossing it like a matchstick into a far corner. “If you want to bang on something, you can help me chop off lover-boy’s head.”

Reaching up, he pulled one of the swords from where it hung above the mantel. The second sword fell to the floor. I made a dash for it and picked it up by the hilt, staggering backward under its weight.

Lucien stood, holding his sword in one hand over Vincent’s body, and watched me with an amused grin. I struggled to lift my blade and shakily pointed it at him.

“Don’t get any closer to him,” I said.

“Or what?” he spat. “If you wished to die before seeing your boyfriend decapitated, all you had to do was ask. But I hope you will allow me a little sport first. It’s been ages since I’ve killed a woman with my own hands.”

He lunged at me, grazing my right shoulder with his blade. A small spurt of blood spilled through the slice in my shirt and ran down my arm. I stared at it a second, feeling nauseated. And then I looked back down at Vincent’s body, lying lifeless on the floor, and my strength returned. With all my force, I raised my sword.

“That’s it,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve got to put a little more muscle behind it.” He was playing with me. I should be grateful—if he expended even a little effort, I would be dead. But instead of feeling intimidated, his condescension made me furious.

Fueled by my anger, I swung the massive weapon at him, and he stepped nimbly aside as the blade crashed against the terra-cotta floor tiles, breaking a couple in half and sending a large earthen chip flying through the air. His sword flashed in the firelight, and I felt a burning sting in my leg. I looked down and saw that my jeans were sliced open and a stream of blood flowed from a wound on my outer thigh, just below my hip.