I Should Die

her.
    “Yes, Kate?” she asks, looking curious.
    “I hope I’m not the Champion,” I say, my voice dead calm now, “because I would hate to give you any additional satisfaction. But if I am, I hope you have to chop off an entire hand this time and eat a raw cat in order to absorb me. And I hope you choke on it.”
    Her creepily calm demeanor finally shatters. Making a noise between a growl and a scream, she stomps over to the bed and slaps my face as hard as she can. Then, spinning on her heels, she races out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
    I lay my head back down and taste blood in my mouth. And smile.

THIRTY-SEVEN
    THE DOOR REOPENS ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, AND Louis enters with a tray. Although his raised eyebrows hint of curiosity as to what just happened between me and his mistress, he says nothing. Setting the tray down, he wordlessly pours a glass of water. He lifts my head and helps me get some of it down before replacing the glass and feeding me an orange segment.
    My fury slowly cools as I study him for the first time. I see what must have been an awkward boy of thirteen or so, before he took on the deceptively charismatic facade that is part of the revenant transformation.
    As Vincent explained to me last summer, when revenants animate, they become more physically alluring than when they were human. It is their superstrength: People are attracted to them, and thus more prone to trust them.
    In the bardia’s case, this is a good thing—more lives saved. But in the numa’s case, it is to their victim’s peril. When the numa want to be scary, they sure as hell are. But when they are in con-man mode, they can be as poisonously charming as Lucien was when he tricked my sister into falling for him.
    What could this boy have done at such a young age to animate as a serial betrayer? I wonder.
    Louis avoids my eyes as he stands to go. And although I know he’s only following Violette’s orders, I thank him as he leaves the room. He pauses in the doorway, looking curiously back at me before shutting the door and leaving me alone with my thoughts.
    Time passes snail slow and my limbs ache so much that tears leak from my eyes. I’m not crying; it’s just my body’s response to the intense pain. Which makes sense: My dead human tissue is coming to life again. I shudder with horror. Vincent didn’t tell me this part of his story.
    He didn’t tell me a lot of things. Because he never thought I would be in this situation. Neither of us suspected me of being like him. Although, now that Violette has enumerated the reasons, I realize we should have seen it. If there hadn’t been the belief in Vincent’s being the Champion clouding the issue, we probably would have.
    And if we had, well, things would have been different. We wouldn’t have had to deal with the issue of my mortality and his living forever. Because I had the chance to become immortal. That’s the cruel irony: Now that I have the possibility of spending eternity with Vincent, someone is going to take it away from me. Is going to kill me—again—and burn my body.
    Just let her try , I think, my rage making me feel all-powerful. I struggle violently with my bonds, convulsing like a madwoman in my despair, but the only result is bleeding arms.
    I measure time with the beat of my slowed-down heart and the change of light outside the boat’s window. It must be mid-morning when Louis enters the room and begins the feeding routine again. Eating and drinking while flat on my back is difficult, to say the least. But I am so famished that I manage to chew and swallow everything he gives me—and keep it down.
    “How old are you?” I ask finally.
    His eyes widen, and then narrow. His jaw clenches and he shakes his head. Quickly folding up the tray, he leaves the room.
    I close my eyes and try to relax, but every muscle in my body is jumping. I am desperate to move, but only my feet and hands are free to rotate. So I work them. And then I flex my fingers and toes and try to relax. There’s nothing else I can do, besides imagining what my family must be thinking right now. They believe I’m dead. They are mourning. Once again. My heart actually physically hurts as I picture them, so I cast the image out of my mind and begin thinking of escape.
    I study the locks on the windows and memorize the layout of the room. I don’t know what I’m capable of, so it’s hard to strategize. I wish I had asked Vincent more questions about revenant