Until I Die - By Plum, Amy Page 0,10
made my body turn to marshmal ow.
“Bye, Katie-Lou.” Ambrose gave me a little salute and turned to leave.
“Good-bye,” I called as the two revenants walked away from me into the dappled moonlit shadows. When they were out of sight, I turned to follow my sister up to our grandparents’ apartment.
Georgia had already stripped off her party dress and replaced it with an oversize T-shirt by the time I got to her room. “What’s the deal with the two-man escort?” she asked.
“Three,” I responded. “Some guy named Henri was floating around above us. Vincent’s paranoid about me being leapt upon by bad zombies.
With their leader gone, the numa are in hunker-down mode, and the revenants are waiting for a surprise attack.”
“Disappearing numa sounds like a good thing to me.” She leaned in toward her mirror and wiped her lipstick off with a tissue. “Personally, I’m happy I haven’t run into a murderous killer since, well . . . since you chopped my ex’s head off with a sword.” Although my sister was playing lighthearted, a shadow of fear still lurked behind her practiced carefree demeanor.
“Vincent’s talking about giving me a bodyguard when he’s not around.”
“Cool!” Georgia said, eyes wide with expectation.
“Nyet to the coolness,” I responded. “I don’t want someone following me everywhere I go. That’s so . . . weird.”
“Don’t think ‘following.’ Think ‘accompanying.’ And what difference would it make? You’re already with Vincent or one of his friends on a pretty consistent basis.”
I studied her face. She wasn’t saying it as a criticism. For my super-social sister, it was normal—even preferable—to have people surrounding you 24-7.
“Remember who you’re talking to, Georgia? It’s me. Your one and only sibling. Who is not queen of the Paris nightlife and actually likes to spend some of her waking hours alone.”
“Well then, just tell Vincent you don’t want a babysitter. He worships you as is. Your word should be his command.” I rolled my eyes. If only. “He actually used the word chaperone.”
“Vincent’s so hot when he talks like a grandpa,” she joked. “Next thing you know, he’ll ask Papy if he can start courting you, then everything will be downhil after that. False teeth. Saggy Y-fronts.”
“Eww!” I laughed, fake-punching my sister on the arm.
From somewhere inside her purse, Georgia’s phone started buzzing. She pulled it out and began texting. Then she looked up at me and said, “By the way, Katie-Bean, you look gorgeous in that dress.”
I leaned over and hugged my glamorous, social butterfly of a sister and left her to continue her New Year’s Eve socializing.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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FOUR
BEING NEW YEAR’S DAY, THE GARE DE LYON TRAIN station was practically abandoned. Kamikaze pigeons soared in eccentric looping flight patterns under the massive glass-and-steel ceiling. Our small group of six stood dwarfed in the colossal space, watching Charlotte and Charles board the ultramodern high-speed TGV train that would take them from Paris to Nice in just under six hours. Ambrose loaded a small mountain of suitcases onto the luggage compartment of their carriage as the twins leaned in for hugs from Jules, Vincent, and me and more formal cheek-kisses from Gaspard and Jean-Baptiste.
As a digitized woman’s voice announced the train’s imminent departure, Charles broke away from Ambrose’s crushing bear hug and climbed onto the train without looking back. Charlotte brushed away tears as she turned. “You’ll return before long,” stated Jean-Baptiste, a rare trace of emotion tingeing his voice. She nodded mutely, looking like she was struggling not to burst into full-fledged sobbing.
“Emaill. . . and phone!” I reminded her. “We’ll keep in touch—I promise!” I threw her a kiss with both hands as she stepped onto the train and disappeared behind the darkened windows. Vincent draped his arm supportively around my shoulders. I turned so that the twins wouldn’t see me cry.
Charlotte was the only girl I had gotten close to since we moved to Paris almost a year ago. It was my fault: I hadn’t actively been looking for friends. For half of that time I had been a hermit. Then along came Vincent, and it was like he brought a prepackaged group of friends with him. It hadn’t escaped my attention that I preferred to spend time with the undead rather than the living. I tried not to think about what that said about me.
The sound of the conductor’s whistle pierced the frigid air. The train shuddered once and then pulled away. Our mismatched group waved at the darkened windows before wordlessly ambling back toward the station