House Immortal

by Devon Monk

  “I want to offer you the wing of House Gray. Our strength and protection.”

  “You can be clear with me, Mr. Gray. You want to own me. Buy me before anyone else does.” I said calmly. “I come at a very high price. One.” I held up a finger.

  Abraham, behind Oscar, gave me an incredulous look.

  “I want my brother’s freedom. Two.” I ticked up another finger, noting that Neds had gone a little pale in the corner of my vision. “I want my land’s exclusion in House bargaining. And three”—I pointed at another finger—“I want House Brown’s voice to be recognized.”

  No one said anything. No one moved.

  Oscar studied me for a long moment. Then he pushed up out of the chair in a rustle of coats and scarves and cloth. “Come with me, and we can draw up the contracts.”

  Neds and I both started to stand.

  “Just you, Miss Case,” he said.

  “Beg your pardon, sir,” Right Ned started.

  “We’ll return in a moment, Mr. Harris.” Then to Abraham, “Please stay here and see that Mr. Harris is comfortable.”

  Right Ned shook his head, telling me not to go.

  I pulled my shoulders back. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be right here,” Right Ned said.

  Abraham gave me the strangest look. “You made a list of demands?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You did when you gave up your freedom.”

  He shook his head, a smile spreading across his mouth. “Go,” he said. “Unless keeping the head of House Gray waiting is part of your strategy?”

  Right. I went.

  Oscar had already outpaced me by half the room and waved his hand at the far wall. The wall dissolved, revealing a hallway there, which he continued on down.

  I hesitated. If that had been a real wall, it could close again behind me. Close with only Oscar’s hand as the key.

  “You aren’t my prisoner,” Oscar called back. He glanced back. “You can leave anytime you wish, but my office is back this way.”

  “I am just not used to putting my life or fate in the hands of others,” I said, striding down the hall.

  “Only the most faithful or naïve are,” Oscar said. “This way.”

  I wondered if the Shelley dust really could tear a person like me apart. I wondered if Oscar kept it in his office.

  My knives were in my duffel, out by the elevator door, and my rifle was on the coffee table, but I still had my revolver on my hip. That was some comfort.

  I followed.

  Oscar stopped in front of two beautiful wooden doors. He lifted his hand, and even though I didn’t see it, a scanner must have read who he was. Then, just like that, the two doors swung inward silently.

  “Not many people are invited to this room,” he said as he walked in and waved for me to follow. “But I felt it important that you understand very clearly what you are entering into with House Gray, and what we can offer you.”

  “That’s kind. Thank you.” I stepped in behind him and the doors closed with a locking snick.

  Photos, some old film style, others hovering in 3D hologram, others carved into life-sized flesh-realistic portraits, scattered across every wall in the place, which was otherwise furnished by a desk with a chair on either side.

  “This is a histories room,” Oscar said. “Not the only one I have, but every House keeps one wherever they do business. In this room are some of my ancestors,” he nodded toward a picture of a petite woman with sharp eyes and black hair slicked back into curls behind her ears. “These rooms hold records, diaries, and knowledge of the House, its doings and agreements during a House head’s lifetime. Only the heads are able to access every detail of the histories.

  “My histories are here also, of course. All the data and knowledge I have gathered in my time of ruling House Gray.”

  He walked over to the wall at my right and stopped in front of a hologram and flesh-real carvings of a boy, a young man, and a middle-aged man who all had his eyes, his short nose, his curly black hair.

  Next to each image of him was another boy and young man. He was taller than Oscar, thinner and younger, though his jet-black hair had the same curl. His clean pale face was long and smooth, scrubbed as if the world had never touched it. Not a wrinkle, not a freckle, not a single smudge of life seemed to have impressed upon him. While Oscar’s eyes tended to catch light and invite a smile, the other man’s eyes were dark, piercing, and utterly remorseless.

  “Who is that next to you?” I asked.

  He winced. “My brother, Hollis. Second in line to rule the House.”

  “The brother Aranda Red is supporting?”

  “The brother many Houses believe should displace me.”

  “Why?”

  “They don’t like me, nor my fondness for a balanced power among Houses and freedoms for the people we employ.”

  “And why do you have all of these histories here?”

  “They stand as witness, record, proof. Connected to primary and secondary sources, they create redundancy and open records for other House history rooms to access, if need be. This is a room of record for legal and contractual matters.”

  It looked like a room full of dead people staring at me.

  I crossed my arms and rubbed my palms down them to settle the roll of chills prickling there.

  Oscar glanced at me and tipped his head to one side.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No, just . . .” I nodded to the wall of people in front of us. “This is something I’ve never seen before. It’s a bit . . .” I shrugged.

  “You’re frightened?” Now he sounded surprised.

  “Not so much that as disquieted. These pictures aren’t connected to living folk, are they?”

  “No.”

  “It’s just that all these people staring at me is, well, uncomfortable.”

  “And your arms? Why are you rubbing them?”

  I stopped, unrolled my arms from each other, and stuck my hands in my overshirt pockets. “Just goose bumps.”

  “Just . . . ?” Oscar slicked his hand over the curls on top of his head, then held up one finger, asking me to stay quiet.

  He waved his hand at the far wall behind the desk, and once again part of the wall disappeared, revealing a bank of floating screens. Images flickered there: the room where Neds sat, the inside of the elevator, a street that might be another entrance to this place, and about thirty other locations I did not recognize. Some of the screens were images of empty rooms, but most of them had people in them.

  People who were working, talking, eating, sleeping.

  The screen that showed the interior of this room was paused.

  Oscar flipped through images by waving his fingertips in the air, and all the screens froze.

  “Now,” he said in a hurry as if time was counting down. “There will be no record of this. No one but you and I will know that this conversation has happened. I have even turned off the receivers and recorders within the Gray histories.”

  “Histories?”

  “All the . . .” He pointed at the nearest portrait that stared blankly, and, thankfully, no longer at me. It too was frozen.

  “Are you allowed to do that?” I asked. “I thought this was important for legal reasons.”

  He chuckled. “I am House Gray. Of course I can do that. We need the histories; they contain backup copies of backup copies of information, conversations, DNA, and everything from the last two hundred years or so. A House is only as strong as its history. But every House needs its privacy. And, trust me, every House takes it.”

  He sat on the edge of the desk and pressed his hands together, palm to palm, in a prayer position, his fingers tipped to his chin. “Goose bumps. Here. Just now. Has that ever happened to you before?”

  “Being
spooked?”

  “No. Well, yes. Have you experienced goose bumps, tingles, cold—that sort of thing?”

  “Are you’re asking me if I can feel?”

  “Yes.”

  Right. Abraham and the other galvanized, Robert, had been surprised about that too.

  “Yes,” I said. “I can feel . . . everything.”

  Oscar shook his head, his fingers still steepled by his lips. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” I said quietly.

  “Do you understand how unusual that is, Matilda Case? How unusual you are? You are the first, the breakthrough. Your brother has discovered immortality without the loss of sensation, heart, or mind.”

  “I might not be immortal,” I said. “We don’t really know that, do we?”

  “There are ways to find out. Do you remember your reawakening?”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  “Do you remember when that happened?”

  “Are you asking how old I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am twenty-six.”

  “Amazing,” he said. “Simply amazing. Your brother is brilliant.”

  “Speaking of Quinten, I want to know where he is, which House he is working for, and I want his debt resolved so that he is free to return home. I know you think you can claim me, but you should know that I won’t be much use to you if I’m treated like property.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  That stopped my tirade before I even got started.

  “I want my land protected, my grandmother safe.”

  “Yes, and House Brown to hold a voice in the world. All good things to ask for. But if I am to take action on your behalf, we will have to come to an agreement. A legal, signed contract.”

  “Monsters have the right to sign contracts?”

  His eyes narrowed, but a small smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “I’ve met a lot of monsters in my time, and most of them were very fond of contracts. But I don’t see you as a monster. I see you as a woman who cares about her family and home.”

  Here I was, being asked to trust a stranger. Again. Only this time I was signing my life away.

  But what other choice did I have?

  “What other choice do I have?” I asked.

  “You could contact the Houses you would prefer to be claimed by. I am sure they would take you in immediately. If the House that claimed you decided you were property worth selling, you might be traded to another House.”

  “Would I have any say about that?”

  “No.”

  “And what about my property? Grandma?”

  “It would depend on the House and how they thought they could best profit from owning what you own.”

  Harsh. But I knew it was true.

  “What are you offering?” I asked. “What do you get out of owning me?”

  “There. Very good. That is exactly the question you should ask. It is, fairly, the question you should always ask when dealing with any of the Houses. None of us, not a one, do anything unconsidered. Remember that, Matilda Case.

  “I won’t go into details, since a few hundred years’ worth of politics and history is a tiresome subject. But the short of it: I am offering you protection. From the other Houses, from contractual changes, from harm. You, your grandmother, and of course your brother will all be claimed by House Gray. Mr. Harris too, if they desire. The land will transfer to House Gray, but stewardship will remain in your family’s hands for the next ten generations, at which time a new contract can be negotiated.”

  “Why would you do that?” I asked.

  He nodded, again approving my question.

  “I have spent a very long life in service to, and being serviced by, people. It has given me an . . . extraordinary appreciation for the human condition. Our flaws, our strengths, and our inextinguishable capability for generosity and goodness. Over all these years of seeing the very worst of people, it is the very best that holds court in my mind.

  “I am not immortal. I age—slowly—but I am much older than I appear. The end of my time is coming. Not soon. But it will come. This House, and all the people in the world, will be the responsibility of some other man or woman.

  “While I am still the man in charge, I will follow my own moral compass.

  “You are a desired commodity, Miss Case. Every House will want to possess you. If you freely choose the protection of my house, I will pay a hefty stipend to all the other Houses. If that is done quickly enough, it will seal Gray’s legal ownership of you.”

  “Ownership,” I said, suddenly wanting to sit down and catch my breath even though I hadn’t been doing anything but standing there, listening to him tell me how my life, my today, and my tomorrow, had just shattered into something I couldn’t recognize.

  “Legally, yes,” he said. “However, I will sign a moral contract with you, just as I have signed one with Abraham. You will be recognized as under my employ, and you will be afforded all services, considerations, and benefits any human under my employ is given.”

  “So if I say yes, you own me. And you own whatever it is that makes me what I am. The right to research me? To experiment on me?”

  “Excellent question!” He clapped his hands together. “Yes and no. As the head of House Gray, I can, conceivably, do anything to anyone. There is no law other than my law within the House and its people. But the contract will state that any and all procedures will be done with your unforced, explicit consent, witnessed by three neutral parties.”

  “Neutral parties? Do those exist? You just told me that all people fall under House Gray and you’re the law here.”

  “Yes, but some of those people, most of them, actually, work for other Houses. Among the eighteen billion on this earth, many take vows to stand neutral for all sorts of legal proceedings.”

  “They can’t be bribed? Blackmailed?”

  “I won’t say it doesn’t happen, but it is quickly and violently shut down. We Houses make the rules, and we take steps to see that those rules are followed.”

  He was offering to take me and Grandma in, along with Quinten, to save my property, and to let us keep our property, which would let us keep House Brown connected and strong. And he would do it all without putting me under the knife to find out what stitched me together.

  “What about House Brown’s voice?” I asked.

  “One world-altering step at a time,” he said. “That is a longer battle. But I will sign contracts and begin programs and legislation to see that House Brown can gain recognition.”

  Not exactly a yes.

  “If I don’t accept?”

  “I’ll do what I can for you. But the Houses are powerful. If enough of them join together against House Gray, they will make it . . . difficult to act in your favor, since galvanized don’t technically fall under human laws, and therefore don’t fall under my jurisdiction. I’m sorry,” he added. “It is the way of it.”

  “I still don’t know what you get out of this.”

  He smiled, lines pressing out from beneath his glasses. “You give me your allegiance and you give me your help.”

  “Help for what?”

  “Taking my brother out of the line of House Gray rulership.”

  15

  They were urban myth—the immortal creatures living among us. Killing machines that were sent to depose governments and dictators. But they were not a myth.—1990

  —from the journal of L.U.C.

  “You have gotten the wrong idea about me, Mr. Gray,” I said. “I am not an assassin.”

  “I don’t think you’re an assassin,” he said calmly.

  “I’m not going to kill your brother.”

  “I don’t want you to kill my brother.”

  “You just told me to take him out of the picture.”

 
“Wars aren’t always won with bullets, Miss Case.” He tipped his head, waiting to see if I’d ask the next question.

  “All right,” I said. “How is your war won?”

  “Through your allegiance to House Gray, and to me, in particular,” he said with a smile. “This unrest my brother has engineered is just enough to depose my position. I would rather serve out my years and pass the House into more stable hands than those of my brother.”

  I pushed my hair back from my face. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m sure this all makes sense, but it’s late and I’ve had a long day. I still don’t understand what you want.”

  “I want you to agree to ten years, signed to me. Not to House Gray, but to me, Oscar Gray, so long as I am head of House Gray.”

  “You want me to become your personal slave?”

  “Not at all. I want your allegiance.” He pressed his fingertips against his mouth, then lowered his hands and crossed his arms. “House rulership is a messy combination of in-house and out-of-house support and politicking. The perception of power is almost as important as power itself. If you claim me as House Gray, it will prove that I am powerful. It will also secure my position as the only House to discover a modern galvanized.

  “I will be the only House besides House Blue to have more than one galvanized on my payroll. That will silence those who think me incompetent, end the lies my brother has been spreading, and prove—clearly—that I am the one who should remain in this position.”

  “So, owning me solves your problems?”

  He chuckled. “Not at all. My problems are endless. After all, I am the man in charge of managing the most difficult of resources: humans.” He tipped his head to glance over his glasses. “Also, I’d prefer if you didn’t think of it as ownership, because it won’t be.”

  “Galvanized have no human rights,” I said. “How would you prefer I think of it?”

  “As a job, Miss Case. I’ll draw up a contract. You’ll agree to ten years of service to me and my House, with a renewal option at the end of the decade. I will employ you, and in so doing will give you credit, housing, and the rights afforded to any human under my charge.”

  It was a generous offer. Far more than I expected.