But I didn’t move.
“Renée, come on.”
“No,” I said. “Wait. I want to hear what she has to say.”
The headmistress smiled. “See? There are things worse than being Undead. Such as watching the person you love die when you knew you could have helped them.”
My stomach felt hollow as I imagined my life without Dante.
He pulled my face in his direction. “Renée, no. If you give me your soul, you’ll die.”
“She won’t die,” the headmistress said. “She’ll become Undead. Haven’t you ever wondered what it was like? To never feel pain? The pain of your parents’ deaths?”
I had wondered what that would be like. I gazed at Dante. His eyes pleaded with me.
The headmistress continued. “The desire to stay alive, regardless of the consequences, is a value of modern society. In the ancient world, the only thing men aspired to was dying an honorable death. Just think of what you could accomplish in death. Not only would you be giving your love his life back, but you would be shedding light on one of the greatest mysteries of all time. The mystery behind death. If you, Renée, can give life to another, what could that mean for the world? The possibilities are endless.”
“Renée, you don’t have to do this. There are other ways.”
The headmistress laughed. “No—no there are not. You will die of decay in five years, and Renée will live a long, lonely life knowing that she could have saved you but didn’t.”
“What good is saving me? We would only switch roles,” Dante argued.
I turned to him. “We would have more time,” I said. “Don’t you want that?”
Dante looked at his feet, shaking his head. “I want you. Right now. The way you are.”
“Don’t you understand? You can’t have me. We are the end of each other’s lives. One of us has to die, and I’d rather face death than live without you.”
Dante turned to me and grasped my face in his hands. “Renée, look at me.” His voice was pleading. “I had my chance. I lived my life. And now I have you, and that’s enough.”
The headmistress strode toward me, resting her hand on my shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was lower, deeper, darker. “It’s either your life or his,” she said.
Dante’s eyes searched mine, begging me not to do it. “Let it go.”
“I’m not afraid of death,” I said, looking at Dante. And this time I knew it was true. “I’m afraid of life without you.”
Before he could respond, there were two knocks on the door. I froze and stared at it as it opened. Mrs. Lynch stepped inside, pulling Gideon by the arm. “Headmistress? I found this one lurking around the girls’ dormitory again.”
“You!” I shouted, pointing at Gideon. “It was him. He killed Eleanor! He stole the files and Eleanor’s diary, and then he trapped her in the basement and broke the pipes.”
Confused, Mrs. Lynch pulled out her yardstick, but before she could do anything, Gideon pushed her out of the room and slammed the door. I could hear her protests from the hallway as Gideon bolted it shut.
“Gideon,” the headmistress said, her voice wavering. “Unlock that door immediately.”
Ignoring her, Gideon took off his dinner jacket and slung it over the doorknob, his eyes set on me.
“Gideon?” the headmistress repeated. “Did you not hear my request?”
He rolled up his sleeves.
“If Renée’s claims are true, we can still help you,” she said, taking a tenuous step toward him. “You still have options. But you must do as I say.”
Dante pushed me behind him as Gideon walked toward us, his eyes dark and wild.
“I warn you: if you touch anyone in this room, you will regret it,” Von Laark continued.
Suddenly Gideon turned to her, his voice silencing the room. “Shut up.”
Her face ablaze, she snatched a roll of gauze from her desk and approached him. “How dare you,” she said. “This is my school and I demand that you follow my orders.”
Dante shielded me with his arms as we watched them collide in the middle of the office, the headmistress trying to restrain Gideon as he pushed her back toward the wall. Even though she was a Monitor, she was no match for his strength. Pinning her against the ground, Gideon pressed his lips to hers.
Color began to flow through his pale skin, like blood pooling beneath the surface. The headmistress struggled, her arms flailing against his back. Muffled cries floated through the room. “No!” I said. “Wait!” But Gideon didn’t stop.
Slowly, her arms grew paler, weaker, until they fell limply to her sides. I watched in horror as her legs began to convulse against the floor, relaxing to a twitch until all was still.
Heaving, I covered my mouth with my hands, unable to take my eyes off her feet. I let my shoulders slump, unable to hold them up any longer.
When I looked up, Gideon was approaching me. I backed away from him, pushing myself against the wall. His face was flushed and pulsing as he loosened his tie, the veins in his arms flowing with life.
With a swift movement he lifted me up and lowered his mouth to mine.
“No!” I heard Dante scream as he ran to us and pushed Gideon off of me.
With a gasp, I fell back and watched as they struggled, Gideon’s strength growing with the soul of the headmistress streaming through him. The Siamese cats crouched and yowled in the corner as Gideon and Dante struggled, knocking over books and papers, breaking the glass of the hutch behind the headmistress’s desk, the shovels, which I now realized were Monitor burial tools, clattering to the ground around them. I watched in horror as Dante pushed Gideon onto the desk, breaking the hourglass, the sand and glass spilling across the floor around me.
I screamed, the glass cutting through my skin.
Upon hearing my voice, Dante turned to me. Taking advantage of the lapse, Gideon slipped out of his grasp, picked up his tortoiseshell glasses from the floor, and unbolted the door, disappearing into the hall.
“Are you okay?” Dante asked, kneeling by my side.
I nodded, barely able to speak. “I’m fine.”
“Stay here,” he said, touching my cheek. “So I know you’ll be safe.” And with that, he grabbed a loose shovel that had fallen from the shattered hutch and ran out the door in pursuit of Gideon.