Until I Die
Page 36
I shook my head in disbelief. If centuries of being obliged to rescue humans had warped Violette’s perception of the value of life, it didn’t seem to have done the same for Arthur. What could turn a young, hopeful human into a centuries-old bitter immortal? I just couldn’t understand.
Something else had occurred to me. “Why would she go through the trouble of taking Vincent’s body hours away if she’s just going to destroy it?”
“Well, now,” he replied pedantically, “she didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t ask. But in her negotiations with Lucien, she assured him that she held the secret to some sort of mystical transfer of the Champion’s power to the one who destroys him. Whether that means destroying him today to ensure his permanent riddance, or finishing him off tomorrow and keeping his ghost as a pet, I couldn’t really say. She’s the expert on all things Champion. Which, of course, is why we welcomed her with open arms.
“And now that my commission is complete, I will leave you. I’m sure you will want to go back and inform the others. Oh, and please tell them that a rescue attempt would be useless. If Vincent’s not gone now, he will be before they can get to him.” He wrapped his coat snugly about him and strode off into the night.
Stifling the desire to run after him and attack him from behind (he was right—I couldn’t take him), I slid down to sit with my back against the guardrail. Nestling my head against my bent knees, I closed my eyes. A church bell chimed twelve. My thoughts were battling over hope that Violette was lying . . . and utter hopelessness that she wasn’t. Over despair that I would never see Vincent again . . . and determination that I would do anything it took to keep that from happening. I knew I should call Ambrose immediately to pass along Nicolas’s message, but the thought of taking my phone out of my pocket seemed too monumental of a task.
I felt the signum cold against my skin and, raising my head, traced the outline of the pendant through my shirt. My attention was caught by something white floating beneath me on the surface of the water. The crushed lilies had floated under the bridge and were making their way toward the spotlit Eiffel Tower.
And suddenly I knew. She had done it. Violette had destroyed Vincent. After more than eighty years of walking the earth, his spirit had now left it. If we’d lived in separate worlds before, now we were in separate universes. The finality struck me like an anvil.
The smile that lit his face whenever he first caught a glimpse of me. His hand clutching mine as we walked the city streets. The look in his eyes before we kissed. Those experiences were now trapped in the past. And the future that I had imagined with him now drifted into oblivion like those mangled flowers.
I had lost him.
And as the weight of that realization snapped the last remaining threads of hope in my heart, I heard it.
Two words spoken clearly inside my head: Mon ange.
Something else had occurred to me. “Why would she go through the trouble of taking Vincent’s body hours away if she’s just going to destroy it?”
“Well, now,” he replied pedantically, “she didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t ask. But in her negotiations with Lucien, she assured him that she held the secret to some sort of mystical transfer of the Champion’s power to the one who destroys him. Whether that means destroying him today to ensure his permanent riddance, or finishing him off tomorrow and keeping his ghost as a pet, I couldn’t really say. She’s the expert on all things Champion. Which, of course, is why we welcomed her with open arms.
“And now that my commission is complete, I will leave you. I’m sure you will want to go back and inform the others. Oh, and please tell them that a rescue attempt would be useless. If Vincent’s not gone now, he will be before they can get to him.” He wrapped his coat snugly about him and strode off into the night.
Stifling the desire to run after him and attack him from behind (he was right—I couldn’t take him), I slid down to sit with my back against the guardrail. Nestling my head against my bent knees, I closed my eyes. A church bell chimed twelve. My thoughts were battling over hope that Violette was lying . . . and utter hopelessness that she wasn’t. Over despair that I would never see Vincent again . . . and determination that I would do anything it took to keep that from happening. I knew I should call Ambrose immediately to pass along Nicolas’s message, but the thought of taking my phone out of my pocket seemed too monumental of a task.
I felt the signum cold against my skin and, raising my head, traced the outline of the pendant through my shirt. My attention was caught by something white floating beneath me on the surface of the water. The crushed lilies had floated under the bridge and were making their way toward the spotlit Eiffel Tower.
And suddenly I knew. She had done it. Violette had destroyed Vincent. After more than eighty years of walking the earth, his spirit had now left it. If we’d lived in separate worlds before, now we were in separate universes. The finality struck me like an anvil.
The smile that lit his face whenever he first caught a glimpse of me. His hand clutching mine as we walked the city streets. The look in his eyes before we kissed. Those experiences were now trapped in the past. And the future that I had imagined with him now drifted into oblivion like those mangled flowers.
I had lost him.
And as the weight of that realization snapped the last remaining threads of hope in my heart, I heard it.
Two words spoken clearly inside my head: Mon ange.
