Queen of the Immortals Page 4

  She thought again, and then an idea struck her--an almost crazy idea.

  But it seemed perfect. Something fun, something celebratory. All of them would be together, including her parents….and maybe her friends and family, if they could come at short notice.

  She set her mug down. “I have to talk to Michael.”

  “Oh--okay,” Nora said, a little startled. “I’ll get him.”

  She stepped out, and Gilla waited. Her heart was racing; she didn’t know what Michael would say. He might not like it. But Michael couldn’t say no to her, and this one time she was going to be selfish.

  He eased into the room, wincing, his eyes trained on her. She must have really panicked, because he looked very worried, almost scanning her.

  He sat beside her, and she kissed him.

  “You okay?” he asked, pulling away to examine her again.

  She nodded firmly. “I’m going to do it.”

  He closed his eyes, clearly pained. “He said you would.”

  “I don’t care what he says,” she replied bitterly. “But there’s one thing I want to do first. Before London.”

  Michael studied her, intrigued. “Okay.”

  “I want to marry you.”

  He was quiet. She was shocked to find that he didn’t look quite as surprised as she had expected him to.

  “Are you sure?” he finally asked.

  She gave him a wild look, and couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re asking me?”

  He sighed, taking her hand, his jaw working. She could see how much this was affecting him, and her heart ached.

  “I’ll gladly marry you, Gilla,” he said, squeezing. “I want to.”

  “Truly?”

  He flushed, looking away. “I know it’s not in my nature. But….none of this is in my nature. I thought about marrying you as soon as you moved in with me. But I never brought it up because I didn’t think it was something you were interested in.”

  Gilla was amazed; she had always thought the same way about him.

  She smiled at him. “I wasn’t interested….until you. Even with Will….when we were engaged….I only did it because he….forced me. And I know what Nora says, that it doesn’t really mean anything. But it would be useful, legally….and….”

  And her breath hitched. “My parents are getting older, and they’ve always wanted to see me walk down the aisle….and….a party like that would be a wonderful way to spend the last few days with….”

  Her voice broke, and she looked down, her eyes filling with tears. She hadn’t been able to say “my voice.” The thought was so painful. She didn’t want to think about it at all.

  Michael slipped his arms around her, and she drew into him, burying her head into his neck and closing her eyes. His skin was warm, his touch so gentle. She felt safe….and tired. If only all this wasn’t happening.

  He kissed her brow, brushed a hand through her hair. “Are you sure you want to be my bride?” he murmured, and there was teasing in his voice.

  She warmed, wearing a true smile on her face now. Bride. Michael’s bride. Now that was wonderful. Something that was theirs, that God couldn’t dictate, couldn’t take away.

  She looked up at him, finding an amused smile on his face. “Are you sure you want to walk down the aisle with me?” she asked.

  He went pale, and she giggled. “The groom stands by the altar.”

  “Not in Swedish weddings.”

  “Are you serious?”

  This time she laughed, and she kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.”

  Persephone

  One Month Ago

  Her husband had gotten his Christmas bonus early. It was a significant amount--a lovely amount. She had had to do all sorts of things to get her hands on it. It was degrading things...very base. She hated what she was to her husband--a toy, a trophy. It was a disgrace.

  But it was necessary.

  The plastic card was smooth and cool in her hand. When she had come to Earth, she had been amazed by the concept of money, struck by it. How easy it was to obtain something, as opposed to back Home, where trading and bartering was done.

  And then the things...all of the pretty things.

  Persephone set off on Bond Street. Louis Vitton pumps. Scarlet Prada dresses. Ray-Ban, Cartier, Versace. The bags weighed her down, but she was high, very high. She walked down the pavement, her heels clicking, coat swishing, a smirk on her ruby red lips.

  She dropped the bags off with her driver, then clicked her way around the corner to a lounge she liked to visit. She went up to the bar, brushing at her black bob, slipping off her coat to reveal a black dress with a plunging neckline.

  She could feel the men’s eyes on her, and she smirked even more. She slept with other men any chance she could get. Many of the humans knew what they were doing in bed, a welcome surprise.

  She had only been on Earth for two years, and she had seen so much. But things would change soon. She had held off long enough.

  She felt a familiar Presence behind her, and smiled, swinging around in her chair.

  It was Serene, an old friend--and, incidentally, the daughter of the infamous Michael the Murderer. They had known each ever since Persephone’s childhood, Serene having been a friend of her mother’s.

  It was strange, seeing her in human clothes. She looked bohemian, with a fluffed denim jacket and mandala leggings. She had pink eyeshadow on, a dark color on her lips. Her long curly hair was windswept, and brushed over her shoulder.

  She smiled, and they embraced. Persephone smelled lavender scent, coconut shampoo. Serene was shifting on her feet, which meant she was nervous.

  Persephone pulled away and frowned, as if concerned.

  Serene caught her look and laughed. “What? Worried already?”

  “You seem uncomfortable, that’s all.”

  She shrugged, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. They looked at each other, and Persephone knew there was suspicion disguised behind their friendly grins.

  “How’s your father?” Persephone asked, though she didn’t care at all.

  Serene’s face twitched. “I haven’t seen him in a while. How are your siblings? Your mother?”

  Persephone shrugged. “Haven’t seen them in a while either.”

  This seemed a painful subject for Serene--discussing their families.

  She stood back and looked her over, grinning. “Wow. So posh.”

  She spoke with a slight Australian accent.

  Persephone performed the same motion, pulling a pleased smile. “And you too….so….what is that--hipster?”

  Serene pretended to be offended, and they laughed, sitting down at the bar.

  “I am not a hipster,” she said firmly, ordering a drink and slipping off her jacket.

  Persephone shrugged, accepting a cocktail from the bartender, who stared at her neckline with dark eyes. She smiled, but returned to Serene. This was business.

  “You should know it’s not the seventies anymore,” she said, remembering to add a teasing tone to her voice.

  She had a trick where she would ever so slightly curl the corner of her mouth upwards, almost slyly, making her subject chuckle. These were things she had picked up over the years.

  Serene smiled, but also wrinkled her nose. “You’ve picked up a lot already. How long have you been down here?”

  “Twenty-eight months, sixteen days,” she replied casually.

  Serene rolled her eyes playfully.

  “And you?”

  “About forty years.”

  She nodded to Persephone’s finger, which bore a large diamond. “I see you’re married.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not?”

  That was a surprise. “Where do you get your money?”

  Serene chuckled. “I own a record shop in Sydney.”

  “Oh, how interesting,” Persephone replied, making sure to raise her eyebrows.

  She actually found it disturbing...living like a human. Bu
t she kept this to herself.

  Serene studied her for a moment, absentmindedly stabbing at the olive in her cocktail.

  “You want to know why I’m here,” she said shrewdly. “I could ask you the same thing. I know you don’t like humans.”

  Persephone was quiet, trying to calculate her next move. Just a few days ago she had been at lunch with a group of her friends--”friends,” of course. She had felt Serene’s Presence, and what an unexpected surprise it had been. They had agreed to meet at the lounge, under the guise of commiserating, reminiscing.

  But they both knew better. They were wary, cautious about each other’s Presence on Earth. Persephone was especially cautious. Serene had always been able to see right through her, and it angered her. One wrong move, and Serene would know exactly why Persephone was here.

  She decided to go the emotional route. She pulled a dark frown, and stared at the contents of her glass. She allowed a pause.

  “My siblings have become….unrecognizable,” she murmured. “They do dark things. I needed to move on.”

  She looked at Serene, and allowed a cool smile, knowing Serene would be expecting some callousness. “Consider it a vacation.”

  Serene was quiet a moment, stirring her drink. Persephone wasn’t sure if she had bought it or not. She could be difficult to read, another infuriating thing about her. But Persephone’s siblings truly were beasts--pathetic beasts. Easy enough to believe.

  Serene finally shrugged. “I wanted to get away from my father,” she said quietly, and there was emotion in her voice. “He was….always asking to see me Up There, whenever he visited. I couldn’t tell him no, so I went to Australia. I thought I would only stay a few years, but….I suppose the humans have grown on me.”

  Persephone absorbed this. She had always privately reveled in the Great Michael’s disgrace. Everyone spoke of him in disgusted tones. She had only met him once, when he had been visiting Serene, and he had looked so pained at her distance.

  Persephone had loved it.

  They chatted for a while. Serene seemed to have bought Persephone’s phony sob story about her siblings. They talked about human things--Persephone’s shopping, Serene’s record shop.

  It was all very boring.

  “Why are you in London anyway?” Persephone asked as they were slipping their coats back on, finishing up their little get-together.

  She feigned intrigued curiosity, while in reality she was suspicious, very suspicious.

  “Oh,” Serene replied, “my brother is here now. In the East End. I’m helping him start things. He’s not sure how money and leases work. I’m sure you remember what it was like the first time you came here.”

  Persephone shrugged, trying not to look bored. “I see.”

  They said their goodbyes, promising to catch up again soon, and went their separate ways.

  Persephone wasn’t happy. Not happy at all.

  Her fingers twitched, and she ground her teeth together as she got in the car.

  Serene’s suspiciousness wasn’t a good thing. Persephone knew her enough to know she tended to stick her nose in things whenever she smelled a rat. It was her Talent--one of them, anyway. She could get the truth out of almost anyone if she tried. She craved it, and her power played on others’ urge to be honest, to blab.

  Her Talent had never quite worked on Persephone, though. Persephone never wanted to tell the truth, not even subconsciously.

  It was one of the things that made her different from the other Angels, ever since she was a child. She was cold. She had never quite understood emotion. She found it weak, base, unnecessary.

  The things she craved were better. Feelings would only get in the way.

  She arrived at her building. She and her husband lived on the sixteenth floor, in a four bedroom flat with a view of the city.

  Her heels clicked on the marble flooring. She calmly hung her coat in the closet, calmly slipped upstairs. It was annoying, having to look so human, but it had to be done.

  Humans didn’t respond well to discovering bodies.

  She got to the master bedroom and stared, cocking her head. Her husband was lying on the floor, crumpled. There was a smattering of blood and brain matter on the wall beside him, and underneath him was a congealed pool of scarlet. The gun at his side. His eyes staring.

  It wasn’t very satisfying. Yes, there had been fear, as she made him press the gun to his temple. There had been tears, whimpers. But it was a quick death, and Persephone was left wanting.

  She sighed, and went to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, smudged her mascara. She had to look like she had been crying.

  She didn’t bother to scream. The walls were thick; no one would hear.

  She sat on the bed, took out her phone, and dialed 999.

  Nora

  Nora had never been to Sweden before.

  The four left just a few days later, as soon as Michael was well enough to travel. They packed some things and took a plane to Stockholm, where Gilla’s parents--a cheerful and welcoming pair--greeted them.

  It was a flurry of long conversations, jovial dinners, and wedding planning. Kristina and Peter were kind and sweet, and treated Mel and Nora as if they were family. Michael was teased for being so nervous about the wedding; he was soon having to face everyone’s attention as he and Gilla walked down the aisle together.

  But Gilla, out of everyone, was the star of her parents’ attention. They hugged her, kissed her, listened intently whenever she spoke. They had a piano, and requested that she sing. Nora was worried, and when it looked like Gilla was about to break down, she sat with her on the bench, and they sang duets instead. Gilla’s parents were so proud, and Nora’s heart ached.

  She had never planned a wedding before, but the brunt of it fell on her anyway. Kristina was a bit of a tomboy, and wasn’t good with flowers or gowns, and Gilla wasn’t in the best emotional state for wedding planning. Mel ended up stepping in--he had been in many weddings in his time--and he and Nora worked together.

  Gilla seemed to perk up as the wedding drew closer. She was very cheerful when the six of them went to Stockholm to shop for tuxedos and gowns, and laughed when Mel tried on a horrible sequined suit. She tried on an equally horrible pink dress, and they danced together in front of the mirrors, making the whole group, including Michael, laugh and laugh.

  The night before the wedding Michael stayed at a nearby hotel, where Mel and Nora had been staying. Nora and Gilla stayed at her parents’ house.

  They shared a bedroom, and spent the evening painting their nails, putting on face masks and moisturizing creams, giggling over some magazines and talking and talking.

  When it started getting late they put everything away and lay down. They faced each other, their heads resting on the pillows. Nora smelled eucalyptus and fresh nail polish. Gilla looked so beautiful, with her deep blue eyes and pale choppy hair. But she also looked downcast, and picked at the blanket.

  “When, do you think?” she murmured.

  Nora sighed. “I don’t know. Hopefully after things….settle. In London. I mean, we have a whole house to get used to….navigating new streets, new shops.”

  “I’ll show you some places,” Gilla said, almost dully. “I was there for a few months. Until Will found me.”

  And her voice turned bitter.

  Nora touched her hand. She didn’t feel like this was an appropriate conversation right before the wedding, but she had to ask.

  “How are you doing….you know…”

  Gilla looked at her calmly. “Since I killed him?”

  Nora nodded.

  She thought for a moment, squeezing her hand. “All right. I’m not regretful. I only wish….”

  She paused, took a shaky breath. “I wish I could have done more to him.”

  They were quiet.

  Nora understood. If anyone had done those things to her, she would have wanted to draw things out, really make them suffer. Make them beg for death.

  Gilla pi
cked at the blanket again, and Nora could see she was trying not to cry. “He’ll….still love me. Right?” she whispered, looking pleadingly at her. “Even though I’ll lose my voice?”

  Nora nodded fiercely. “Yes. Of course. He loves you more than anything.”

  She nodded and brushed at her eyes. “I know I’ll feel so useless.”

  “You won’t be,” Nora said firmly. “You know what God said. You’ll be….important.”

  “I hate what God said,” she said bitterly. “It isn’t fair. It’s cruel. If he loves me so much, why does he do this to me?”

  She glowered at the blanket, her cheeks pink with anger. “I don’t care what it is; I’m not doing it. Whatever special thing. He can’t make me. I won’t choose to do anything he wants. He can fuck himself.”

  Nora listened, both understanding and a little taken aback. She had never seen Gilla this angry--expect, of course, when she had stabbed Will Bakker to death.

  “Anyway,” Gilla said, brushing at her eyes, “I won’t think about that now. Tomorrow’s my wedding day,” and a small smile appeared on her face.

  Nora squeezed her hand. “Yes. It’ll be wonderful. And you’ll be happy.”

  “The four of us will be.”

  Nora nodded. She tried pushing back the thought that had been nagging at her for all this time--what would happen to them in London? They had been through so much already. What was waiting for them there?

  The wedding was a complete success.

  Gilla wore a long-sleeved gown and a myrtle leaf crown, making her look very much like a mercurial ice princess. Michael was striking in his black tuxedo.

  They saw each other for the first time at the house. Michael had smiled, taking her in, and drew to her and whispered in her ear. Gilla grinned, flushed, and kissed him. Nora wondered what he had said.

  The wedding was held in a lounge in the city. Thirty people arrived. The decorations and flowers were perfect, the minister kept things brief and to the point, and Michael didn’t look the least bit nervous as he and Gilla walked down the aisle, hand in hand.

  In other words, it was perfect.