Authors: Nicole Williams
He shrugged. “As a distraction. You can only play so many games of chess or pound so many nails into two by fours until you want to bang your own head with the hammer.”
I took another sip of water. “What are you trying to distract him from?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know. If he needed distraction from getting into a certain kind of trouble with the new girl, as we’d gotten so close to, I certainly didn’t want to hear about it.
“From his life,” he mumbled, before drawing his lips into a tight line.
“What?” I asked, waiting for more.
His eyes stared hard into mine. “Why do you care so much? William’s life isn’t your concern anymore, so quit pretending that you care.”
My mouth snapped open, ready to argue back—if only he knew how much I still cared, how I would always care—but clamped it shut in time. Knowing I was one snide comment away from telling Patrick everything, I changed the subject. “Did you talk with the Council about Paul yet?”
He rolled his eyes. “Since I’ve had a whole twenty-four hours since you asked me . . . it’s not like they’re some ticket window you can go up to and pull a ticket-stub from to wait your turn. There are procedures, protocols, for requesting and being granted a meeting with the Council. I know you might think it’s an everyday sort of thing the way William hounded them to grant you guys a Betrothal”—he eyed me with accusation—“but it is kind of a rare thing. Just for your reference.”
“Are you done?” I asked. His melodrama had been irritating before, but discussing a man’s life hanging in the balance, his melodrama was down right unacceptable. “I’ll repeat. Have. You. Talked. With. The. Council. About. Paul?”
“Well, I pulled some strings and then Hector pulled some more strings, and, well”—he waved his hands about—“long story short, I’m meeting with them tonight.”
“That’s great,” I said, sighing from relief or exhaustion or anticipation . . . who knows. “Thank you for doing whatever you did to see them so quickly. “ I unconsciously glanced in the direction of the hall. “He doesn’t have much time.”
“Are you sure I’m the best man for the job?” he asked, twirling the fireplace poker in its stand. “I don’t think I’m the best choice given I don’t particularly care for you anymore and I positively loathe him. That sound like unbiased representation?”
It didn’t sound like he expected, or wanted a response, but I felt I owed him one. “I know I’ve put you in a tough spot with this,” I began, sliding my hands down my legs. “And I know you’d rather wring both our necks than try to save them, but you know why you’re doing all this? Helping me with my training, petitioning the Council to save Paul? Bringing me glasses of water?” I said, lifting the glass at him.
“Enlighten me,” he said. “Since I’m still not sure why.”
I grinned—it was so obvious. He’d spent so much time with William over the decades some of him had brushed off on Patrick and that’s why I found myself craving Patrick’s company as much as I cringed from it. “Because you’re a good man. The best kind there is. I know you like to play it all James Dean, but inside, you’re as fiercely compassionate as William.”
He sniffed, hitching his hands on his hips. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone. Besides, you might not want to go singing my praises until we see what the Council decides.”
“I have faith in you.”
“Faith in me?” he asked, craning his neck back. “Misguided like Hector, but I’ll take it.” He took another glance at his watch, frowning. “All this touchy feely talk’s made me late.” He looked up at me and managed a smile that was almost genuine. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early and, since our Pauly boy couldn’t hear a tank barreling through the walls with what he’s on, let’s just meet here from now on.”
“Have fun,” I said, wanting to say an eternity more. Something along the lines of,
Say hi to your brother for me and, oh yeah, I love him so much it’s making me sick being separated from him.
He disappeared an instant later. No gradual fade, no sparkling, swirling cyclone, nothing impressive or grandiose about teleportation. Just here one moment and gone the next.
Teleportation—the least flashy thing about Patrick Hayward.
INSTINCTS
I’d come to the conclusion waiting for death was worse than death itself.
I was exhausted. In every sense of the word. The past week I’d done nothing other than train with Patrick or attend to Paul.
I’d failed at both.
If anything, Patrick and I were more confused than ever with how to best approach my training and sometimes I thought the only thing keeping Paul alive was my determination and inability to say goodbye. And I wouldn’t say it, at least not until we heard back from the Council.
They were taking their sweet time—as if it wasn’t a factor. It seemed like a no-brainer to me. Paul seemed like the ideal candidate for Immortality, but this wouldn’t be the first time the Council and I didn’t see eye-to-eye.
I still hadn’t recovered from Patrick’s life-sucking experiment, although I’m sure my zero intake of food and sleep didn’t help.
The last look I’d dared in a mirror had been yesterday morning and I’d half-expected it to shatter. My eyes looked like dull marbles buried in deep hollows, accompanied by sunken cheeks that looked rouged with ash. My limp hair had miraculously taken on some height, but it was from the ratty, uncombed nest piled at the crown of my ponytail. I looked like a bride fit for a corpse.
The rhythm of the rocking chair was slowly putting me into a trance, just enough for my eyes to feel heavy and my mind muddy. I allowed my lids to fall, automatically sharpening my hearing, just in case Paul needed me.
I heard the turn of a key in a lock right before the front door eased open. It felt like my lids were fighting concrete to open, but when they did, I knew I’d finally found the reprieve of sleep . . . and I never wanted to wake up.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I whispered in a dream-rummy voice. I wanted to run to him and do every last thing I could to him in a dream, but the fear of his image hazing away if I moved kept me firmly rooted where I was.
He grinned, making my heart strings near the snapping point. “I guarantee I’ve been waiting longer for you,” William said, looking at me in a way that made it seem he couldn’t get enough. “But I suppose since you’re here in my house, you mean you’ve been waiting for—or expecting—me in a different way than I mean it.”
“I don’t know what you mean—that’s nothing new—but keep talking,” I said, amazed how precisely my dream had replicated him. His voice, the curl of hair at the base of his neck, the way his eyes took me in. “I’ve missed you.”
“You have?” he asked, tilting a doubtful brow.
I nodded my head, hoping this wouldn’t be one of those dreams that seemed to pass in the snap of a finger. “You have no idea.”
“Then what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice breaking.
Before I could answer, Paul’s voice called out to me. I snapped my head to the hall without thinking, wanting to curse myself for it.
“I’m here, Paul. I’m coming,” I called out, fully awake now. I didn’t want to look back at the doorway, knowing it would burn like arsenic running down my throat when I found it empty. I took a deep breath as my eyes traveled back to the front door.
“What the?!” I cried, jumping out of the rocker. “William?”
“Last time I checked,” he said slowly. “Although most days I’m not really sure who I am anymore.”
The need to cry from joy, or from being overwhelmed, became so much I could do neither. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I didn’t care why he was, but it seemed like the right thing to ask.
“I’m here to make everything alright, Bryn,” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” he said, starting for the hallway.
Before I could ask him what he meant, Patrick appeared in William’s pathway. “How the hell did you get here so fast?” he shouted at his brother, blocking him with his chest. “You got some private jet I don’t know about? How did you even catch wind of the Council’s decision before me?”
“Move, Patrick,” William demanded, setting his jaw.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. You’re gonna have to throw down if you think you’re getting by me.” Patrick lunged to the side, blocking William again.
“Move, Patrick,” William repeated, growling.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Patrick shouted in his face. “The Council made their decision and none of this pertains to you anymore. It’s none of your damn business.”
William’s movements blurred before he had Patrick pressed up against the wall. “I don’t want to fight you, Patrick, but I will if I have to,” William said, his quiet voice shaking. “No offense, little brother, but we both know who will win.”
Patrick rolled his eyes as he continued to struggle against William. “Why are you doing this? Why do you give a care anymore? She left you!”
William’s shoulder’s stiffened even more, but Patrick’s words had hurt him. His head went limp, falling forward. “They’ve told her no once already,” he whispered, releasing Patrick. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by when they tell her no again.” He turned and sprinted down the hall, ducking into Paul’s room before either of us could stop him.
“William!” Patrick and I called out in unison, both of us chasing behind him.
I beat Patrick to Paul’s room, but just barely. He came up behind me, nudging me, but I was frozen in the doorway.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked frantically.
William slid a chair beside Paul, grinning the saddest one I’d seen. “Why do you ask so many questions to which you already have the answers?”
“No, William,” I breathed. “Please don’t.”
“I’m going to do something out of character and tell you to listen to her, William,” Patrick said over my shoulder, trying to shove past me. “You’re going to piss the Council off. You’re going to
really
piss the Council off.”
William looked down at Paul as he seated himself. “I know.”
“This isn’t going to win her back,” Patrick said through closed teeth.
I didn’t have enough time for hope to take hold before William replied, “I know.” One side of his mouth curled into a half-smile, confirming he was happy in not having me back.
He pulled Paul’s arm out from beneath the covers, pushing up the arm of his sleeve past his elbow.
“Don’t do it. Please,” I begged him, not able to shake the premonition there was more than one way I was capable of killing him. The list never ran out.
“I need to do this,” he said solemnly. “Everything inside of me is telling me not to, that’s how I know this is the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, those are your instincts, brother,” Patrick called out, pacing in the doorway. “You should listen to them sometimes.”
I knew what was telling him not to—the part that remembered how I’d hurt him, betrayed him, and left him at his time of need, but the goodness that oozed from every part of him couldn’t turn his back on Paul—or me—when he was the only one who could help us.
The thing that was tearing me up inside, though, wasn’t his selflessness—as legend worthy as it was—it was that I couldn’t justify William possibly losing his life in exchange for Paul certainly losing his. I knew rationally it should have seemed acceptable, but I was entirely incapable of accepting it. There was nothing rational about love.
“Just go,” I said, fighting tears at every word. “We’ll be alright. Really.”
A look of hurt flashed over his face before he ironed it out. “And I thought I was a bad liar.” His hands gripped around Paul’s arm, his fingers melding into the flesh. “It will be alright soon, and then I’ll go.”
“William said everything will be alright. Oh good, I feel so reassured right now,” Patrick rambled to himself, but his words got lost, because William’s eyes gripped mine, causing something inside to throb. His face became peaceful, and then his eyes closed in concentration as I dropped to my knees.
SACRIFICE
It was like watching a flower blossom in fast forward on the nature channel, seeing Paul transform before me. Ashen, sunken skin plumped to golden bronze, atrophied muscles burst to capacity against the glowing skin, and his fallen expression filled with vigor and youth. He was like looking at a bronze statue of a Grecian god, but as impressive as Paul’s change was, I noticed it for all of a heartbeat.
As time had proven on every occasion, it was impossible for my interest to be held by anything else when William was in the room. As instantly as Paul had been injected with vitality, William’s left him. His expression fell, right before his body started to crumple out of the chair. I leapt over Paul faster than I could stop to feel guilty for trampling over a man who had been on his death bed moments ago. My arms were ringing around him, preparing to break his fall, when I was thrown backwards with such force I smashed into the wall.
“Don’t touch him,” Patrick commanded, sounding frightened—for the first time I’d ever heard. “You could be zapping like a live wire right now and in his present condition, you’d kill him for sure this time.”
I shook my head, shaking the stars away. “I’m sorry,” I said, thankful Patrick was there to be the responsible one—and yes, I couldn’t believe I was thinking that. “How is he?”
Patrick grunted, hoisting William in his arms. “Other than having a bad case of damn-fool syndrome?”
“Please, Patrick,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t play games with me right now. Is he alright?” My throat caught around the words as my eyes wandered over William’s limp body. Seeing him like this once had been enough to send me over the edge. Seeing him for the second time, knowing I’d been the cause yet again, threatened to unravel everything I’d ever known to be true. What sickly hollowness had left Paul had been redistributed to William. Yet even in this ghostly paleness, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, his sacrifice making him even more so.
“The queen of games declaring no more games. Seems hypocritical,” Patrick jested, steering out of the room with William in his arms. “He’s going to be fine. It takes some time for him to get back to normal. Just stay here and let him rest awhile.”
No sooner had he said it than I was up, following him down the hall into William’s room, the one I’d ransacked for the past month.
“Thanks for listening to me,” he snapped back to me before resting William on the bed. “I’m afraid you’re relegated to the couch. Since this is his house, his bed, and he just risked his neck for you, I think that’s a small sacrifice to pay.”
“That’s fine,” I said automatically, watching William’s arms swing limply to the side, falling in awkward positions over the bed.
I rushed to him, looping my fingers through his.
“Is it some sort of life mission you have not to listen to anything I say?” Patrick asked, repositioning one of William’s arms over his stomach. Peeking through the cuff of William’s shirt, a dark braid of leather still circled his wrist.
I gasped, loud enough for Patrick to take action, pulling William’s sleeve over it. “He still has it on,” I breathed. Hope was the most amazing thing. Even the smallest bit had a way of chasing away an infinite amount of doubt.
“Yeah, well, he’s probably been too busy to even notice it,” Patrick snarled. “Or maybe he’s keeping it there for the same reason people put rubber-bands around their wrists. To remind them not to do something, like cursing or biting their fingernails or whatever bad habit”—his eyes narrowed on me—“they’re trying to break.”
And just like that, hope rushed through the exit doors, letting the darkness creep back in.
“Do you really think that’s the best idea?” Patrick said, glaring at where my fingers circled his wrist, fingering the bracelet.
“I’ve got this,” I said. “I can feel it coming on. I won’t hurt him.”
Patrick snorted. “Of course you won’t. It’s not like you have a track record of doing anything
but
hurting him, right?”
I ran my hand up his side, settling it over his heart. I never thought I’d touch him again, but here I was, pressing my flesh to his, pretending away the disaster I’d made of things since I’d left him.
However, Patrick was glaring at me, whipping me back to reality. “I know you hate me for what I did to him, but if I told you why I did it—the entire truth start to finish—you’d probably hate me more. So please, just give me some time alone with him?”
He scoffed the carpet with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s just hope you can’t break the same heart twice.”
Taking this as his round-about concession to let me stay where I was, I didn’t follow him when he left the room.
I didn’t let myself acknowledge that this would all be over, sooner probably rather than later; I simply couldn’t. I was certain if I would have let the realization that I would have to say goodbye to him again—in the most final kind of way—it would have sent me into a sickness there would be no coming back from.
So I’d emptied my mind of nothing but our reunion and willed the seconds to pass like hours and somewhere along the way, it had actually worked. I barely knew which way was up and down, let alone what time or day it was. An eternity could have passed as easily as an hour had. Bittersweet moments like this had a special kind of way of screwing with time . . . not to mention your heart.
A soft trio of knocks was the first outside stimuli to shake me from my feverish case of William hypnosis.
“Knock, knock.” Patrick’s voice emitted through the closed door. “You in there, Bryn?”
I considered not answering, hoping he’d leave, but Patrick wasn’t the kind of guy who ever left—especially if you wanted him to. “Yeah,” I whispered, as if William was sleeping and I could wake him. “You can come in.”
The door swung open, followed by Patrick’s head peeking past it. “I’ve got some of Mrs. Heinrich’s cherry danishes and some watered down coffee from the convenience store in town.” He shook a brown paper bag dotted with dark spots of butter leaking through. “You want some?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, reluctantly sitting up in bed. My body ached from the separation. “What day is it?”
Patrick raised his brows, handing me a cardboard cup of coffee. “Two days later than it was when you first entered this room. Have you left his side to check on your boyfriend down the hall? Your boyfriend who I was really happy was a Mortal because I knew he would someday die—if I didn’t kill him first.”
I shook my head, popping the mouthpiece of the cup back, taking a drink—it was worse than I’d anticipated, but still good. For me, coffee was kind of like pizza—even when you got a bad piece, it was still pretty good. I looked back at William, his face peaceful, gorgeous as usual, and slowly coming back to its normal color and texture.
Patrick leaned against the windowsill across from me, dropping the danishes on the nightstand. “Okay, so I’m just going to say this, get it out of my system, so I don’t have to talk about it anymore.” Whenever Patrick’s face was wrinkled as it was now, I knew things were going to get serious. I’d had a lot of experience with this expression as of late. “I’m not going to pretend to understand this sudden fixation you have with William again. I’m not sure if you like playing nursemaid or are doing this out of guilt or are just plain crazy, and I don’t care.” He ran his hands through his hair, looking like he was searching for the right words. “That’s not true, I do care, actually. But I guess my point is that it’s not really any of my business, as much as I’d like to make it so.”
“Beating around the bush doesn’t become you,” I interrupted, getting a bit of pleasure from experiencing him scrambling for the right words.
He manufactured a smile. “Fine—point blank—here’s what I’m trying to say. Do you still care for him?”
“Of course I do,” I answered, before immediately experiencing one of those deer-in-the-headlights moments.
I felt his eyes penetrating me, trying to figure something out. I preoccupied myself by fishing a gooey tyrof from the bag.
“And vagueness doesn’t become you, sweetheart,” he said finally, still searching me, going deep to unearth my secret. “You know what I mean. Do you still
care
for him?”
I took a bite, chewing slowly. This answer was as impossible to answer unemotionally as it was for me to feel unemotional about it. “That’s none of your business,” I said, looking down.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, crossing his arms. “It’s just nice to know we’re on the same page.”
“We’re never on the same page,” I mumbled into my cup.
“So, I don’t have the first clue why you’re acting this way and, quite frankly, I don’t want to have one,” he said, before launching into a tyrof, annihilating half of it with one bite. “You’re the kind of mystery that drives men to insanity trying to figure out.” His words were muffled from the gob of dough and cherry turning over in his mouth. “Alright, so I’m taking off my protective brother hat and putting on my instructor one.” He tossed aside the non-existent ball-cap on his head, replacing it with what I imagined to be a top hat from the way he mimed running his fingers around the bill.
“Super.” I didn’t hide my lack of enthusiasm as I nibbled off another bite.
“So you said you can feel something before your gift manifests . . . when did you figure this out?” he asked evenly.
“Given my lack of social outlet as of late, I’ve had plenty of time for thinking,” I began, setting my tyrof and coffee down—neither could win the battle for my attention with the man lying beside me. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to come up with similarities or differences or anything that could help us figure this cursed thing out.” I ran my hands down the length of my body. “And then a few days ago, I got that tingling-numb feeling—just barely a hint of it—but it was enough. It sparked my memory enough to know I’d felt the same thing, at about a hundred times the wattage”—I squinted from the word choicem the w@“those two times before.”
“What were you doing,” he asked, setting his coffee aside, “when you felt the tingling touch of death?” He smiled darkly at me before popping the remaining half of the pastry in his cavernous mouth.
“I wasn’t really doing anything,” I said, drawing William’s upturned hand into my lap. His skin felt warmer than the last time I’d touched it, more alive. He’d be waking soon . . . and then he’d be gone again. I’d never wanted to see his eyes stay shut more. “I was just thinking.”
Endless time to think; enough time to even think about thinking.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked, swallowing.
“Everything,” I answered, scrolling my fingers over the backside of William’s hand.
“You’re going to have to be more specific. Just a bit,” he said humorlessly.
I heaved a sigh. “I was thinking about everything from why rainbows don’t last to which team’s going to win the Superbowl this year.” I was being difficult and I knew it, but a woman’s thoughts were meant to be kept private, especially not to be divulged to a man like Patrick who had the emotional height of a thimble.
“So it’s going to be one of those days,” he said, clearly not amused. “One where your deference is only outdone by your sarcasm.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Okay, so right before I felt . . .
it,
I was thinking about Paul dying. How unfair it all was and how I was utterly, positively useless when it came to stopping it. How the Council was taking their sweet time to make their decision. How everyone around me winds up hurt or . . . worse,” I whispered, biting my lip.
“Hmmmmm,” he mused to himself, tapping his fingers over his crossed arms. “Okay, so first time, Council was killing you, second time, badly-dressed thugs were
attempting
tokill me, third time, you were thinking about Pauly-Dearest dying . . .” He walked to other side of the room, pacing back, looking perplexed.
“I’ve got nothing,” he said finally. “I can’t see any relationship between those three encounters. None whatsoever. What have you got?”
“Nothing,” I said, exasperated. “None of it makes sense to me, either. I know,” I said preemptively, anticipating his expression. “Big surprise.”
He snorted. “You and I might have the most destructive constructive relationship in known existence. We’re the original dynamic duo.”
He managed to get a laugh out of me. “Yeah, well, I’m not being your green-cape wearing sidekick.”
“Well, green isn’t my color,” he said solemnly, collecting the empty tyrof ba g and coffee cups. “You know that. It makes my skin look washed-out.”
“To the bat cave,” I said, lowering my voice a couple octaves.
He chuckled, heading for the door. “He’ll be waking soon, probably a few hours at most,”—his voice took on the serious quality that had dominated Patrick and my conversations lately—“so stay if you like, but remember what we agreed to. When he wakes up, you leave him alone and let him get back to his life. He isn’t a toy you get to pull out and play with whenever you so desire. You got that?”