Until I Die

started. But instead of looking silly, he looked … dashing. I couldn’t help wondering if he had walked here wearing that.
“What’s up with d’Artagnan?” I whispered to Vincent.
“People usually wear the clothes of their era when they marry. It’s revenant tradition.”
I smiled, unable to keep myself from watching out of my peripheral vision for his cohorts to swing in on ropes through the chapel windows, donning feathered hats and brandishing swords.
The priest followed the wording of a regular wedding ceremony, punctuated by an occasional piece from a string quartet. The music drifted around the room like a symphonic mist, giving an even more otherworldly effect to an extraordinary event. When they got to the vows, the bride and groom faced each other and promised to be loving and faithful “so long as we both exist.” Well , I thought, that’s an interesting twist .
My thoughts percolated with the implications of what was happening. When humans married, they were already promising a lot by vowing they would stay together for several decades. This couple was stating, before their kindred, that they wanted to stay together … forever. Or at least for a really long time.
As the ceremony ended, the couple kissed, and then, taking each other’s hand, led the rest of the group down the stairs and out of the chapel. Once on the street, the procession walked the ten minutes to the tip of the island, went down some stairs, and arrived at the Place Dauphine, a paved, tree-lined park jutting out into the Seine. A large white tent had been erected, with gas heaters warming the space inside.
Vincent and I took plates of food and walked out of the tent to sit on the edge of the quay, which had been lined with soft blankets for the occasion. We dangled our legs over the water and silently picked at our tenderloin and potatoes gratin.
“No questions? Comments? Existential pondering?” Vincent said finally.
“I have so many thoughts going through my head right now, that I don’t even know where to start,” I said.
“Start basic then, and save the existential for later.” He set his empty plate on the blanket next to him and looked at me expectantly.
“Okay. Who are they—the bride and groom, I mean?”
“Georges and Chantal. He’s eighteenth century, she’s 1950s. He’s French, she’s Belgian.”
“How did they even meet then? I haven’t heard of you guys traveling much.”
“They met at a convocation—a meeting of our Consortium that takes place every few years. Representatives from all over the world come to the big ones. We usually just go to the European meeting.”
“An international meeting of revenants? Like the undead United Nations?” I curbed my laughter, seeing Vincent’s solemn expression.
“It’s an ancient tradition. The meetings are top secret, of course—for the obvious security reasons. Otherwise it would be like offering ourselves up as numa bait.”
“And that’s where the bride and groom met? At a political convocation?”
“Yeah. Besides being an informational meeting, it has an ulterior function of being a matchmaking opportunity. It’s hard to meet a partner when your social circle is so limited.”
Charlotte had once said that to me. It was the reason she used for why she didn’t have a boyfriend. Of course, now I knew it was because she was in love with Ambrose, and had been for years. I wondered briefly how she was doing without Charles. We had emailed a few times, but I hadn’t heard from her since her twin had run off.
Vincent began idly playing with my fingers, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now. “Do most revenants have partners?” I asked. “I mean, Ambrose and Jules seem to be happy with their single status.”
“They’re still ‘new.’ Them wanting to settle down would be like a modern-day teenager wanting to get married. Why commit to one person when you’ve barely started experiencing life? Or afterlife”—he corrected himself—“whatever.”
“You don’t seem to mind settling down for one girl yourself,” I teased him, and then suddenly felt self-conscious.
Vincent smiled. “I’m different. Remember? I was on the verge of getting married while I was still human. Maybe I’m just a committed kind of guy,” he said, leaning pensively over the water before turning his head to look at me.
“To return to the subject,” he said, giving me a shy smile, “after a few hundred years of bachelorhood, people like Georges often