Until I Die - By Plum, Amy Page 0,33

above me, holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s a lot harder when Vincent’s not here to pick up my slack.”

“Is that all it is, my dear? You seem rather . . . distracted today.”

I looked at the older revenant, guessing that he would have a hard time flat-out lying to me. “Actually, I was wondering what Vincent was up to this morning. Jules didn’t seem to know. Do you?” I asked as innocently as possible, feeling a little bit guilty for prying.

Gaspard eyed me cautiously. “I really can’t say,” he responded in his formal nineteenth-century style.

Can’t, or won’t? I thought. Gaspard and Jules know something I don’t. And Vincent says it’s not important enough to talk about. I suspected that Vincent was trying to protect me. To shield me from a situation he didn’t want me to know about. I could only imagine that it was something I wouldn’t like or there would be no reason for this subterfuge. I trust him, I thought. So why does this one case of secrecy make me want to scream?

“Okay, I’m ready,” I said, pushing myself up off the wall. Gaspard smoothed his hair off his face and readjusted his short ponytail before arranging himself into a fighting stance. I picked up my sword and, with my newly acquired frustration-driven energy, began hacking away at him as if he were Lucien resurrected.

“Now that’s more like it!” my instructor exclaimed with a smile.

We fought for another half hour, until I backed away from the fight and hung my sword on an empty hook on the wall. I held up my hands and gasped, “That’s it for me!”

The sound of clapping came from the stairway. “Brava!” called Violette. She was perched on the steps in a comfortable position that made it look like she had been there for a while. “You are really very good, Kate!”

I smiled and, catching a towel that Gaspard threw me, swabbed the sweat from my face. “Thanks, Violette. Although I have a feeling that with your centuries of experience you’re just saying that to be nice.”

She smiled coyly, as if I had caught her, and said, “Not at all. For the little training you have been given, you must have natural talent.”

“Exactly my point of view,” Gaspard affirmed. “So, Violette—do you need me for something?” he asked.

“No. Jules wanted to go to his studio, so I told him I’d walk Kate home and sent him on his way,” she said. “Take your time, though.”

“Thanks,” I said, peeling off the top of my fight suit and exposing my “I Heart New York” tank top beneath. I had been sweating so much, the heavy fabric was starting to make me feel claustrophobic. “And thanks so much for the book and the flowers.”

“Arthur behaved so badly the other day, I felt it was up to me to make amends. Did you figure out the message?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling off the trousers and adjusting the gray jersey gym shorts I had worn underneath. “Purple hyacinths say ‘sorry’ and yellow roses,

‘friendship.’”

“Very good,” she said, delighted. “The hyacinths were in hopes that you will forgive Arthur his insensitivity, and the roses my wish that you and I can be friends.”

Even though I didn’t want to seem overeager, I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. Charlotte had been gone barely over a week, and already I was suffering girlfriend withdrawal. I had Georgia, of course. But she was so busy with her own social life that it left me with a lot of free time—which Vincent usually didn’t mind filling. But now that he was off doing whatever . . . “Hey, instead of walking me home, do you want to grab some lunch with me once I’ve showered?” I asked.

“Yes!” she exclaimed brightly. “Grabbing lunch”—she faltered at the modern coll oquialism—“would be lovely. I will wait for you upstairs.” I practically skipped to the shower, where I speed-washed and dressed. “Thanks, Gaspard!” I called as I ran up the steps to the ground floor.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, smiling slightly as he performed a stiff little bow, and went back to cleaning the various weapons he had pulled off the wall.

Before I could get halfway down the hallway, Arthur appeared, his face buried in a book as he barreled out of a doorway. “Vi,” he called, and then looked up and saw me. His face went from normal to freaked out in a second flat, and his forehead