Until I Die by Amy Plum Page B

finger. “You know Latin?” I asked.
    He smiled. “Yes, it used to be required in schools before people decided that dead languages weren’t good for anything. Do you want to know what it says?”
    â€œI actually had an attempt at decoding it last night,” I admitted.
    â€œOf course you did,” Vincent said, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “I can’t imagine you turning down that kind of challenge.” He looked back down at the book, and as he read the article aloud in English, I was pleased that I had gotten the gist of it myself. When he was done, I didn’t point out the fact that he had purposely skipped the last two lines. If I were in his place, I wouldn’t want him to think he was cursed to be with me.
    â€œSo what’s the deal with the ‘bardia’ term?” I asked. “If that’s actually what you are, why do you call yourselves ‘revenants’?”
    â€œGood question,” responded Vincent. “I guess it’s just kind of gone out of style.” He mulled it over for a second. “Actually, it’s probably a kind of superiority thing—we think we’re the real deal, while the numa are more like deviants. You can ask Gaspard about it, but I think ‘bardia’ is based on a word that means ‘to guard,’ so it would actually be the more accurate term for us. It’s used in our official documents. But say ‘bardia’ to Ambrose or Jules and they will definitely look at you funny.” He flipped through the book’s pages once more before putting it back in its box and placing it carefully in its niche in the bookcase.
    â€œVincent? When Jean-Baptiste was talking to us today, he said something about going on the offensive. And I felt like there was something you didn’t want him to say. Like there was this weird kind of face-off between the two of you before Arthur cut in and voted me out of the meeting. What was that about?”
    A strange expression crossed Vincent’s face. Pulling me to my feet, he said, “It doesn’t matter. And if it ever does, I will tell you about it. But for now, let’s talk about something more interesting.”
    â€œLike what?” I asked.
    â€œLike where I’m going to take you to dinner tonight,” Vincent said, and, grasping me lightly by the hips, drew me toward himself and bent down for a kiss. Any lingering doubts I had melted as quickly as snowflakes over a bonfire.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
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    ELEVEN
    I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING TO A MIXTURE OF excitement and dread. I had fight training with Gaspard and Vincent today, and even though I loved the actual fighting, I still felt way below par with my skills. My first lesson, barely a month ago, had been a disaster. We had concentrated solely on the sword, which seemed easy enough when we were walking slow-motion through moves, but as soon as Gaspard sped things up a notch, I was useless.
    Fighting seemed like dancing to me, and besides not having much natural rhythm, I’ve always felt a bit stupid on the dance floor. This definitely carried over into my lessons. My self-consciousness made me clumsy, and I was so afraid of looking like a weak, defenseless novice that I actually became what I feared most.
    However, by the fourth lesson I found myself becoming engrossed in the movements. It was like my self-hypnosis sessions in museums or at the river—I let myself zone out, and all of a sudden the moves seemed to come by themselves. It was a kind of yin-yang phenomenon, where my subconscious took over and my brain shut off. As soon as I stopped thinking about what I was doing, everything worked.
    The awkward moments were becoming shorter and shorter, and lately it took just a few steps back and forth before the switch flipped and I was on autopilot.
    Today will be an