Until I Die by Amy Plum

Violette hesitated, her grip on Georgia loosening.

 

She let him take one step toward her, allowing him to come an arm’s length away. “It is written that if the Champion offers himself up to death by his own volition, his power will not be diluted by murder,” she said, greed flaring in her eyes. “You would be willing to face death for these humans?”

 

“I would,” said Vincent without hesitation.

 

“No, Vincent!” I cried. “What are you saying?”

 

Vincent wouldn’t look at me. “You’re right, Violette. I’m weak enough for you and your men to take. And I’ll go with you. Just put the girl down and you have yourself a deal.”

 

Violette stared at him, weighing his offer.

 

And before I knew what was happening, a figure raced up on Violette’s left. Arthur took advantage of Violette’s focus on Vincent to wrench my sister’s body from her grasp and pull her away to safety.

 

“Sorry, Vi. Deal’s off,” Vincent said softly, as if consoling a small child.

 

She screamed and threw herself on Vincent, using her fingernails to scrape long, red lines down either side of his face.

 

And it was because I was staring at the crimson blood flowing down Vincent’s cheek that I didn’t see the numa coming.

 

As the giant man lunged toward me, Vincent turned from Violette and threw himself forward, grabbing the numa in a crippling embrace as the two of them smashed hard against the guardrail. I screamed as the force of the impact bent the rail backward, and locked in each other’s arms, they toppled over the leaning barrier and out of sight.

 

My heart fell with them. It felt like my entire chest had been ripped out, lungs and all. I couldn’t breathe as I ran to the guardrail and peered over, desperate for a miracle. Desperate for something from the movies—a branch sticking out that Vincent could grab on to. A ledge conveniently placed just feet below the rim of the precipice.

 

But this wasn’t a movie. It was real life. And by the time I got to the edge, their bodies had already hit the ground, and neither one was moving. “No!” I shrieked, as a man in a fur coat rush into the area below, a couple of others following him closely. Turning, I saw that Violette was gone.

 

“Arthur, stay with Georgia!” I yelled. I arrived at the bottom in time to see the numa leap inside the back of an awaiting van and slam the doors behind them, and the van sped off. Panicking, I doubled back and ran toward the bottom of the cliff but stopped halfway there. There was nothing to see. The bodies were gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

 

VINCENT WAS DEAD AND HIS BODY HAD BEEN taken by the numa. The realization of what that meant filled me with an immobilizing horror. Normally, he would simply reanimate in three days. But the numa would never allow that to happen.

 

If they destroyed his body immediately, he would be gone. Forever. However, Violette could do worse. She could wait a day and destroy him once he was volant. Eternity as a wandering spirit, unable to take physical form again—that seemed like an even more horrific fate to me. I had to do something before the numa and their new leader had a chance to act.

 

I called Ambrose.

 

“Katie-Lou? You still at Montmartre? Has Vin got there yet?” he asked before I could speak.

 

“How did you know—” I began.

 

“Jules was volant at the house when you girls decided to tail Arthur, so he followed you. Once he saw where you were going, he let Vincent know and then came to get me. You guys okay? Hand Vin the phone, will you?”

 

“Ambrose, Vincent’s gone. Violette and a numa killed him and took his body. They’ve got him, Ambrose!” My voice was starting to sound hysterical. It was all I could do to get the words out.

 

“What? Violette?” he yelled. “Where did they go?”

 

“They drove off from the base of the Sacré-Coeur staircase in a white truck. Like a delivery-van-looking thing.”

 

“How long ago?”

 

“It’s been two minutes, tops.”

 

“Is Arthur still there?”

 

“Yeah. He’s with Georgia. She’s hurt.”

 

It took him all of three seconds to come up with a plan. “Okay. Arthur will know if Georgia needs a hospital or not. If she doesn’t, the three of you get back to Jean-Baptiste’s. I’m calling him now. He’ll sound the alert for our Paris kindred to begin searching. You just hang in there, Katie-Lou.”

 

“Thanks, Ambrose.” My voice cracked as I hung up. But I couldn’t let myself cry. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I needed to be strong.

 

Looking back up the staircase, I saw Arthur making his way down with a fully conscious Georgia, who leaned heavily against him. The handkerchief she held to her mouth was stained poppy red with her blood. I sprinted up the stairs toward them.

 

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