Queen of the Immortals Page 3

  God, Michael could see why. The idea was overwhelming.

  He shrugged, confused. Should he say something to him? No, maybe not.

  He thought about what Father had said--that it had been Mel’s decision, not Father’s, to save Michael’s life. It was an unsettling fact. After everything Michael had done to him, Mel had saved his life once again. Had been affected by Michael’s brush with death.

  It was a lot to consider.

  Nora seemed to sense his pensiveness. She kissed his hand, smiling slightly.

  “I’ll go get Gilla,” she said.

  Michael

  400,000 Years Ago

  Michael stalked the house carefully, a smirk on his face. He eased into the front room. He could see a pair of tiny feet beneath the table, and he grinned.

  With a little growl he ducked under the table, and Serene, curly-haired and dark-eyed, shrieked, laughing. She tried to crawl away, and Michael seized her ankle and gently pulled her into his arms. She squirmed, and he tickled her, and she laughed even more.

  “Got you,” he said, kissing her cheek, and she grinned at him.

  “Again, Mica, again,” she commanded, and he laughed.

  Suddenly there was another pair of feet, facing them from outside the table.

  It was Mel. He crouched down and looked at the pair, smirking.

  “What nonsense is going on down here?” he said, and Serene wriggled away from her father and into his arms.

  “Kira!” she cried, burying her head in his chest.

  Mel grinned and held her, and Michael watched, smiling. For some reason he hadn’t expected Mel to be the best uncle. Perhaps he had found him too carefree. His desire not to have his own children was also a contributing factor. But Michael saw Mel with Serene almost daily, and it was good to watch. Mel was Serene’s slave, and he bent to her will without question, and with a smile on his face.

  They went to the lake. Serene was already proficient at swimming, and she and Mel played in the water while Michael sat and watched. When she tired, Serene returned to the shore, going to her father and curling up in his lap.

  Michael wrapped a blanket around her and held her. He had never felt anything as good as his daughter in his arms. If he had known how wonderful fatherhood would be, he would have had children much earlier--right away, even.

  She quickly fell asleep, and Mel sat beside them.

  He chuckled, studying her sleeping face. “She’s getting bigger.”

  “She is,” Michael murmured, stroking her curls.

  He looked at Mel. “You’re sure you don’t want this?”

  Mel gave him a look. “This is as close as I want to get.”

  “You would be a good father.”

  There was a pause as Mel looked at him, surprised.

  Michael shrugged. “I’m just saying you would.”

  Mel nodded slightly, looking away. The water lapped on the bank, and Serene’s chest rose as she breathed. Michael kissed her little brow.

  After a moment Mel said, “It’s good to see you more. You know...with Serene to visit.”

  Michael nodded instantly. “It is.”

  Mel looked at him, his blue eyes piercing. “I missed you,” he said, unabashedly.

  Michael looked away. He was more easily embarrassed than Mel was over these things. He felt a flash of guilt for spending so much time with his friends, who made snide remarks about Mel. Not visiting him instead.

  He could have told his friends to knock it off. He supposed he should. But he worried about losing favor with them, and he felt even guiltier.

  He was a coward, and it was his biggest secret.

  Mel

  Mel and Nora had to spend the rest of the afternoon trying to act normally around Gilla, who, after spending some time with Michael, seemed to sense something was up. She didn’t say anything though, and spent the time when Michael was asleep helping the two of them clean the wreckage that was the living room.

  “When do you think he’ll tell her?” Nora murmured when evening came.

  She and Mel were in the master bathroom, washing up before bed.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know--she may bring it up before he even gets a chance to tell her.”

  “She does seem suspicious.”

  “Yeah,” Mel said dryly, “because none of us can keep it together.”

  She managed a smile. “She is….dearly loved, isn’t she?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, and his head twitched. “I don’t blame Father for favoring her. But I blame him. These….ridiculous machinations of his just hurt. They don’t do good. They’ve never done good.”

  He thought of Lilith, and his anger surged, his head twitching again.

  Nora touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked at her, and found her soft brown eyes staring back. They didn’t say anything, just embraced, holding each other for a long time.

  His left arm was still weak. Mel almost had to focus on keeping it around Nora’s waist, and this worried him. It had been a day, and--unlike Michael’s wounds, which were clearly healing--his arm seemed to be getting worse. The pain in his wound was growing, and now his arm was starting to tingle uncomfortably. His hand was shaky. His fingers had trouble bending.

  These weren’t good signs.

  He could tell Nora was reading his mind, but she stayed quiet, leaning her head on his chest. She felt so good in his arms--even better after their recent escape from death. Nora was Immortal now, but Mel knew there was a catch, that she could probably be killed by a Blade just like an Angel could. All of them were lucky.

  Finally she sighed, pulling away to study him. “How are you?”

  He thought for a moment. “Tired,” he murmured.

  He brushed at her cheek, and she smiled. “You?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Tired. We need our rest.”

  So they got into bed. They didn’t say goodnight, just drew close to each other. Nora left a lamp on. The room was still dim, and her back was to Mel, her body warm beneath his arm.

  It was the last thing he remembered before waking with a gasp.

  “Shh, shh,” Nora shushed as he bolted up, her hand on his arm. “It’s okay, it’s okay….”

  His heart was racing. Michael was dead. God, he was dead. Mel had seen him on the floor, his eyes staring, his face colorless. His body was stiff, his lips blue. Then he had morphed into Lilith, lying in a puddle of blood, her dark hair fanned out beneath her.

  He frowned, and after a moment let out a breath.

  It had been a nightmare. Michael wasn’t dead. It was all right. Everyone was all right.

  Except Lilith….

  Mel shivered, still breathing heavily. Nora was holding him, and without a word he laid his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. She smelled good--like home.

  It’s okay, it’s okay. Breathe, breathe.

  “Lilith?” she whispered, brushing soothing fingers through his hair.

  “Yeah. And….Michael.”

  She was quiet a moment. Then she said, “I’m so sorry, love.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said shakily.

  “Everything’s fine. We’re all okay. Michael is healing.”

  He nodded vaguely. He could see Lilith lying before him, now covered in blood, stiff and cold and completely lifeless. He remembered that day in the clearing, when everyone had left. He had stared at her body for a long time before going to it, cradling her in his arms, looking at her beautiful face. He had hoped she might come back to life. But she didn’t, and her body grew stiff.

  He had to burn her.

  He felt almost sick, and held his head in his hands. The one responsible for Lilith’s death was in this very apartment, weak and injured, his life saved by Mel himself. How, how could Mel have such horrible grief for Lilith, and at the same time, such horrible fear for her killer’s life?

  “Hey,” Nora whispered, drawing him from his thoughts.

  She looked worried, her
brow furrowed. “What is it?”

  He hesitated. God, he was a mess. He hadn’t been quite right since yesterday’s disaster.

  Nora made a noise, as if impatient, and said, firmly, “You’re worried about Michael. You’re upset because he could have died, and you’re worrying about him now because he’s still injured. And this is making you feel conflicted, because of your history with him. And now you’re worried about Gilla, and you’re also worried about your arm.”

  Mel was frowning at the blanket, listening to her speak.

  She was right, of course. She was always right.

  He finally looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

  Nora sighed, giving him a look. “Don’t be sorry, weirdo. It’s okay. We’re all stressed out. But you more than the rest of us, I think. You put a lot on your shoulders.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at her assessment. “Do I?”

  She held him again, and he leaned into her. “How do you feel now?”

  “Better.”

  “Good. Back to bed.”

  “Nora,” he said as they lay down, “London will mean...your singing…”

  She lay on her back, her eyes focused on the ceiling. Her expression was indecipherable, but Mel still caught the sorrow in her voice.

  “Yeah.”

  He slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed. “I’m sorry. This is fucked.”

  “It’s what I signed up for,” she said firmly, her eyes still on the ceiling. “I’m not going to go back on my word. I have Gilla to think about. And….stopping people from getting hurt is much more important than my singing. I’ll get back to it….one day.”

  Her last words were uncertain, her voice shaky. She brushed at her eyes, and Mel kissed her temple.

  After a moment she looked at him, frowning. “Where will we live?”

  “I have a house there. In Knightsbridge.”

  “How convenient.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. I’ve owned it since 1930.”

  “How big is it?”

  Mel thought a moment; he hadn’t been there in decades. “Five bedrooms and a loft.”

  “Piano?”

  He chuckled; he had known she would ask that question. “I’ll buy one.”

  “Maybe we could turn one of the rooms into a music room,” Nora said, “like the one Michael and Gilla have. We’ll put the piano there, mount his guitars….maybe soundproof the room too….”

  Mel listened, watching as her face ever so slightly began to brighten. He knew she was still down, grieving her own loss. But her plans for the London house reassured him that she would be okay.

  He held her close. “I love you,” he murmured.

  She smiled, turned her head and kissed him. “I love you too, Mel.”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  She nodded firmly. “Yeah. We will.”

  Gilla

  She was sitting at the kitchen table, frowning at the TV in the living room. It had also, somehow, survived the carnage, although there was a crack in the screen now. BBC News was on. Nora and Mel had been flipping to that channel every morning and every night for the past three days, and they wouldn’t say why. When she had asked, they had given vague answers, skirting around the subject.

  There was nothing significant on today, just some hubbub about tax reform. Gilla had a feeling Nora and Mel were looking for reports on crime, but so far there had been none.

  It wasn’t the only strange thing. Everyone had been acting oddly, even Michael. Nora and Mel looked at her with badly disguised concern, and Michael with guilt. Gilla had waited patiently to be told what was going on. But it had been three days, and still nothing. She was getting frustrated.

  Nora handed her a plate of breakfast--eggs, bacon, sausage. Very American.

  “That’s for you,” Nora said as Gilla got up to bring the plate to Michael. “You know he doesn’t have to eat. He doesn’t get hungry,” she reminded her.

  Gilla was sheepish. “I know. We’ll share.”

  “Well--make sure you have enough.”

  That concern again. Gilla took a steadying breath. “I will. I promise.”

  Nora was hesitant, nodding slowly, as Gilla left the kitchen.

  What the hell. Now she was determined. When Michael had gotten something to eat she would confront him, injured or not.

  But it was difficult to stick to her decision when she saw him. He was still sleeping, lying on his back, with one arm gingerly protecting his stomach. The yellowed bruises around his wounds were visible, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

  He had improved rapidly in the past three days. He was walking now, able to get up on his own, although he was only up for a few hours before he was asleep again. His wounds were healing nicely, and the pain was getting to be less and less each day. Mel was hopeful he would be fully healed in just a few more days.

  She set the plate on the end table and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing at his hair. He stirred, opened his eyes and smiled.

  “You all right?” he murmured, squeezing her hand.

  He had been asking her that every time he saw her.

  She gave him a look, and he chuckled. “Yes, silly. It’s time to wake up; Nora made breakfast.”

  He eased himself up, and Gilla plopped the plate in his lap. She waited for him to finish eating, stealing bits of bacon and toast. Michael was quiet, and she knew he sensed her suspiciousness.

  Finally he finished, and she set the plate aside. He studied his hands, his jaw working, and she waited.

  “Come sit here,” he murmured, indicating the space beside him in the bed.

  Gilla climbed into bed, and he turned to her, wincing slightly.

  “My Father….”

  He hesitated, looking pained, before continuing, “told me something….bad.”

  Her heart raced, and she felt nauseous. She regretted that bacon and toast.

  She took a shaky breath. “Okay. Tell me.”

  He took her hand, a scowl on his face. “He wants to make you Immortal.”

  Gilla felt a rush. Thank god. Immortal. How was that a bad thing? It was perfect; she would never die; she would be with Michael forever….

  But Michael shook his head, noticing her excitement. “He wants something in return.”

  She deflated a little, but then rallied. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly, “I can do it. We’ll just….have to find a way….maybe an overdose….”

  But he was still shaking his head. “He doesn’t want you to die,” he replied, and his voice became hoarse. “It’s….fuck. It’ll be worse than that.”

  A chill ran up her spine.

  She waited, and Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair.

  “He wants your voice, Gilla,” he said quietly.

  There was a long moment when Gilla didn’t understand. When she didn’t reply, Michael told her everything: how she was special to God somehow, how he had things in mind for her--if she chose to do them, whatever the hell they were. How evil Angels were coming to Earth to hunt and kill humans, and that the four of them would be going to London for their first case.

  She wouldn’t be able to sing again, Michael told her bitterly. She wouldn’t be able to speak, to laugh, even to whisper.

  He did mention that Nora knew sign language, and was willing to teach all of them….that they could learn together. But Gilla hardly heard that.

  Everything seemed to be in slow motion, even her heart, and all she could think about was her voice, her precious voice. Her singing, the love of her life. She had gotten herself expelled for it, went off on her own at seventeen to do it. She sang a tune when she was happy, sang a tune when she was sad. She loved the rush of performing, loved the productions, loved the applause.

  It was all over.

  Time then sped up, and suddenly she had a blanket wrapped around her, a mug of tea in her hands. Nora was there, talking to her, and Gilla looked at her, confused.

  “….you don’t have to do it,” N
ora was saying, squeezing her knee. “But we’ll all be there for you if you do. I can teach you how to sign; I promise I won’t stop. I won’t get bored or anything. This matters so much to me. I know it’s not enough….but it’s something, at least. If you want.”

  Gilla blinked a couple times; she had clearly lost her memory of the past hour or so. Maybe a panic attack. She didn’t really care. Nora was here.

  She took a shaky sip of her tea. Her eyes stung, and her nose was stuffy. She stared at the contents of her cup for a long moment, thinking hard.

  There was so much more than she had realized. God thought she was special, and no one knew what the hell that meant. He had plans for her….for her. It was….impossible.

  But what mattered most? She wanted to be Immortal. She wanted to help them catch bad guys, catch bad Angels. She wanted people to be protected. She could do that. She knew she could. She got scared so easily, was so haunted by what Will had done to her. But she knew she could do it.

  And then there was Michael. She wouldn’t leave him for anything. Even her voice.

  She finally looked at Nora, and nodded. “Okay.”

  Nora let out a little breath, concern written all over her face. But she nodded, squeezing her knee again.

  “Okay. I believe in you, Gilla. We all do.”

  Gilla smiled, grateful.

  Then she frowned. “When?”

  Nora frowned too. “Well...Michael said that God said it would be up to you when we leave for London. I’m wondering if that’s when it’ll happen….when we get there.”

  Gilla chuckled. “So never, then.”

  Nora smiled. “Maybe….I don’t know….maybe there’s something we can do? Before we go? Anything you want.”

  She thought for a minute. She didn’t know if singing was the right answer. It pained her just to think about it. But then….

  “I want my parents to hear my voice one last time,” she breathed, and tears ran down her face again.