I Should Die

Gaspard’s face twists with emotion when he says this, but he forces his shoulders back and raises his chin.
    He pulls something from his belt, and I recognize Jean-Baptiste’s beloved sword-cane topped with its carved wooden falcon’s head. Facing the fire, Gaspard says, “My dear Jean- Baptiste. My love. I will mourn your loss until we are reunited in the next life.” And he throws the cane onto the fire. With that motion, his arms drop to his side, and his head to his chest, and he begins once again to weep.
    Arthur is by his side in a flash. Putting an arm around the older revenant’s shoulders, Arthur leads him in the direction of the waiting vehicles and out of the arena.
    One by one, the leaders of the other groups stand and honor the kindred they lost. Finally Vincent speaks up. “We thank you all for coming to our aid today, and pledge you our assistance in return.” The assembly breaks up, and I am approached by a middle-aged man who looks to be Gaspard’s age, and has the same noble bearing that Jean-Baptiste did. He steps up to kiss my cheeks. “I am Pierre-Marie Lambert from Bordeaux. It has been an honor to fight alongside the Champion.”
    I ask him the question I’ve been wondering since he and his kindred appeared. “How did you know to come here—just in time?”
    He smiles sadly. “I would say that we were actually a little bit late. If we had arrived on time, there may have been fewer of our kind lost.”
    “Even so, how did you find us?”
    “I am the Seer for my clan,” Pierre-Marie explains. “I saw your light two days ago. When it persisted, I decided to come with my kindred. We met up with the others on the way.” He steps aside to let the next person approach.
    It’s as I thought. Jean-Baptiste and Uta weren’t the only Seers to receive the Champion’s signal.
    “Esteban Aragón, Seer of my clan in Barcelona,” says a dark-haired boy, and after him a Seer from Belgium introduces herself. They had all seen my light and followed it to help.
    “If you are here, it means the beginning of an era,” says Uta. “Your work has just begun. Who knows—in these modern days, maybe your influence won’t be limited to your region, as were history’s previous Champions. I, for one, look forward to what the future brings with the bardia’s new Champion.” She bobs her head in a playful bow, while her fellow Seers make noises of agreement.
    Vincent asks Uta to lead everyone to La Maison to clean up and find fresh clothes. Finally only Vincent and I and a handful of Paris bardia are left in the deserted arena.
    “Where’s Jules?” I ask, suddenly alarmed. I haven’t seen him since the memorial ceremony.
    “He left. He said it’s too painful to be with us here in Paris. That he needs time away before he can come back for a visit. Or more,” Vincent says softly.
    I understand it, but I don’t like it. I wish we could all be together like before: best friends, not heartbroken strangers.
    But Jules will never be a stranger. I am sure he will be back. Feelings change with time—or at least pain lessens with time; I know that from experience. I can think about my parents now without crippling sadness. I can let myself remember them with gratitude for the time I had with them, even though the parent-shaped hole in my heart will never be filled.
    Vincent leads me away from the fire. He begins to put an arm around my shoulder and then, seeing my bandage, hesitates. “Are you okay?” he asks, touching my shoulder gingerly.
    “I don’t know, am I?” I say it as a joke. But once the words are out, I realize their multiple meanings, and suddenly I’m exhausted. Am I okay? Will I ever feel normal again? I want to hug Vincent, but it feels like he’s holding back, and not just from fear of hurting me.
    “Let’s get back to La Maison,” he says. And taking my hand, he leads me down the high-walled corridor and through the gate. The car is parked where we left it. Vincent begins to open the passenger door for me.
    “I don’t want to go home yet,” I say.
    Vincent looks surprised.
    “I mean, we don’t have to, do we?” I ask. “I think I want . . . no, I need . . . to walk.” My stomach is in knots and my body is exhausted, but all of the emotion—the fear and pain and despair followed by relief and exultation—of the last hour is bottled up inside me and makes me feel like running instead of walking.
    Pressing my hand to his cheek, Vincent brushes my fingers