If I Should Die by Amy Plum

Delacroix.”
    It’s just that you’re so cu . . . I mean incredibly attractive and seductive . . . when you get angry and curse , he replied, stifling serious laughter.
    My anger melted in a second, and I couldn’t repress a smile. “Vincent, you are seriously impossible,” I muttered, and then started laughing myself. I flopped back onto the couch grinning irrepressibly as I heard his laughter bubble forth in my mind.
    Stretching out, I laid my head on a cushion and, kicking off my shoes, pulled a cashmere throw up to my shoulders. I waited to see if Vincent would talk first, but he seemed to be fine with just hovering. “Are you still there?” I asked finally.
    I am as close to you as I can possibly be .
    I hugged the cushion tightly and wished it were him.
    Vincent was quiet for a long time after that. I savored the silence, knowing that he was near. When I closed my eyes I could imagine his lean muscular form stretched beside me. After a while it seemed so real, I could almost feel the weight of his arm draped over me and his head nestled next to mine. He was like the ghost lover in one of those tragic Victorian stories. But unlike the swooning, fainting heroines of those tales, I felt empowered by my resolve that tragedy would not be our fate.

FOURTEEN
    MON AMOUR, GASPARD’S ON HIS WAY UP TO GET US . They need me now.
    The hour we had spent in Jules’s room had felt like seconds. After not knowing if I’d ever hear from Vincent again, I needed more time with him. My craving for closeness had barely been met. It was like giving just one bite of chocolate to a starving man.
    Vincent read my mind. I will come to you tonight. I promise.
    â€œYou’d better,” I said, wondering how I could be so ungrateful for the miracle of his being here.
    It’s because you know it isn’t permanent, and you’re protecting yourself. This answer came from that honest part of my brain that didn’t let me get away with things. It was like having my mom live in my head—always ready and willing to provide all kinds of valuable advice, whether or not I asked for it. I knew I should listen, but at the moment I just wanted it to shut up.
    I met Gaspard on the stairs and we made our way to Vincent’s room, where Jeanne had shooed Jean-Baptiste from Bran’s bedside so that he could eat.
    As we entered, Bran’s eyes flew to the air next to me. He stared at Vincent’s ghost for a moment, and then said to Gaspard, “Tell me. Do you plan on attempting a re-embodiment, or will you leave Vincent in this state to aid in the upcoming war with the ancient one?”
    Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard stared at him, and then at each other, confused.
    I knew it! I thought, my heart racing. I had hoped Bran would have information the bardia didn’t, and I had been right. “What’s a re-embodiment? How does it work?” I begged.
    JB pulled up a chair next to Bran. “I don’t think you understand, healer. Vincent’s body has been destroyed. How would we give him another? He can’t just take over a revenant body; we are bound to our spirits until we are destroyed, and sharing a revenant’s body—cohabitation—is harmful to the host’s psyche if continued for any substantial period.”
    He continued in a patient manner, speaking respectfully, but as if he didn’t expect Bran to understand how all-things-revenant worked. “As for using a dead human, a volant revenant can possess a fresh corpse—it has been done in exceptional situations—but the possession doesn’t stop the body from decomposing at the natural rate. After rigor mortis set in, the body would be useless to Vincent.”
    Although the image conjured by Jean-Baptiste’s reasoning made my stomach turn, I listened intently to understand every angle. Each revenant rule.
    Bran blinked a couple of times, and then said, “But I am