The Mortal Instrements

Monday, September 5, 2011

Revenants Series | Die For Me Trilogy by Amy Plum

Die for Me

Book DescriptionRevenants May 10, 2011 | USA

In the City of Lights, two star-crossed lovers battle a fate that is destined to tear them apart again and again for eternity.

When Kate Mercier's parents die in a tragic car accident, she leaves her life--and memories--behind to live with her grandparents in Paris. For Kate, the only way to survive her pain is escaping into the world of books and Parisian art. Until she meets Vincent.

Mysterious, charming, and devastatingly handsome, Vincent threatens to melt the ice around Kate's guarded heart with just his smile. As she begins to fall in love with Vincent, Kate discovers that he's a revenant--an undead being whose fate forces him to sacrifice himself over and over again to save the lives of others. Vincent and those like him are bound in a centuries-old war against a group of evil revenants who exist only to murder and betray. Kate soon realizes that if she follows her heart, she may never be safe again.

In this incandescent debut, newcomer Amy Plum has created a powerful paranormal mythology with immortal revenants. The Paris setting comes enchantingly alive as a relentless struggle between good and evil takes place in its streets. Rich with romance, atmosphere, and thrills, Die for Me will leave readers breathlessly awaiting its sequel.


 

Product Description | (5 May 2011) | UK 

“In the City of Lights, two star-crossed lovers battle a fate that is destined to tear them apart again and again for eternity.”

My life had always been blissfully, wonderfully normal. But it only took one moment to change everything. Suddenly, my sister, Georgia and I were orphans. We put our lives into storage and moved to Paris to live with my grandparents. And I knew my shattered heart, my shattered life, would never feel normal again. Then I met Vincent. Mysterious, sexy and unnervingly charming, Vincent Delacroix appeared out of nowhere and swept me off my feet. Just like that, I was in danger of losing my heart all over again. But I was ready to let it happen. Of course, nothing is ever that easy. Because Vincent is no normal human. He has a terrifying destiny, one that puts his life at risk every day. He also has enemies...immortal, murderous enemies who are determined to destroy him and all of his kind.

My Copy | Jacket | Back Cover:

From the Inside Flap

MY LIFE HAD ALWAYS BEEN BLISSFULLY, WONDERFULLY NORMAL. BUT IT ONLY TOOK ONE MOMENT TO CHANGE EVERYTHING.

Suddenly, my sister, Georgia, and I were orphans. We put our lives into storage and moved to Paris to live with my grandparents. And I knew my shattered heart, my shattered life, would never feel normal again. Then I met Vincent.

Mysterious, sexy, and unnervingly charming, Vincent Delacroix appeared out of nowhere and swept me off my feet.  Just like that, I was in danger of losing my heart all over again. But I was ready to let it happen.

Of course, nothing is ever that easy. Because Vincent is no normal human. He has a terrifying destiny, one that puts his life at risk every day. He also has enemies...immortal, murderous enemies who are determined to destroy him and all of his kind.

While I'm fighting to piece together the remnants of my life, can I risk putting my heart--as well as my life and my family's--in jeopardy for a chance at love?


From the Back Cover:

Would you risk your life for love?

I had known that there was something different about Vincent. I had felt it, even before I saw his photo in the obituaries. It was something just little east of normal, but too obscure for me to put a finger on. So I had ignored it. But now I was going to find out.

When Kate Mercier's parents die in a tragic car accident, she leaves her life--and memories--behind to live with her grandparents in Paris. For Kate, the only way to survive her pain is escaping into the world of books and Parisian art. Until she meets Vincent.

Mysterious, charming, and devastatingly handsome, Vincent threatens to melt the ice around Kate's guarded heart with just his smile. As she begins to fall in love with Vincent, Kate discovers that he's a revenant--an undead being whose fate forces him to sacrifice himself over and over again to save the lives of others. Vincent and those like him are bound in a centuries-old war against a group of evil revenants who exist only to murder and betray. Kate soon realizes that if she follows her heart, she may never be safe again.

The Taschen book about Paris helped a lot to envision the story, I kept flipping through it and say to myself: "Oh, Kate was here!"

My Review:

I just finished the book and I can't wait for book two. I've read great books lately and this is really one of them. I enjoyed the feeling of Paris, adventure, good food and love.

Kate and Vincent are so cute together and I have to say I just loved Jules. Charlotte love to Ambrose promises great addition to the upcoming sequel.

I learned so much about Paris just by reading the book.

Things I learned about Paris:

1- Paris is divided into 20 neighborhoods, or arrondissements, and each one is called by its number.

2- There is an unspoken rule in French cafés that a person can sit at their table all day if they want, as long as they order one drink per hour. It's kind of like renting a table.

3- Parisian apartment blocks have a constructed internal courtyard sheltered from the street.

4- Paris is called the City of Light.

5- There's nowhere like Paris in June.

6- Paris had been inhabited for millennia, so understandably, by the seventeenth century all the city's churchyard cemeteries were overflowing. Some accounts told bodies floating around the city whenever the Seine River flooded. Finally the government condemned the city's small graveyards, dug up the bodies from existing graves, and moved the bones to the underground caverns beneath Paris's streets. 


Other Books Mentioned in the Story:

1- The Age of Innocence
2- To Kill a Mockingbird 
3- House of Mirth
4- The Catcher in the Rye

For more info check: http://www.amyplumbooks.com/


Places Mentioned:

1- Cafe Sainte-Lucie
2- Picasso Museum
3- The Catacombs 
4- Denfert-Rochereau 
5- Opera Garnier
6- The Alexander III Bridge
7- Rue de Bac


Vincent’s Point of View
I wrote the following after DIE FOR ME was completed. It is Vincent’s point of view, starting before the beginning of the book’s narrative.


The first time I saw the girl, it felt like the earth had suddenly slipped one tiny notch on its axis and began rotating at a slightly different angle. Afterward, my world was off-balance, gradually wobbling away from its stable orbit to spin off in the direction of deep space.


I couldn’t figure out why the girl had thrown my thoughts into such chaos, but felt that if I could, my life would be restored to normal. Of course, in my case, the terms “life” and “normal” could only be used tongue-in-cheek. But this was no joke: I had spent decades carefully and methodically protecting my stability—I had to end the emotional vertigo she was causing me. So I began to follow her.

Following is a regular part of our routine. It’s what we do. That’s why none of the others clued in to that fact that I was up to something. “Hey, there’s that sad girl again,” Ambrose would say as, time after time, we trailed her down to the riverside. She would sit and stare at the churning water until it seemed like it was only the husk of her body that was there, in the middle of Paris, in the dead of winter, dressed only in a light jacket and acting like she couldn’t be touched by the weather. By the world. Because someone—or something—had sucked the life right out of her.

That’s the only place she ever went. To sit by the Seine. Besides the couple of times she ventured out of her building—a mere five-minutes from our home—and began to head in another direction. For a few blocks, she’d walk hesitantly, as if she were going somewhere on a dare, and then, hunching over like the sky had suddenly dropped down to head-level, she raced back to her building, slamming the door behind her. She looked like she was being chased by ghosts.

I’ve been on the street for what seems like forever, and I’ve seen a lot of crazies. This girl wasn’t crazy: she was suffering.

Let me take a step back at this point and clear something up: this wasn’t just a case of falling for a human. This was like taking a nosedive over Niagara Falls. I’ve never felt anything close to it, even though I’ve come into contact with a lot of girls over the decades, many of whom made it clear enough that they were interested. Not meaning to sound stuck-up, but revenants are attractive. It’s part of what we are. Even if some of us aren’t what you’d call “classically handsome” (or “classically beautiful”), when we animate that first time, physical allure becomes part of the package. And, like everything else in “the package”, it’s there for a reason. People look at us and they automatically trust us. With their lives. Which just makes our work all that much easier.

But I’ve never used that “perk” to my advantage. Only one girl has ever won my heart, and when she died, my heart died with her. Since then, it just hasn’t seemed worth thinking about for all of the complications it would cause.

Until now. Until the girl’s long dark hair, blue-green eyes, and dark shroud of misery became inexplicably etched into my brain, and I was helpless to do anything but follow her. To spend every possible second—or at least as much time as possible without arousing suspicion amongst my kindred—inside her radius.

And then, just like that, she disappeared. For months. For four months and thirteen days, to be exact. And during that time, I learned what it meant to be spun for a loop. To spend twenty-four hours a day with my mind wandering, wondering where she was and what she was doing. And most maddening of all, obsessed over why this—yes, beautiful, but not in the usual way—girl had succeeded in doing what no one else had done in over half a century: she had utterly and completely mesmerized me.

Although I’ve seen eighty-some years pass by, I guess my communication skills got stuck at eighteen when I first died. Or maybe it’s just my pride—I’m so used to being the one in the House who “doesn’t need love”—that being indifferent to girls has kind of become a point of honor for me. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t talk to my kindred about it. I mean, even if I had, they would have been horrified. Because if it ever got to the point where we became close, it would be too dangerous. Not only for us, but for her. Pulling someone like her into our world would be about the stupidest—and most selfish—thing I could do.

Jules and Ambrose are both dating machines, but they both know what it would mean to seriously fall for a human. Charles has had his fair share of short-term romances, but he’s so seriously messed up and angsty that girls aren’t exactly on his radar at the moment. And Charlotte has her unrequited love thing going on, so it would be cruel to bring the subject up with her. As for talking with Jean-Baptiste and Gaspard…I can’t even think about going there.

But I had almost gotten to the point of desperation—I was practically on the verge of confessing to Jules—when she came back. And my life, or afterlife if you want to get technical, suddenly made sense again. I began following her everywhere.

Besides lingering shadows under her eyes, the dark circles were gone. Her sallow pallor had been replaced by a healthy glow. Her sky seemed to have lifted, because she now walked standing straight. And her hopelessness had turned into something else: defiance. As if she was standing up to something terrible and proving that it couldn’t beat her down. I was even more obsessed with the girl’s new incarnation, and, although the others hadn’t copped on to the fact that I was constantly trailing her (she lived in the neighborhood, so it was normal enough to cross her path on a regular basis) they knew that something was up.

Then one day I saw her at our regular café—the Café Sainte-Lucie. Jules was telling Ambrose and me some crazy story from his beatnik artist past, when I looked over and there she was across the terrace from me, reading a book. For once, I hadn’t followed her: she was just there. I wasn’t prepared, and couldn’t tear my eyes away from her face. After a minute, she looked up and her crystal water-colored eyes met mine. From that point on I was lost. There wasn’t a hope in hell of breaking the girl’s hold on me.

I have been obsessed before. It’s an occupational hazard. If a revenant takes a fall for someone, gets stabbed, burned, or goes as far as dying for someone, they’re going to want to know if their sacrifice has made a difference in the person’s life. Following your rescues is discouraged, of course. But I must have a hundred names saved in my web browser’s electronic alerts. Even if it’s been years since I saved them, I want to know how my rescues are doing, and if anything shows up about them on the internet, I’m the first to know about it.

This is different, though. I can’t help myself. The girl leads me from museum to cinema to café. I feel like I know her now. She likes all types of art, but gravitates towards paintings. She’s a regular at the old places that show classic movies, and always sits in the middle row: I know the back of her head by heart. And she barely even people-watches at the café. Once she picks up a book, she’s gone for hours. I know her expressions. Recognize her moods. I tell myself that I do know her. As much as I can safely know any human. But it isn’t enough.

Although I’ve seen her a couple of times with other people—a strawberry-blond girl who acts close enough to be her sister, and an older couple that I would peg as grandparents—I’ve never heard them say her name. She is the center of my universe and I don’t know her name.

Meeting her, touching her, spending time with her—I know those are all impossible. About as likely as my transforming from undead back to human. But I feel if I could just know her name—the sound that identifies her…the combination of letters that, if I were able to speak it to her (and I’ve sworn I never would) would make her raise her head and look me in the eye—if I could only own those precious few syllables, I feel like it would be enough. I could live with that.

DIE FOR ME’s Cut Prologue
The following was the Prologue for DIE FOR ME…before it was replaced by its current book-excerpt-style Prologue. I hope you enjoy!


Ten days after I got my driver’s license, my parents died in a car wreck.


And suddenly my life transformed from a not-terribly-exciting color film—about a girl living with her sister and parents in a nice Brooklyn suburb where nothing much happens but everyone’s reasonably happy—into an old black and white horror film where you never know what’s going to happen next but, based on the creepy organ music, it can’t be good.

Images from those first couple of parentless days are burned permanently into my memory…

The school principal arriving in the middle of Chemistry to pull me out of class: instead of the Evil Overlord expression he usually wears, he looks like he just got slapped and his flickering, nervous eyes refuse to meet my own.

Georgia sitting there in the principal’s office waiting for me: her vivacious, freckled face is as pale and drained of blood as if she had just been pulled out of a vampire attack instead of A.P. English.

The policewoman, who was probably assigned to break the news to us because of her gender: she looks slightly constipated as she drily informs us that we are now orphans. Her male partner sits behind her, the apologetic look on his face implying he would have done a much better job.

Auntie Mel flying in from Kansas just hours later: her disheveled hair, tear-stained cheeks, and outstretched arms reaching for us as she runs through our front door make her look like a soprano in some tragic opera standing amidst a pile of dead bodies, belting out her aria as if her life depended on it.

Those freeze-frames from the first day are as clear as if they had been printed movie-poster size, ready to be studied minutely over and over again by my searching eyes.

Remembering it now, that day seems to have gone by in seconds flat. And then someone pressed “Slow Motion” and all of a sudden time began to stretch on eternally as I numbly stumbled around a house crowded with relatives. Besides a lot of background noise, the film becomes mostly silent at this point since I was in too much shock to add any dialogue to the script besides, “I’m fine,” “No, thanks,” and “I’ll be in my room.”

Whole chunks of film from the next few weeks are missing. Sometimes people remind me of something that happened during that time, and I don’t have a clue about what they’re referring to.

Besides the surreal horror of the funeral, things go kind of fuzzy for a while. Like Vaseline was smeared across the camera lens. Luckily, it didn’t matter – I didn’t need to see anything clearly since my aunt and uncle and our grandparents kind of corralled us in, forming a barrier between my sister and me and the world.

Christmas was just a few days later. I don’t even remember it happening.

It’s funny how, at the worst of times, your true nature seems to be magnified. My tendency towards introversion turned me into a snail that had been poked in the head: I pulled into my shell and just hung out deep inside, waiting until the kid with the stick went away.

Georgia, on the other hand, became even more manic and extroverted than usual, throwing herself into an organizational overdrive. She insisted on personally taking care of all of the someone-just-died tasks that you could never imagine even existed.

It was Georgia who decided that we would move to France to live with our grandparents. When she asked my opinion she had obviously already decided, but magnanimously pretended to give me a choice. “It’s either Paris with Papy and Mamie, Cornfield Kansas with Auntie Mel, or Redneck Mountain Tennessee with Uncle Rhett,” she joked.

She paused to let the reality of our options sink into my grief-muddled brain. And then, dropping her frenzied über-planner mask, she allowed herself to be human for two long seconds. She looked at me with an expression that she was way too young to assume, gave me a back-patting hug, and asked softly, “So…it’s Paris?”

I nodded, and my life, as it had been, was over.

The film of my first sixteen years on earth came to an end. The credits began to roll, and I stood up from my seat wondering what kind of lame-o director would end a movie just as it was about to become interesting. It wasn’t until much later that I understood that my story up until then had been nothing but a prequel.


Until I Die (May 3, 2012)

In this incandescent debut, newcomer Amy Plum has created a powerful paranormal mythology with immortal revenants. The Paris setting comes enchantingly alive as a relentless struggle between good and evil takes place in its streets. Rich with romance, atmosphere, and thrills, Die for Me will leave readers breathlessly awaiting its sequel.

UNTIL I DIE Cover Reveal

 

  • As Jules kissed my cheeks he whispered, “She has nothing on you, of course, Kate's. It’s just that you’re so very…taken.”
  • “Still in one piece?” Vincent teased, pulling me close & planting a soft kiss on my lips. “After dirty-dancing with Jules, I’m not sure.”
  • “How’s your dance card look?” “Double-check your century Jules. No dance cards.” Jules shrugged & gave me his most flirtatious smile.
  • A few Paris blocks away I led a completely normal life with my sister & grandparents. And here I was sword fighting with dead guys.
  • “All this yummy muscleness first thing in the morning is almost too much for me to take,” she cooed, and gave him a playful wink as she scooted herself into the front seat. I shook my head. If “Flirt” qualified as a foreign language, my sister and Ambrose would both have PhDs in it.
  • Gaspard eyed me cautiously. “I really can’t say,” he responded in his formal nineteenth-century style. Can’t, or won’t? I thought.
  • Vincent to Kate: “The day I stop seeing you as one of the strongest people I know is the day I wake up human.”
  • We stood in the graveyard, among the tombstones, forty-some dead people and me. A couple of my fellow funeral-goers had even been in their own coffins, deep under several feet of French soil.
  • Kate: “Oh, please, Vincent. We’re in the middle of a major tourist site. Père Lachaise cemetary is practically Disneyland for the Dead. It’s not some Buffy soundstage with vampires rising out of the ground every time someone turns around.”

Bookplates – long-term offer:

http://www.amyplumbooks.com/2011/10/bookplates-long-term-offer/

OMG!!!! I just got my Bookplate!!!! [Saturday, ‎November ‎12, ‎2011] The past week everything in Amman was closed because of Eid El Adha. So when Saturday came I was breathless with excitement!! I woke up, put some cute outfit on and headed for the post office!! I screamed when I saw the letter from AMY PLUM!! And it's from France! I was a little sad she didn't put her address on, I wanted to send a "Thank-You" card back!!

She is the first author I have an autograph for!!

OMG!!!! I got my first autograph from an author today!!
Isn't her hand-writing pretty?!


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