Until I Die by Amy Plum

But there was something else in the picture that you didn’t even notice until you let your eyes drift from the warm colors. The peaches sat on a creamy white plate with a soft blue fabric nestled up behind them. If the peaches had been painted on empty canvas—fiery colors against a background of pure white—they wouldn’t have been believable. But the delicately painted background brought them to life.

 

That’s what Vincent was for me. He gave me context. I was whole in and of myself, but better than whole with him.

 

But for now, I was alone. I set my mind on what I had planned for the next day, and gradually drifted into sleep.

 

 

Good morning, ma belle, a voice said as I opened my eyes. I glanced at my clock. Eight a.m.

 

Rolling over to my side, I closed my eyes again. “Mmm,” I groaned in pleasure. “Good morning, Vincent. How long have you been ghosting around my bedroom?” I spoke my thoughts aloud. It was the only way Vincent could hear me, since mind reading was not a revenant superpower.

 

Since I woke up. I guess it was a bit after midnight. The words ran through my head like a breeze, bypassing my ears and traveling directly through my thoughts. In the beginning I had gotten only a few words at a time. But now—after a few months’ practice—I could understand almost everything.

 

“Did I snore?” I murmured.

 

You never snore. You’re perfect.

 

“Ha!” I said. “I’m just really glad you don’t have a sense of smell when you’re volant. I don’t have to jump up and brush my teeth before we chat.”

 

Although I couldn’t see him, I imagined he was smiling.

 

“I miss you,” I said. “I wish I could be at your house right now, lying in your bed, keeping you company.”

 

Keeping my cold, hard body company? In my mind, Vincent’s voice sounded amused. When you could be having a conversation with me instead? So—the next words took a few seconds to come through—you do like my body better than my mind.

 

“I like both,” I said obstinately. “But I have to say there’s something about human touch that seems pretty essential to a relationship. I would not be into dating a ghost, for example.”

 

No ghosts, okay. But revenants are datable?

 

“Only one revenant,” I said, my arms actually aching to hold him against me. I wrapped them around my pillow instead. A flower of desire began blooming inside me as I imagined him lying in bed beside me. “I want you,” I murmured, unsure whether he heard my pillow-muffled words.

 

Desire . . . The airspace in my head was quiet for a whole minute, and then I heard him again. Desire is a funny thing. When I’m with you—in body—I’m constantly on the defensive. Against myself. We haven’t known each other long, and I need you to be sure of what you want before we . . . go further.

 

“I know what I want,” I said.

 

Vincent ignored that and continued. But here, when touching you isn’t even an option . . . well, I want you so badly it hurts.

 

I sat up in surprise and looked around the room, trying to place exactly where he was. “You’ve never said that before.”

 

Trying to resist you is like trying to resist dying. It just gets harder the longer I hold out.

 

I sat there for a minute, stunned by his words. My senses were all on the alert: My fingers tingled and the scent of Mamie’s flowers on my nightstand suddenly seemed overpoweringly heady. “You said that dying is like a drug to you,” I said finally.

 

And yet, I choose you instead. I can only imagine that when our time finally comes, it will be exponentially better than any of these short-lived supernatural rewards.

 

“When will our time come?” I asked hesitantly.

 

When do you want it to?

 

“Now.”

 

Easy answer, since it’s not possible. I could almost hear Vincent’s rueful smile.

 

“Soon, then,” I responded.

 

Are you sure? The words flitted like birds through my mind.

 

“Yes. I’m sure,” I said, my body buzzing, but my mind feeling strangely calm about my decision. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it. A lot. Sex—in my mind—was something you did with someone you planned on staying with. And there was no question that I wanted to stay with Vincent. Intimacy was the next natural step.

 

 

I stayed in bed for another half hour, talking to Vincent. The phone rested on my pillow in case Mamie walked in unannounced. Which she never did. But if that ever happened, it was my excuse for having a conversation with the air.

 

Vincent was on walking duty for the entire day with Jules and Ambrose, so once he left, I got up, had my breakfast, and took off. I had done my research the day before and had discovered that the Bishop Saint Ouen, for whom the town was named, had died in the royal villa of King Dagobert in 686 CE. It was to this Villa Clippiacum that pilgrims had made their way, and the whole town had been founded around Saint-Ouen’s cult.

 

The royal villa no longer existed, but I found a website saying that it was probably located where a twelfth-century church now stood. I figured I would begin my search in the area immediately around the church, and then work my way outward until I found something.

 

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