Until I Die by Amy Plum

“That . . . evil . . . numa power . . . has been going into you?” I tried to hide the disgust in my voice. Vincent had been right to assume that the idea would freak me out. I wasn’t only freaked. I was deeply, intensely disturbed.

 

He nodded, quickly adding, “But it’s not like their character can rub off on me or anything. It won’t change me . . . make me evil or whatever. It just has these unfortunate side effects”—he touched the mottled shadow under his eyes—“but they’re not going to last. They mean my body is building up resistance.”

 

“Then why are you in an even more awful state this month than last?” I exploded. “If you’re building up resistance, shouldn’t it be getting better, not worse?”

 

“The texts say that it will work.”

 

“Damn the texts, Vincent.”

 

I rose to my feet, and Vincent followed my lead. “I have to walk,” I said, feeling like moving would disperse the storm clouds inside my head. I felt overwhelmed. And scared. And I honestly didn’t know what to think anymore.

 

“Let’s go to the beach,” Vincent said, and taking my hand, he led me down the hill until we were walking on the sand, the tide lapping just a short distance from our feet. I couldn’t look at his face, and kept my gaze on our feet as we walked.

 

“Killing numa is an honorable thing,” he said finally. “We just don’t usually hunt them down and kill them for the pure purpose of achieving the Dark Way. But only because we are programmed to save humans—that is our primary reason for being.”

 

I felt so cold that my teeth were chattering, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Even if absorbing nasty”—I grimaced—“numa energy isn’t dangerous, doesn’t it worry you that all the numa in Paris are going to be after your head?”

 

“I pick them out when they’re on their own, and make sure that no one sees it happen. We destroy the bodies with fire, so there isn’t a trace left. As far as the numa know, their members are merely disappearing, not being slain.”

 

My horror was now tangible. It wasn’t just my teeth chattering—my whole body was trembling. “How long has this been going on?” I asked.

 

Noticing my shaking, Vincent pulled me to a stop and tried to draw me close to him, but I resisted. His forehead wrinkled in frustration. “Since just after the New Year,” he answered. “Six weeks. A few numa each week. Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard gave their approval, since they needed the surveillance work done anyway.”

 

“Do the others know about this?”

 

“One of their conditions was that I only do it while walking with the others. So, yes—Jules and Ambrose have been helping me.” Vincent looked steadily into my eyes.

 

“You’ve been hiding this from me because you were worried that it will change the way I think about you.” I watched him carefully.

 

His silence and the vulnerable look on his face confirmed my hypothesis. “So does it?” he asked.

 

“I’m calling this off,” I said, avoiding his question. “This is going way too far.”

 

“Kate, if this works, it’s our answer. I’ll be able to avoid death until . . .”

 

“Until I die,” I filled in the gap.

 

Vincent shook his head as if to banish the thought from his mind. “Isn’t the death of numa better than my own?”

 

“That’s not the issue. You risk being permanently dead if something goes wrong. If they catch you, they will destroy you. That is, if this Dark Way black magic doesn’t destroy you first with its scary side effects. Just look at you, Vincent. There has to be another way for us besides your single-handedly becoming the Numa Slayer.”

 

“Well, there’s not,” Vincent said with finality.

 

“What about my guérisseur, Vincent? You obviously haven’t investigated every possibility out there. And I’m not going to sit back and let you risk your immortal existence just for a chance that you and I can have a few good years together. At least you’ve got to let me search for an alternative. Something safe. As you yourself said, my life is short. Just a blip out of the centuries—who knows, the millennia, even—that you will live. You’re not going to risk all that for me.”

 

By this point we were facing each other on the beach, hands by our sides and fists clenched. As if echoing our emotions, the ocean wind picked up and blew a spray of seawater high in the air, showering us with ice-cold droplets that ran down my face like tears. Vincent took my hand and led me farther from the water, and then clasped my shoulders, pleading now.

 

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