A few hours later, after William had escorted me back to my room, I paced around the confines of my room. The revelations of today were more imposing in the empty room that was monochrome in its white walls, marble floor, and decorative fabrics, than they had been in the cozy walls of the library with William’s support.
When he’d continued our studies, minus the other two students, he’d informed me of something I didn’t expect to take so hard. The ironic part was that I’d been adamantly against having children in my Mortal life. You know, the whole, there’s enough procreating going on already—don’t want to bring another child into this messed up world—the genetic line ends with me?
No kids.
Besides, I’d have to find someone to make them with, and since I’d viewed that as a near impossibility even weeks ago, it was easy dismissing the whole procreation thing.
But being told that my body, in all its Immortal wonder, was incapable of ever creating or carrying a child, had sent a sadness searing through me I’d not anticipated.
When William had finally reentered the library after giving me some time alone, he’d looked so apologetic, it physically pained me. Witnessing his selflessness and goodness yet again, sent me into another bout of sorrow when I made the connection that he would never have the opportunity to bring a child into existence, either.
He would never be the epitome of what every father should be to a child. Neither of us would gaze lovingly into the face of a baby that had William’s full mouth and my round eyes. This was just one of the many heavy sacrifices we made as Immortals—and there were many.
A knock at my door interrupted my train of thoughts, stopping them in their tracks. Hoping to find the person I wanted to see the most on the other side, I swung open the door; only to wish I’d never opened it when I saw the person I wanted to see the very least, before me.
“Good evening,” John greeted me, his impossible beauty somehow revolting—probably having to do with the way his lips curled at the ends when he smiled at me and the way his eyes appraised me. “I realized I’ve been remiss in not giving you a tour of the estate outside the walls of the Manor. As your classes are done for the day, I thought I’d give you a private tour now. How does that sound?”
I’d rather stuff bamboo shoots up my nails, was my gut response, but I knew the role I needed to play until William got us out of here, so I gritted my teeth through an accommodating smile. “That’d be great.”
I shut the door behind me, and took a quick glance down the long hall where William’s room was. I wanted to see him, at the same time I didn’t, because I was sure he’d freak out if he saw John and me leaving the Manor together at this late hour.
I followed him down the steps, allowing him to lead by a couple so I could compose myself for however long and whatever would be discussed during this private tour. Not that I wasn’t eager to see the remainder of the estate. From Annabelle’s descriptions today—in between the subjects we learned in Immortal High—there was a lot I had yet to see. I just wished my tour guide was somebody else—my professor would have been just fine with me.
“A little birdie told me you’re a fan of muscle cars, and while this one isn’t vintage, and pretty much redefines muscle car . . . I didn’t think you’d mind it being our means of transport tonight.” John swung open the front door, holding it open for me. His smile was crafty, but I didn’t linger long over his face when something big, shiny, and a staple in my dreams (up until William had infiltrated them, at least), purred in wait in the driveway. But this car was not meant to wait at a standstill—it was meant to go 0-100kph in 3.8 seconds.
“Whoa—” Was all my overwhelmed self could manage.
John chuckled behind me. “Do you know what it is?”
As if in response to John’s ludicrous question, the god of racing cars growled.
My head bobbed. “The Maserati MC-12.” I spoke with more reverence than the pope on Good Friday.
“You are an enthusiast. I’m impressed.”
That may have been true. I did have a bit more knowledge of cars than most teenage females, but this was the MC-12 . . . who wouldn’t know this baby hit speeds over 200kph, or that it was created so Maserati could compete in the FIA GT, or that this car sold for roughly 700,000 Euros—translating into seven figures in the currency of the country we were standing in. Common knowledge, right?
“Shall we?” John said—in the midst of my drooling and mad specs running through my mind—as he descended the steps and slid into the driver’s seat.
Despite my aversion to John, the car beckoned me, causing my legs to jump down the ten stairs leading off the porch in a single leap, and in five strides, my hand was touching the holy grail of race cars.
I gingerly opened the door, not wanting to hurt an inch of the exterior made entirely of carbon fiber. I slid into the interior; an impressive balance of rugged race car and luxury cruising machine. My eyes lusted over the signature oval Maserati analogue clock, and the blue ignition button enticed me like a moth to the fire.
“You like it?” John asked, as he punched it in gear and peeled out.
Ahhhhh . . . the sound of that engine—was a newborn’s first cry as sweet in a mother’s ears?
“Yeah,” I answered, my eyes wide from my shouldn’t that be obvious tone.
“How has your stay here been so far?” he asked, accelerating over the road that swept out and around the north of the Manor. It was a private road, but extended for miles in front of us.
“It’s been good so far,” I edited, not wanting to admit just how wonderful it had been.
“Do you miss anything from your previous life?” he asked, not sounding particularly interested.
I thought about my life prior, and answered truthfully, “No.”
“Would you like to hear my story, Bryn? How I became what I am today?”
We’d reached a cruising speed of 100 mph, and it felt as smooth and quiet as 30mph in any lesser vehicle.
“Okay.” My curiosity was piqued—not able to resist the events leading to the man driving a million dollar car with the kind of enthusiasm I’d imagine someone to have behind the wheel of a sub-compact.
“It was 1935, and I was twenty-five years old when I threw myself into the Hudson, desperate to put my life to an end once and for all.” His tone was oddly even given the topic. “I tried what you did, Bryn . . . water held the most appeal to me when I thought of ways to end my life.”
I barbed at his assumption—I’d not been trying to kill myself that night. I’d just been desperate to be close to William, and the ocean offered me the biggest promise of this. I let his assumption pass, though. I wasn’t going to get into an argument with John when I knew what my own mind had been that night.
“That’s when Draco and his team found me, very near death, and seeing the potential within me, they changed me.”
There were lights glowing ahead, growing brighter from the speed of the 6L, V12 charging like the white rider of the apocalypse.
“And of course you know the rest. I became an Immortal and now am a member of our Alliance’s Council.”
“Why did you jump into the Hudson?” My curiosity won out again over the voice in my head that told me to shut up.
His answer came automatically, as if programmed, “Ten years earlier, my father came home one night from his favorite haunt that had poured enough fluid in him to make him especially foul.” John slowed the car as the establishment came into view. It looked like a mini college campus; an expansive courtyard surrounded by several brick buildings adorned with stained glass and medieval style architecture.
“He decided a little game of Russian Roulette was on that night’s agenda of family entertainment. He sat my mother and I around the kitchen table as he went around the circle, giving everyone a turn with the barrel of his revolver drilled into their temple.”
I tried to force my attention on the buildings we were circling around so I would have an excuse to
not look into the eyes that were as calm as if he was discussing the weather.
“Mother got the first bullet. The last sound she heard was my father’s pleased chuckle as he loaded another bullet into the emptied gun. After two more rounds with just the two of us, he got the last bullet, and I was left sitting in between two parents with gaping holes in their heads.”
I realized I’d been holding my breath—I wasn’t sure for how long.
“I guess you could say something like that kind-of affects an adolescent . . . I had a few run-ins with the law and did my time, but ultimately decided life wasn’t for me. It turns out it was Mortal living that wasn’t my thing.” He grinned. “Immortality has been rather good to me.”
John came to a stop beside the courtyard and leaned over me to survey the quiet campus. “This is the campus where the new Immortals stay during their training. Some of the professors, as well as the Immortals with low-ranking Stations, stay here as well. Of course, you know where the academic part of the training is held, but we do the strength and talent training out here on the campus.”
The campus could have easily been mistaken for some small, fancy, private school, but I doubted the areas of studies matched other school’s curriculums.
I wanted to ask why I was staying at the Manor and not here in the dormitory style lodging, but I didn’t really want to know the answer. Something in the way William acted around me when John was near, had led me to several conclusions I didn’t want to have confirmed from John in the close confines of the car.
“Would you like to walk around the campus and see the rest?”
I thought before answering, reasonably certain I wouldn’t sound too rude if I declined. “No, thank you though. I’m exhausted from the long day in class.”
“Ah, yes. Professor Winters can be quite consuming can’t he?”
He had no idea.
“I’ll get you back then. You can take a closer look at the campus another time. I wouldn’t want you falling asleep on our poor professor’s lesson tomorrow.” He chuckled.
Like that would ever happen.
John flipped the car around and hit our cruising speed half a breath later. “You said the Immortals that created you saw a certain potential in you . . .”
John looked smug. “They did. Every Mortal carries within them a latent power—or a gift, if you will—that can only be brought to the surface by passing into Immortality. Some gifts are more formidable than others.” A smug smile appeared to match his expression. “They saw a formidable gift within me.”
“They saw?” I pushed, eager to understand more of the never-ending mysteries.
John exhaled his exasperation. “It takes a team of Immortals to create another—a Foreteller to see the imposing death, a Finder to locate the Mortal, a Reader to ascertain the latent gift—all of these incredibly rare gifts—and finally, a team to generate enough energy to change the Mortal.” He glided through the explanation, not allowing my questions to be voiced. “I am a Finder, able to locate any Mortal anywhere in the world. That’s why Draco and his team of Inheritors changed me that night when I should have died. They saw the potential within.”
We were nearing the Manor, and I should have let the final minute or two before we came to a stop at the front door, go by in silence. I couldn’t, of course. “You’ve always been an Inheritor?” I asked carefully, not sure how kosher my question was.
He snorted. “I always have been, and I always will be. Those weak, complacent Guardians have never taken their calling seriously. The rotting corpses of my parents are evidence enough, as was my Mortal life I was ending when it wasn’t Guardians that arrived to help or change me. It was Inheritors,” John’s voice spewed with his disgust. “No, they’ve never been able to do their job of protecting humanity, and have only failed worse as the centuries have gone by. I’d rather die—and you know how much more significant dying is to our kind when we have forever on the table—than surround myself with a bunch of feeble Guardians.”
John came to a screaming halt in the driveway, and I was all too eager to be free of the confines of the car. Despite it having been the wallpaper on my laptop for several years, there was nothing worth remaining in it with the overpowering man at the wheel who gave me so much more than just chills.
When he turned to me, his face was changed and was no longer locked behind the chains of anger. A familiar look, one that had made me squirm before, was staring back at me now. “Do you like the car?”
I nodded my head, reaching for the handle at the same time.
“That’s good . . . since it’s yours,” he announced, opening his door and sliding out of the seat.
I didn’t move, due to the fact my body had flash frozen. Not because John had just told me my dream car—a million dollar race car, was mine. No, the freeze had to do with the intentions behind this over-the-top gift.
John peeked his head back down to look at me. “Is that a thank you?”
“But . . .” My throat grabbed around the word, making it break.
“No buts, it’s yours. Think of it as a welcome gift,” he said, sounding dismissive.
I wondered how many of his other young Immortals received gifts like this on their second day of lucidity. While I didn’t see any reason why John would single me out from the others, I’m sure Annabelle would have mentioned if she was sporting around one of fifty, velocity defying vehicles ever made—she’d talked about everything else. Including every perfect, dreamy detail of our professor . . .
“Besides, I prefer the back seat of a Rolls and a dedicated driver to the speed and rawness of one of these.”
For the first time, I questioned John’s sanity. My mouth would have dropped if it wasn’t locked in place from the freeze.
“It’s yours,” he repeated. “I’ll have George park it in the garage tonight, and let him know who the owner is, so you can take it out whenever your car enthusiast heart so desires.” His smile was a mixture of amusement and conceit.
I found the muscle recall in my body, and shoved the door open. I swept out of the car that held too many mysteries and motives for me for one Mortal lifetime. The object that had invoked such an awed response earlier, nearly made me nauseous as I walked around the front and past the glaring headlights—that even in their quiet form, looked fast.
“Thank you,” I answered, before my vocal chords constricted.
“A flashy car for a flashy girl,” his bass voice crooned, as I past by him with the false smile I’d plastered on my face.
There was something wrong here . . . something not fitting, and while I wouldn’t allow myself to let my intuitions run wild, I couldn’t fully stifle them either. One part of me was reassured with the knowledge John could have any woman in the entire world; he’d surely never want me with his preference for all things that were showy and flawless.
Yet another part wouldn’t let me escape the reminders of the dreadful looks he gave me, the curious favors, and now, the million dollar car. Yes, something was wrong here, but I wasn’t sure what. But then again, something very right was here too, and I ran through the door, past the disturbing man, and up the stairs to where that right thing resided three doors down from me.