Until I Die - By Plum, Amy Page 0,29

friends. It probably feels like you’re living in a whole new world. Perhaps a scary one at that.” As I let her hug me close, I thought, Oh, Mamie, you have no idea.

Vincent was waiting in the hallway when I opened our door. His alarmed expression faded when he saw that I wasn’t visibly upset. “Kate, I’m so sorry,” he said, taking me in his arms. I closed my eyes and let myself bask in the hug for a few seconds before pulling him into the apartment.

“hello, Vincent, dear,” Mamie said, walking up behind us and standing on her tiptoes to give him the customary cheek - kisses. “How have you been?” she asked.

My grandparents loved Vincent, which definitely made my life easier. While they always questioned Georgia about her whereabouts, all I had to do was say I was going out with Vincent and there were no more questions asked. Another good reason not to rock the boat.

“I’ll just leave you two alone now,” she said after they’d caught up, steering us into the living room and closing the glass doors behind us. The room was crammed with antiques, artifacts, and paintings, and it smelled like a cross between a musty library and a Bedouin tent.

I settled on the couch next to a vase of cut flowers, one of several that Mamie scattered through the rooms, letting you walk through a cloud of freesia or lilac or something else delicious, before moving back into the ancient-odor zone. Vincent positioned himself in an armchair right in front of me.

“I can’t apologize enough for what happened back there,” he said. “You know that no one else agrees with Arthur.”

“I know,” I said, though I was aware that Jean-Baptiste hadn’t exactly been jumping for joy when he’d officially welcomed me into his house. But since that day, he had been nothing but courteous.

“I just can’t figure it out,” Vincent said, looking bothered. “Arthur’s such a good guy. I mean, even though he and Violette act like they’re God’s gift to revenants at times, he has never been intentionally exclusive or petty.”

“Maybe he was just being honest,” I said. “Maybe he actually does think that it’s dangerous for me to hear your plans.”

“Well, he could have mentioned it before, instead of bringing it up in front of everyone.” He brought his hand up to touch my cheek, and I grasped it and pulled it to my lips before dropping it to my lap.

“I’m fine, really,” I said, although the humiliation still felt cold in the pit of my stomach. “What is up with Arthur and Violette, though? They seem to argue like an old married couple, but I’ve never seen them touch. Are they together?” Vincent laughed, and got up to finger one of Papy’s ancient figurines that sat atop the fireplace mantel. “They are not together—in the sleeping-together sense of the word.” He lifted an eyebrow. “But you kind of got it right with the ‘old married couple’ reference. Arthur considers himself Violette’s protector. They’re from the time when women were thought to need protection, of course,” he added, grinning.

“Arthur was Violette’s father’s counselor, and they both died in the same kidnapping attempt. So I guess it’s natural that they would stay together all this time, but I know that ‘love’ is not the nature of their relationship. Codependence, maybe, but not love.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, intrigued by the suddenly sheepish look on his face.

“Oh, Violette and I have a bit of a history. I’ve met her a few times over the years. Whenever Jean-Baptiste found a previously undiscovered text that he thought was particularly important, he had me take it to her for inspection. She wasn’t exactly shy about confessing her feelings for me.” I gasped. “Violette was in love with you?”

“Love is a strong word. But yes, she told me she was interested. I couldn’t reciprocate. But”—he glanced fleetingly at me, and then back to the figurine—“I was actually tempted to give it a try. I thought it might be my only chance at finding someone to be with.” I realized I was gaping at him. “But Vincent, she’s only fourteen. That’s kind of . . . I don’t know . . . pervy.”

“She was in her twenties at the time,” Vincent said, pressing his lips together to stifle a smile.

“Oh, yeah. Right,” I said, trying to process this weird new information.

“Nothing happened,” he reassured me. “At all. But I guess Violette sensed I might be open