Until I Die by Amy Plum

Champion.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWho knows? Probably because I was able to hold out for so long without dying. In that way, I apparently am stronger than others my ‘age.’ But it’s all so vague. Although everyone’s heard of the prophecy, no one knows exactly what it means.”
    â€œYou sound pretty sure it’s not you,” I said, feeling a twinge of relief. Dating a revenant was a big enough step without having to wonder if he was the supreme commander of the revenants.
    â€œI think that it’s all a load of crap, and that it doesn’t matter anyway. What’s going to happen will happen, whether or not anyone knows about it ahead of time. What bugs me is that Jean-Baptiste has actually told people his opinion. And there’s nothing more intimidating than everyone watching you like a hawk, waiting for the moment you transform into the undead Messiah.”
    I laughed, and Vincent reached for me, wearing that slow smile I couldn’t refuse. I kissed him—a long, warm meeting of our cold lips—and then, leaning back, I asked with as much seriousness as I could muster, “So if you’re the revenants’ Champion, and I saved you from Lucien, does that make me the Champion’s Champion?”
    Vincent shook his head in despair.
    â€œNo, really,” I continued, unable to suppress a teasing grin, “I want a cool name too. Maybe you could start calling me the Vanquisher. Although I think I’d need a luchador mask to go with it.”
    Vincent let out an exasperated growl and pushed me down on the blanket, pinning my shoulders to the ground and forcing me to give him another kiss. He placed a warm hand against my cold cheek, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Well, at the moment calling you the Ice Queen would be more accurate.” He rose and, taking me by the hand, pulled me to my feet.
    I rubbed my gloved hands up and down my arms to get my circulation going. “Okay! Picnic in January . . . check!” I said with chattering teeth.
    Vincent stuffed the thermos and blanket inside the basket. “And how’s it feel to do something you’ve never done before?”
    â€œIt feels like I’m freezing my butt off!” I said, squealing as he dropped the basket and picked me up in his arms.
    â€œOkay, that’s a little warmer,” I conceded as he held me off the ground in a bear hug.
    â€œLet’s drop this basket off at my place, and then we’ll be on our way to destination number two,” he said, setting me back down and swooping the picnic basket up on one arm.
    â€œWhich is?” I asked, wrapping my hands around his free arm and drawing him closer as we left the park and headed toward La Maison.
    â€œWell, that depends. Have you been to the war museum at Les Invalides?”
    I scrunched my nose in distaste. “I know where it is. But since it doesn’t have many paintings, I never bothered. Are we talking tanks and guns and, um, war stuff?”
    Vincent glanced down at me and laughed. “Yeah, they have tanks and guns and a fascinating World War Two collection, but to tell you the truth, it’s a bit of a downer. Especially for those of us who lived through it. No, I was planning on skipping those parts and taking you directly to the ancient weaponry section. The pieces in that room are as much art as a painting by John Singer Sargent.”
    â€œHmm. I have a feeling that’s going to be a matter of opinion.”
    â€œSeriously, there’s this thirteenth-century dagger worked with silver and enamel inlay that deserves a room to itself at the Louvre.”
    â€œDo they have crossbows?”
    â€œDo they have crossbows! Only a whole roomful. Including Catherine de Médicis’s gold-encrusted one. Why?”
    â€œI love crossbows. They’re so . . . I don’t know . . . badass.”
    Vincent’s surprised laugh