I Should Die

but I almost had a heart attack.”
    “We’re not giving up,” I said, ignoring the horrifying thought that was endlessly looping in my mind: You were that close to losing Vincent forever . “We just have to figure out what we did wrong. I’ll bet it has to do with the box symbol. We’re missing something.”
    Papy spoke up. “I realize that we are in a terrible rush, and necessarily so. But now that we know how perilous this procedure can be, wouldn’t it be better to break for the night and rethink everything in a calm fashion?”
    Everyone agreed. It scared me that the more time went by, the more likely Violette was to call Vincent back. But plowing ahead without additional information was too dangerous.
    “You okay, bud?” Jules said to the air, and listening, he gave a weak smile. “He says it’s the second time in the last few weeks that he’s been on the brink of permanent destruction. He’s getting used to it.”
    Trust Vincent to have a sense of humor at a time like this. I knew he was just trying to make the rest of us feel better. He must have been scared out of his wits.
    I thought for a moment, then turned to Mr. Gold. “I’d like to see if that quote under the wall painting is visible,” I said. “It was longer than the verse Bran quoted. Maybe that would hold the clue.”
    “I’ve booked you rooms at a hotel a couple of blocks away,” he responded. “But if you want to use my computer to download and magnify the image . . .”
    “I have my laptop with me,” responded Papy. “We can have a look in the morning.”
    “As for you, Jules, I alerted a house of our kindred located in Brooklyn that you would be staying,” Mr. Gold said. “I thought you’d prefer that to a hotel, since I was told you met several of them a few years ago at the London convocation.”
    Jules nodded weakly. “That sounds perfect.”
    “Good. Then I’ll phone a doctor to meet you at their house to stitch up your arm.”
    As we left the museum, Mr. Gold hailed a taxi for Jules. Then, stopping first at the apartment to get our luggage, Bran, Papy, and I followed Mr. Gold down the street to a small hotel on Park Avenue.
    I was so tired by this point that I felt like I was sleepwalking. Now that the urgency of our task had passed, my body was suddenly aware that it had been awake for a day and a half. I stumbled into the hotel room, ripped my clothes off, and fell into bed.
     
    Vincent stayed with me for the night, whispering an earnest Je t’adore as I fell asleep, and greeting me with Bonjour, mon amour when I opened my eyes in the morning. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was barely six a.m. and I was wide-awake.
    Have I ever told you how cute you are when you sleep?
    I moaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over my head. “I don’t feel cute. I feel jet-lagged,” I said sleepily, and then remembering what happened the night before, I sat up, instantly alert.
    “The question is . . . how do you feel?”
    If I had a body, I would say “weak.” But it’s more like I feel very scattered. Not together. I guess you could say “faded.”
    “Oh my God, Vincent, that really scared me last night. I almost lost you.”
    But you didn’t , he insisted. I’m still here. And we’ll figure this out and try again .
    I knew he was trying to comfort me, but all I could feel was fear. If we tried again and he dispersed . . . , well, that would be the end. Which wouldn’t be fair. Because we were just beginning.
    I knew we couldn’t last forever; my own mortality put a limit on the time we had together. Eighty years—or whatever the life expectancy was now—had always seemed like a nice long time, before I met immortals. Not now.
    There were so many things Vincent and I hadn’t done. More than ever, I wanted to connect with him. To hold him in my arms, be held by him, and get as close as two people possibly can. To give him all of myself and take what he gave me. But that wasn’t even an option now. And, judging from the way things went last night, might never be.
    Vincent quickly changed the subject, as if he could see my black thoughts. Your grandfather and Bran are already having breakfast in the café downstairs. They slipped a note under your door.
    “Not much use for a note when they could have just left a message with my immortal answering service,” I said.
    Very funny.
    “Turn around. Or leave. Or whatever,” I said, throwing the covers back and rearranging my