Until I Die by Amy Plum

Well, nothing new there, I thought with a pang of disappointment. Except for the term “bardia.” I wondered why the revenants didn’t use it for themselves, since the word “numa” was obviously still current.

 

I looked back at my notes to translate a paragraph that had been written in smaller script at the bottom of the page. It was just two sentences, and I found them easier to decrypt than the rest, getting them pretty much word for word. As I deciphered them, I felt a chill creep through my body until, when I finished, my fingers felt numb.

 

 

“Woe to the human who encounters a revenant. For he has danced with death, being either delivered from or into its cold embrace.”

 

I shivered, and glanced toward the clock as I heard my grandparents return. Midnight. I would have to continue my research another day. But having already discovered something on the first try, I was determined to find more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NINE

 

 

 

 

AND LIKE THAT, THE HOLIDAYS WERE OVER AND I was back in school. Junior year had proven to be easy so far, and Georgia, in her last semester of high school, kept me from feeling lonely between classes. But the excitement of being with Vincent and the revenants made this facet of “real life” feel bland. School was just something I needed to get out of the way. I wasn’t even thinking past graduation.

 

Georgia, however, had her future figured out. She would be starting a communications degree at the Sorbonne in the fall. And she had a new boyfriend, Sebastien, who not only wasn’t an evil killer like her last boyfriend, but had no criminal record that I knew of and was actually really nice. Of course, he was in a band. But you couldn’t be a nobody and date Georgia. Glamour and fame were her lowest common boyfriend denominators.

 

Georgia and I were on our way home after our post-holiday two-day school week and were passing the Café Sainte-Lucie when I heard someone shouting my name. I looked over to see Vincent in the café’s front door, waving us over. “I hoped you would pass by,” he said. Folding my hand in his, he steered us through the crowded room, where I saw a table full of revenants in the corner.

 

“Hi,” I said, leaning in to give cheek-kisses to Ambrose and Jules as Vincent took two chairs from a nearby table and placed them between him and Violette.

 

“Georgia, meet Violette and Arthur.” I gestured toward the newcomers. “This is Georgia, my sister.”

 

Arthur nodded and stood formally, taking his seat again once Georgia had sat down.

 

“Let me guess,” Georgia said, gawking appreciatively at his gallantry. “If it weren’t for that divinely handsome mask, you’d probably look like the crypt-keeper. What are you, like . . . pre-Napoleonic? Friends of Louis XIV?”

 

Violette gasped and placed a protective hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Her shock was offset by his look of amusement.

 

Ambrose cracked up. “Keep going backward, Georgia. You’ll get there in a couple hundred years.”

 

Georgia whistled, impressed. “It seems you have to hang with the geriatrics to find a true gentleman nowadays. Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

 

Violette’s ivory complexion turned puce. “Am I mistaken, or does every human in Paris know of our identity?”

 

Vincent smiled his charming smile at her and said, “Georgia had the distinction of finding out about us the hard way. She was the one who was friends with Lucien.”

 

Violette inhaled sharply. “You are the human who is banned from entering the house.”

 

“The one and only,” said Georgia, brushing off Violette’s comment with a laugh. “But I’ve always felt that any establishment that doesn’t welcome me with open arms doesn’t actually deserve my patronage.”

 

Violette sat there staring at her, seemingly not understanding a word Georgia said.

 

“Translation . . . JB doesn’t want me around—I don’t want him around. I have better people to hang out with than stick-up-their-butt centuries-old royal-family wannabes.” Georgia pronounced this in such a matter-of-fact way that the words didn’t sound like as much of a slam as they really were. My sister—a master of diplomacy. Oh Lord. Here we go. I put my hand on Georgia’s arm, but she just covered it with her own and stared defiantly at the tiny revenant.

 

As the meaning of Georgia’s words finally sank in, Violette stood abruptly. In a voice low enough so only our table could hear, she sputtered, “Do you know what we do for you, you unappreciative human?”

 

Georgia looked thoughtfully at her fingernails. “Um, from what I understand, you go around saving people’s lives in order to prevent yourselves from coming down with a supernatural case of delirium tremens.”

 

After a second, the entire table burst out in laughter. Violette grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and strode out of the café. Arthur, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his amusement, stood, gave us a little bow, and followed her out.

 

“Touché, Georgia,” Jules murmured appreciatively. “Violette could stand being taken down a notch, but don’t expect to be BFFs now.”

 

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