CHAPTER 18

THE GENTLEMEN’S BALLET

I RAN DOWN THE HALL of the basement and slipped out the fire escape and into the cool New England night. I had to talk to Dante. Once outside, I snuck around the building and was about to run onto the path when someone whispered my name.

“Renée.”

I jumped, and then relaxed when I saw Dante waiting for me in the shadows by the stoop.

“I looked for you in the nurses’ wing, but you weren’t there. Are you okay?”

Putting a finger to my lips, I glanced around and pulled him behind the building.

I told him everything. Well, almost everything.

“But what I still don’t understand is why Gideon killed Eleanor,” I said.

Dante thought. “Last spring, when Gideon suspected Cassandra was dead, he was furious. He wanted revenge…”

“So he went and found the files,” I murmured, “to see if she had been buried, and if so, to find out who did it.”

Dante nodded. “He found something in the files. Some sort of evidence.”

My shoulders dropped when I realized it. “Minnie’s drawing. Her testimony. She said that Brandon Bell was the one who did it.”

“Killing Brandon would have been very difficult, considering he’s a Monitor, so Gideon decided to kill his sister,” Dante said. “But he didn’t just kill her. He purposely turned her into an Undead, the one thing he knew Brandon wouldn’t be able to live with.”

“Brandon understood what had happened to Eleanor,” I continued, “and wanted to punish the person who killed her. He found Nathaniel with Eleanor’s diary and the files, and assumed it was him, then buried him to make an example of him to all the other Undead. Revenge,” I said. “Just like a Greek tragedy.”

“Brandon is losing it,” Dante said when I was finished. “He’s doling out his own personal justice.”

Neither of us spoke for a long time. Finally, I broke the silence.

“We have to tell someone.”

Dante surveyed the lawn. “You have to stay here.”

I shook my head. “No I don’t. Why would I do that?”

“It’s not safe.”

“But it’s safe for you?”

“Renée, I’m already dead. But you…you’re mortal. You could get hurt.”

I took a breath. “Actually, that’s not completely true…”

That’s when I told him that I was a Monitor. That practically everyone else in my family had been one too. After I broke the news, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he bent over and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ve always liked you the way you are, and still do.”

But just as the words left his mouth, a hand grabbed my arm. And it wasn’t Dante’s.

“Caught in the act.”

I gasped. Dante and I turned to see Mrs. Lynch smiling behind us. She was gripping me so tightly that I could feel her fingernails pressing into my skin.

“To the headmistress’s office.” She could barely contain her excitement.

I shook my head. “No, please, we can expla—”

Dante cut me off, taking my hand. “Mrs. Lynch, I made Renée meet me here. It’s my fault—”

“How valiant of you,” Mrs. Lynch said. “But I highly doubt that.” And with that, she tightened her grip on my arm and dragged us towards the headmistress’s office.

Archebald Hall was empty and dimly lit now that it was after hours. All of the secretaries had gone home or retreated to their quarters. I gazed at the portraits hanging on the walls as Mrs. Lynch led us into the office, her heels pressing softly into the carpet. She rapped twice on the door, and the headmistress opened it.

“Caught these two again, outside after curfew,” Mrs. Lynch said.

“Thank you, Lynette,” the headmistress said, gazing at Dante and me, her eyes placid. “Come in.”

She shut the door behind us. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

The two chairs that were normally in front of her desk were gone. So instead, we stood in the centre of the room while the two Siamese cats circled in and out of Dante’s legs.

Headmistress Von Laark sat behind her desk and folded her hands. “It seems as though fate has brought us together tonight. I was planning on summoning you both anyway, but your continuing disregard for the Code of Discipline seems to have done my job for me.”

I shifted uncomfortably.

“Do either of you know why I wanted to see you?”

“No,” we said simultaneously.

She leaned back in her chair.

“Nathaniel didn’t kill Eleanor,” I blurted out. “It was Gideon DuPont. He killed her to get back at Brandon for burying Cassandra. He was the one who stole Eleanor’s diary and wrote all those notes in it. And he took the files.”

The headmistress put on the pair of glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. “Really?” she said, seeming genuinely surprised, though not at all disturbed – as if I had just told her an interesting fact about the migration patterns of flamingos. “I’ll make sure to let the professors and the Board of Monitors know.”

Dante and I exchanged confused looks. Why didn’t she seem to care?

She tapped her fingers on the desk. “Normally I don’t take an interest in the personal lives of my students. My role at Gottfried and with the student body has always been an academic one. But you two” – she waved a hand between us – “your relationship has captivated me.”

“Us?” I said slowly. “Why us?” I didn’t understand. Beside me, Dante inched closer until our hands were almost touching.

The headmistress ignored my question. “I have been watching you closely, Mr. Berlin, after what happened last spring. And with a name like Winters, I of course wanted to keep an eye on you, too,” she said, looking at me. “So when I discovered that you were romantically involved…well, that was a shock, to say the least. And an interesting turn of events. That’s the brilliant part about being the headmistress. You spend the year thinking you’re in control of your students, that you have to do everything yourself, and that nothing can possibly surprise you. And then something like this just falls into your lap.”

As if called, a cat jumped in the headmistress’s lap, and in long, languid strokes, she caressed its back until it began to purr.

“It was also fortunate that both of you have a knack for getting into trouble. Our meetings together allowed me to observe you.”

“Observe what?” Dante asked.

Once again, the headmistress brushed off the question. “I wasn’t sure of it at first, but now there’s no longer even a shadow of a doubt in my mind.”

My mind raced through all the times I had been called into the headmistress’s office, trying to figure out what she was referring to.

“What is it that you’re so interested in?” Dante asked. His voice was calm, which comforted me. If Dante wasn’t worried yet, then I didn’t have reason to be either.

“Are you familiar with Descartes’ Seventh Meditation?”

Neither of us said anything.

“A seminal work,” Von Laark said, almost to herself. “It was banned, you know. Do you know why?”

“Because it was about the Undead,” I blurted out. “And it was supposed to be kept a secret.”

The headmistress raised a long, sinewy finger. “Yes. And no.

“In that work, Descartes not only discussed his discovery of the Undead, but the process through which they regain their mortality, a process we have since considered a myth, because in the history of history, no Undead has ever found his rightful soul.”

Beneath the folds of my coat, Dante laced his fingers through mine.

“It is the question of a lifetime,” the headmistress went on. “What would happen if an Undead finds his soul and reclaims it? Would he become human again? Would he cheat death?”

Dante tightened his grip around my fingers as my heart began to race.

“But before I continue, a few questions.”

I looked at Dante, confused, but his attention was set on the headmistress.

“Mr. Berlin, when did you die?”

At first Dante didn’t say anything. The headmistress stood up and took a step towards him.

“Your year of death? Surely you remember it.”

“Sixteen years ago.”

“Be precise.”

“August twentieth, 1994.”

I was concentrating more on the headmistress than on what Dante was saying, but when I heard the date, I went rigid.

The headmistress turned to me. “Do you recognize the date, Miss Winters?”

Of course I did. August twentieth. It was the day I found my parents dead. The same day that I turned sixteen.

Dante died on the day I was born.

I didn’t have to say anything. From the look on my face, Dante knew. Finally I understood the strange connection between us. I thought about how Dante always seemed to have a craving inside him when he was around me, as if he were barely able to control himself. Why we always spoke at the same time and said the same things. Why Dante couldn’t touch me without making me numb. Why I felt drained and tired after being with him. Why he could only smell things, feel things, taste things when I was close to him. It was why we had been drawn to one another in the first place, and why, I now realized, it was impossible for us to ever be together.

I had Dante’s soul.

“How do you feel when you’re around her?” the headmistress asked, her eyes dark fixed intensely on Dante with curiosity. “Do you feel sensation? Do you feel alive?”

But Dante wasn’t looking at her; he was looking at me, hoping I would say something that would prove her wrong.

“What I’m about to ask you to do should be painless. Perhaps even enjoyable. For one of you.”

She approached me and spoke in a voice that was dark and commanding. “Now, what I want you to do is to give him your soul.”

“And why would she do that?” Dante said.

“Because she’s in love with you.” She turned to me. “Think about your situation,” the headmistress said. “He only has a few years left. You alone are in control of his fate.”

Nausea curled through my body as I began to realize that she was right. But before I could say anything, Dante’s voice cut through the air.

“No. She won’t. I won’t let her.”

I watched his body tighten as he readied to approach the headmistress. She took a step back.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” she said quietly, “but it won’t make this go away. Renée will always know what she has to do. I’m not forcing her to do anything.” She glanced towards the door. “It’s unlocked,” she said.

Dante gave her a suspicious look, and then took my arm. “Renée, let’s go.”

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 honourable 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 towards 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 metre stick, 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 towards him. “You still have options. But you must do as I say.”

Dante pushed me behind him as Gideon walked towards 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 towards 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.

Colour 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 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.

Picking myself up, I followed him.

I caught up to them on the green. They were in front of the great oak, teetering around the gaping hole that Nathaniel had been buried in. Maintenance hadn’t filled it in yet, but had sequestered it with caution tape, leaving only one thin rope ladder dangling into the pit. Gideon stepped around the hole and Dante followed, thrusting the shovel at him. Every time Dante swung at Gideon, Gideon seemed to move out of the way at just the right moment – a hop, a swish, an arabesque, in an elaborate gentleman’s ballet.

I circled them as Dante raised the shovel over Gideon’s head. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the outcome, even though I knew they were both already dead. But just as Dante brought the shovel down over Gideon’s skull, Gideon ducked away and grabbed the shovel from him, splitting it into shards.

The rest happened quickly. Gideon tackled Dante, thrusting him into the dirt by his neck, pushing him dangerously close to the edge of the hole. If Dante fell in, that would be the end. He couldn’t go underground, and the hole was at least four metres deep. I wouldn’t be able to get him out by myself before Gideon took my soul. In horror, I watched as Gideon stood over Dante, one hand around his neck. I had to do something. I was a Monitor. I was supposed be able to handle this.

Without thinking, I picked up a broken shard of Dante’s shovel and ran up behind them. With all the force I could muster, I thrust it into Gideon’s back.

Surprised, he spun around and threw me off, pulling the shard from his back and stalking towards me, his shirt bloodied and ripped. I inched back on the grass as he loomed over me, holding the jagged shovel. Just before I closed my eyes, Dante took him from behind, and Gideon fell on top of me, pushing the wooden shard into my skin. I winced as I tried to pull the handle out of my side while they grappled around me, their bodies nudging the wood shard deeper into my stomach.

Slowly, their grunts seemed to fade as my eyes fluttered. And as I let them close, I heard Dante calling my name, clutching my hand as we both fell through the caution tape into the deep, dusty hole.

With a cry, I pulled the handle of the shovel from my side and opened my eyes. I was lying in a mound of soil and rock in the catacomb beneath the great oak. Across the cavern, I could see Gideon’s grass-stained trousers and loafers, limp.

“Dante?” My voice echoed through the darkness as I dug through the dirt and felt his arm beside me. “Dante!” Brushing the soil off him, I took him in my arms and tried to wake him. “We’re underground,” I whispered. “What do I do?” He was barely conscious.

Mustering up courage, I wiped the dirt from my face and stood. “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to pick him up. “I’m going to get us out of here.” But as much as I tried, I couldn’t lift him. Sinking to the ground, I wrapped my hands around his neck and buried my face in his shirt.

“Dante, please wake up,” I pleaded. “I’m not strong enough. I can’t carry you out.”

As if I had willed it, his lips moved. I watched as they parted slightly, taking in a faint breath. And sitting there beside him, watching him die, I knew what I had to do.

Why is it that you enjoy life the most when you’re about to lose it? The only way I could save Dante was to give him my soul. I was going to die. Strangely enough, the realization only made me feel more alive. I took one last look at the world. Somewhere far away, Annie was sitting down for dinner with her family; my grandfather was sipping tea and watching the evening news; and the girls on my floor were finishing up their homework and getting ready to crawl into bed. I felt as if I were worlds away from them. They had time to take it all for granted – all the small pleasures in life that I was already beginning to miss – the first cool breath of autumn, the empty silence you hear just after turning off the television, the smell of chicken roasting in an oven. These things only existed in my mind now, and soon, even that would be gone.

I let my eyes travel across Dante one last time – his nose, his lips, his eyes, now closed. It all seemed familiar yet somehow still unexplored. This is what it meant to feel: realizing that part of the value in life is knowing that everything around you could be taken away. I loved him, I thought, already thinking in past tense. I love him. This would be my goodbye.

I lifted my hand to his cheek, touching his skin for the last time, and I pulled him towards me, until my lips grazed his.

“I love you,” I said.

And I gave him a kiss. A real kiss. Because if I had anything left to give, I wanted to give it.

Suddenly I felt his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards him with a force I had never experienced before. Unable to help myself, I succumbed to his embrace. The air escaped my lungs. I gasped and grabbed at the grass. And the world as I knew it faded away.