Die for Me

“Waiting for Charles. And here he is,” she said, her eyes fixing on the subway stairs behind me.

 

Charles walked up, all his limbs intact, looking healthier than ever but in a much fouler humor. He scowled when he saw me. “What’s the human doing here?” he asked.

 

“Um, I have a name. And to answer your question, I live here,” I responded defensively. “You’re not the only person in Paris who uses the rue du Bac Métro.”

 

“No, I mean, what are you doing here with Charlotte?”

 

“I just ran into her. Accidentally.” Why am I making excuses to this obnoxious adolescent? I wondered, annoyed with myself.

 

“I thought that since you ditched Vincent, we’d never see you again.”

 

“Well,” I said, pasting a fake smile across my face, “here I am. So, Charlotte, it was nice to see you. Gotta go.”

 

I turned to walk away, but Charles shouted after me. “You just can’t get enough of us dead guys, huh? What do you want now? You want us to save your life again? Or are you going to lead us into a death trap like you did Ambrose?”

 

“What are you talking about?” I yelled, spinning to face him.

 

“Nothing. I’m talking about nothing. Just forget I ever said a word,” he spat. Thrusting his hands into his jeans pockets, he turned and stalked off.

 

Charlotte looked at me apologetically.

 

“What was that about? What did I do?” I gasped.

 

“Nothing, Kate. You didn’t do anything. Don’t worry, it’s all Charles’s problem.”

 

“Well then, why did he attack me like that?” I was still motionless with shock.

 

“Hey, do you want to walk down to the river?” she asked, ignoring my question. “I was kind of hoping I’d run across you at some point, seeing we’re neighbors and all. Not that I haven’t seen you around, of course. I just didn’t feel like it was appropriate to run down the street after you.”

 

“Don’t tell me you were following me,” I said, half joking.

 

Charlotte didn’t answer, but grinned at me like a cat.

 

“What? Have you been following me?”

 

“Don’t worry, Vincent didn’t ask me to. It’s just that following people is what we do, and when we’re doing it nonstop, it’s hard not to follow people who interest us.”

 

“I interest you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Let’s see. Well, you’re the first girl Vincent has fallen for since becoming a revenant. Which already qualifies you as fascinating to the rest of us.”

 

“I can’t talk about . . . him,” I began to protest.

 

“Okay. We will avoid the topic of Vincent completely. Promise.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You also interest me because . . .” For once she looked much younger than her fifteen-year-old body. “I had kind of been hoping you would be a friend. Before you left, that is. It’s a bit lonely hanging out with guys all the time. Thankfully Jeanne is there, or I’d probably have already lost it.”

 

My expression must have been quizzical, because she hurriedly went on to explain. “It’s not like I can go out and make friends with just any human. They wouldn’t understand. But since you already know what we are . . .”

 

I gently cut her off. “Charlotte, I am incredibly flattered that you want to be friends with me. I really like you, too. But I’m still so upset about Vincent that if I hung out with you and we ran into him, it would be too hard on me.”

 

She looked away and nodded her head nonchalantly, as if already distancing herself from me.

 

“I thought you hung out with Charles most of the time,” I said.

 

“Oh, he’s off on his own a lot lately,” she said, trying to sound flippant but not managing very well. Her voice trembled as she continued, “So recently I’ve found myself a bit more on my own than I’m used to.” Her attempt to look brave was ruined by the tear I noticed coursing down her cheek as she turned away.

 

“Wait!” I said, grabbing her hand, and pulled her back to face me.

 

Staring at the ground, she brushed away another tear. “I’m sorry. Things have just been kind of . . . hard lately.”

 

I guess I’m not the only one with problems, I told myself, my resolve crumbling as I saw the sadness on her face. “Okay, yeah. Let’s walk to the river.” Her empty eyes met my own, and she managed a glimmer of a smile as she took my arm and we walked down the street together.

 

As we neared the water, I pointed out an antique taxidermy shop. “My mom and I used to always go in there,” I said. “It’s like a zoo, except all the animals are dead. Now I can’t even pass by without thinking about Mom. I haven’t dared go in, in case I had a meltdown right there in the middle of all the stuffed squirrels.”

 

Charlotte laughed—the response I had been hoping for. “That’s how I felt too after my parents died. Everything reminded me of them. Paris felt like a ghost town to me for years after,” she said as we walked down the steps to the quay.