Die for Me

We walked together down the hallway and past the foyer into a massive room with high ceilings and two-story windows. A fug of old leather and wilting roses hung thickly in the air. A colony of leather couches and armchairs were arranged at the far end around a monumental fireplace.

Near the large fire burning in the hearth, I saw Charlotte lying down on a couch and Ambrose stretched out on the Persian carpet in front of the chimney. He had changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans, and though his wounds had been cleaned and there was no blood in sight, he had enough bandages on to qualify as a mummy. He saw me staring and said, “Don’t worry, Katie-Lou, just a couple more weeks till dormancy and I’ll be as good as new.”

I nodded, trying hard to change my expression from freaked to reassured.

“Here they are,” said Jean-Baptiste, who paced back and forth in front of the fire, holding a poker in one hand like a walking stick. “We waited for you and Vincent to get back before starting,” he said, motioning me to a chair with his eyes. I sat down.

“There are some decisions that have to be made, and I need to hear what happened, in detail, from each of your perspectives. I’ll start.” He set the poker against the fireplace and stood with his hands behind his back, looking every bit like a general debriefing his troops.

Charlotte, Ambrose, and Jules began to recount their own parts of the story, with Jean-Baptiste “translating” for Vincent. The group, with Vincent’s help, had recovered Charles’s body before finding themselves trapped inside the Catacombs by a small army of numa. An army without a leader. It took a comment from one of their captors to alert them to what was happening: Lucien had forbidden the numa to kill any revenants until he returned with “the head.” Suspecting that the head in question was his own, Vincent was off in a flash. The revenants took advantage of the numa’s hesitation to kill them and fought their way out, then rushed back to assist Vincent.

“It doesn’t seem we were followed,” Jean-Baptiste concluded. “Kate”—he turned to me officiously—“would you kindly take over the narrative here?”

I told the group what had happened, starting with my sister’s text messages, up to the moment where Vincent arrived and took over my body.

“Impossible!” Jean-Baptiste exclaimed.

I looked at him wryly. “Well, it sure wasn’t me who chopped a giant numa’s head off with a four-foot broadsword!”

“No, not impossible that he possessed you. Impossible that you survived with your sanity intact.” Jean-Baptiste was silent for a second, and then nodded. “If you say so, Vincent, but I just don’t see how it is possible for a human to experience that and come through it as untouched as Kate seems to be. Besides a few ancient and unfounded rumors, there is absolutely no precedent.” He paused again, listening. “Just because you can communicate with her while volant doesn’t mean that everything else is possible. Or safe,” the older revenant scolded. “Yes, yes, I know . . . you had no other choice. It’s true, if you hadn’t you would both be gone.” He sighed, and turned to me.

“So you killed Lucien?”

“Yes, I mean Vincent . . . um, the knife we threw lodged all the way through his eye, deep into his head. That one stroke must have killed him. At least, his face looked dead. Then we chopped his head off with the sword.”

“And his body?”

“We burned it on the fire.”

Ambrose spoke up. “I watched it after they left for the clinic. Nothing remains.”

Jean-Baptiste relaxed visibly and stood immobile for a second, holding his forehead before looking back up at the group.

“It’s clear, then, that the plan was to lure the rest of us, with Vincent volant, away from the house, clearing the way for Lucien to come here and dispose of his body. Knowing our old enemy, he probably pla

The room was silent.

“I would have preferred that Charles be here to join us for this conversation”—he paused, exhaling deeply—“but because of the circumstances I leave it up to you, Charlotte, to break the news to your brother that I have asked you both to leave.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

EVERYONE LOOKED AT ONE ANOTHER IN SHOCK.

“What?” Charlotte murmured, shaking her head as if she didn’t understand.

“This isn’t a punishment,” clarified Jean-Baptiste. “Charles needs to get out of here. Out of Paris. Out of this house. Away from me. He needs some time to get his head together. And Paris, in the wake of this battle, this”—he searched for the right term—“declaration of war, if that is what it turns out to be, is not a safe place for someone who doesn’t yet know their mind.”

“But . . . why me?” Charlotte said, shooting a quick, panicky look in Ambrose’s direction.

“Can you live separated from your twin?”

She hung her head. “No.”

“I thought not.” His face softened as Charlotte began to cry. He walked over and sat next to her on the couch, displaying a tenderness that, in my limited experience of Jean-Baptiste, seemed completely out of character.

Holding her hand in his, he said, “Dear girl. It’s just for a few months while we figure out what Lucien’s clan will do without him. Will they attack us? Will their lack of a leader force them to go underground for a while? We just don’t know. And having Charles around, confused and indecisive, will make us weaker when we need to be our strongest.

“I’ve got houses all over, you know. I’ll let you choose where the two of you will go. And you will return. I promise.”

Charlotte leaned forward and threw her arms around Jean-Baptiste’s neck, sobbing. “Shhh,” he said, patting her back.

Once she had quieted he stood again and, addressing Ambrose and Jules, said, “When Gaspard can communicate, I will confer with him as to our plans. We must invite others to replace Charlotte and Charles during this hazardous time. You are welcome to make suggestions.

“And as for you, Kate,” Jean-Baptiste said, turning to me. I sat stiffly in my chair, not knowing what would come next but steeling myself for the worst. He couldn’t banish me; I didn’t live under his roof. And he couldn’t stop me from seeing Vincent; I would refuse. Although I had never felt physically weaker in my life, my will had never been stronger.

“We owe you our gratitude. You protected one of our kindred at the risk of your own life.”

I sat there, stu

“You could have taken your sister and run. Vincent was the one Lucien was after.”

I shook my head. No, I couldn’t have. I would have preferred to die myself than leave Vincent to his destruction.

“You have earned my trust,” Jean-Baptiste concluded formally. “Henceforth, you are welcome here.”

Jules spoke up. “She was already welcome here.” Ambrose nodded his agreement.

Jean-Baptiste looked at them mildly. “You both know how I struggle to protect our group. And though I trust you all, I don’t always trust your decisions. Has anyone else been allowed to bring a human lover into this house?”

The room was quiet.

“Well, this one is now given my official welcome.”

“And it only took hacking off an evil zombie’s head to earn it,” Ambrose mumbled sarcastically.

Jean-Baptiste ignored him and continued. “However, I would appreciate it if you would find some way of explaining this to your sister that would prevent her from having access to all our secrets. And if you have the slightest suspicion that she is in contact with any of Lucien’s associates, I would ask you to tell me immediately. In any case, she will not be allowed within the house again, for the security of all of us. I realize it was against her will, but her presence permitted the only security breach we have ever experienced within our gates.”