“I’d love that.” I said.
He led me through a door by my hand, to a small room with a desk in one corner and a dark brown couch with a coffee table in front on the other side. We sat on the couch, facing each other.
“What is your name?” he said, speaking through his smile.
“Emily.” I said, smiling back.
“My name is Peter, Emily.” he said.
We sat there grinning for some time, seeing each others shared emotion in our eyes. Peter finally broke the silence.
“I can tell you aren’t one of them.” Peter said. “Everything about you is genuine, I can feel it.”
“What do you mean by one of them?” I asked.
“The Corrupt, don’t you know?” he asked.
“I don’t.” I said, breathlessly and confused.
“You have a mortal heart, yet you walked right past all the forces of nature that should have repulsed you and repelled you from this place.” he said. “At the very least you are half of one of us.”
“I don’t understand.” I said.
“Never mind that.” he said. “There probably isn’t much time. I don’t know what they’ll do when they find out about you.”
His eyes grew wistful, and his smile more serious.
“I want to know you.” he said.
He asked me about my life, and I told him the tale of my sweet cat George, my office, my superstitious Mom. He seemed intrigued at my Mom’s superstition, and my Dad’s untimely death. He laughed at my cat’s antics and looked sad when I described how I lived alone with no relations nearby.
He looked thoughtful for a minute and then asked “What did your Mom tell you about your dad?”
“Not much.” I said. “I’d always assumed it was a painful subject for her.”
“Your Dad is somewhere.” he said. “He is one of us. You are one of us.”
“But I am mortal.” I said.
“A little bit.” he said.
“A little?” I said. “How do you mean?”
“Most children of immortals are born and live a life like any other human.” he said. “But some, in the past have lived hundreds of years, and never grew old, though they could, and usually were, killed eventually by mortal wounds.”
My mind raced at the possibility of living for hundreds of years. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered.
“I believe you are only a tiny bit mortal...” he said. “You walked right into this shop like an immortal.”
I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say.
He then began telling me about his life, and I was floored. “When I was born, I can remember my first days.” he said. “My mom looked at me, cooed, and told me I was and will always be.”
“I learned to speak, and read, and learn at my father and mother’s knee before I could even crawl. When I began to walk, they took me out of our little home and past our gardens for the first time.”
“They showed me two worlds, one was mortal, cyclical, with rises and falls. They told me our world was without cycles. That we were here as stewards, and how we remained unseen from the mortal world despite being in the middle of it. The mortals were wired not to see us, they said.”
He slowly stroked his warm fingers across my hand. His eyes became sad, and his brow apologetic. He looked across the room at nothing.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling his sadness along with him but not knowing why. I placed my hand over his.
“A dilemma, inside me.” he said. We sat there quietly for a few minutes. I was patient, concerned.
“I am not supposed to talk to mortals.” he said. “They say I’m too young. I know I’ve told you too much and I feel torn, a little guilty.”
“You are…” He paused.
He looked me over, and back into my questioning eyes.
“I’ve met other women near my age, immortal like myself.” he said. “They come into this shop sometimes. Not one of them, not a single one, is like you.”
He looked into my eyes for some time, like he was searching for something. “It feels natural to be around you.” he said. “I feel like I want to share everything with you though I only just met you.”
“I feel the same way.” I said breathlessly.
His sadness transformed to a smile. I returned it. Suddenly his lips were on mine, and his hand gently on the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair.
We were both startled by a thump in the shop. “Inventory!” Shouted a voice in the other room.
Peter looked a little panicked. He lifted his in finger to his lips, gave me a serious look, and darted into the shop with the door closing behind him.
I could faintly hear their voices in the other room.
“Do you want help unloading any of this?” said the other man.
“No, no, I’ve got it.” said Peter. “I know you need to catch your flight this afternoon.”
“Are you okay, Peter?” said the other man. “You seem a little... off.”
“I’m just fine.” said Peter.
“Well, okay.” said the other man. “You take care. I will be back on Saturday morning. Call if you need anything.”
Suddenly Peter was back through the door and dropped himself onto the couch next to me, rocking it slightly. Whatever Peter was, it wasn’t graceful. I smiled, enjoying that I had learned another thing about him.
“Phew.” said Peter.
“Are you hiding me?” I asked.
“Well, yes.” said Peter. “That was my mentor, my teacher.”
“And you don’t want him to know about me?” I asked.
“I don’t know what would happen to you.” he said, with concern in his voice. “They might think it best to take you somewhere, away.”
I felt a surge of fear when he said “away.” He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “They would never hurt you Emily.” he said. “We are The Pure, not The Corrupt. They would only ever want to keep you safe, and to do what’s right.”
“I don’t know what you mean by The Pure or the Corrupt.” I said. My mind raced with thoughts of his kiss, and complete confusion about everything else.
“In a nutshell,” he said. “There have always been immortals on this earth. Some have served themselves, and others have served the divine. Those two groups have grown distinct, and separate. I belong to The Pure, and we serve the divine.”
He was silent again and appeared thoughtful. It seemed to be a habit of his. I wasn’t used to that pace of conversation, but I was beginning to like it.
“I just don’t want to lose you.” he said. “I’ve only just met you.” He kissed me again. I was lost in it, with my fingers running across his arms. I had to go, it was time for him to open his shop and I would have been late for work if I didn’t go. I asked if I could see him after work.
A smile erupted across his face, almost mischievous. “Usually I’m studying in the evenings under careful watch with my mentor,” he said. “but he’s going out of town for the week.”
“Ha.” I said.
“Can I take you out to dinner?” He asked, with a big grin.
“I’d love that.” I said enthusiastically. I walked out of the door with a smile, looking back at him as he held the door open for me.
I went to work beaming and full of energy. I could hardly sit still in my chair, tapping my foot and rolling in across the room in my office chair like a little girl at play. Rick kept looking up from his work with a face that looked both concerned and afraid.
After work I went home and fed George. I stroked his back as he ate his food, and he purred energetically. He was finally done being mad at me for leaving him alone while I went to visit my mom.
Locking the deadbolt behind me with my keys, I descended the stairwell to the sidewalk. There he was, exactly at the time he’d said he’d meet me. He stood there, hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks, with his white button up shirt neatly tucked in at his waist. He wore a brown leather belt, and his tie fr
om earlier had been removed. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone.
He was intensely handsome, I’d give him that. It wasn’t what drew me to him though. His disposition, his big brown eyes, and him was what delighted me.
He turned and put his left elbow out at his side, looked back at me and smiled. Stepping forward, I linked my arm through his.
It was frigid and cold outside, but he was remarkably warm. I had to stop and remove my wool coat. He reached for it, I handed it to him, and he carried it with his right arm. I linked my arm back through his and we carried on toward the restaurant.
“A private table, please?” said Peter, as we stood inside the entrance.
We were ushered over to a table in the back corner of restaurant. We ordered mulled wine, Irish stew, and settled ourselves in at our table. I was surprised that he asked to have the same thing I ordered.
“You eat?” I asked after the waiter left the table.
“Ha.” he said “I do.” He paused, thinking.
“I see.” he said. “Yes, why would someone that doesn’t die need to eat? Well, it’s complicated.”
I smiled and tilted my head, intrigued. “Complicated?” I asked.
“We eat, we drink, and we sleep.” he said. “We can even get drunk. Food sustains us, but in a different way. We become weak without food.”
“I’m glad you don’t drink blood.” I said, with an uneasy laugh.
“Like a vampire?” he asked.
I nodded, feeling like my temporary fear had been ridiculous.
“Well, there are some that do.” he said, with a serious tone.
“What?” I asked, furrowing my brow skeptically.
“Many myths in your history ring of the truth of our world.” he said. “Vampires, wizards, Gods and Goddesses.”
He took my hand in his, across the table. “Some have, and still do, drink blood,” he said. “The Corrupt are unable to draw power from the divine themselves as they have lost their natural connection to it. So they steal it from those that still have a connection to the divine. It is in human blood.”
I shivered at the thought of such monsters existing. I wanted Peter to be real, but not that. Our conversation hushed as we saw the waiter approaching with our mulled wine.
“I want to meet your cat.” said Peter unexpectedly.
I laughed. “Of course.” I said, appreciating the change in conversation. We moved on to talk about our day to day lives.
Peter told me about his mentor, and how much he admired him. He said he’d been living with him and studying under him for over two years, and before that he’d been living with his parents. Apparently it was normal for the immortals to live with their parents until well beyond one hundred years old, so he’d left the nest early. He was forty though he didn’t look or act a day older than thirty.
Our food arrived, and we ate our stew and drank up our mulled wine. We talked long after our food was gone, my head buzzing a little from the wine. I didn’t want it to end, but it got late, and I had to work the next morning. Peter promised that we’d meet up before work at the jewelry store for coffee.
He walked me to the end of my stairwell to my apartment. We kissed a long kiss, and it continued until it became heated and into “get a room territory.” Peter showed the self control to end it. I felt drunk, not on the wine, but on his presence and his touch. I didn’t want to say goodbye.
“I don’t want to say goodbye.” I said.
“I know.” he said, agreeing, and tracing his finger down the side of my chin.
“Will you introduce me to George?” He asked. “I promise I’ll behave.”
George normally hid under my bed anytime someone came into the house that wasn’t me. I explained that to Peter, making sure he knew everyone got that reception from George.
We ascended the stairwell.
“Geooorge, here kitty-kitty-kitty” I called.
George bounded across the house. He froze, one paw up in the air.
“Hi kitty!” said Peter, in a sing-song voice. He got down on the floor on his knees.
George continued cautiously towards us, approached Peter, sniffed Peter’s outstretched finger and then hopped right up on Peter’s lap.
George began purring as Peter scratched behind his ears. Peter lifted him up and cuddled George close to his face. “Now I don’t think your cat wants me to leave, either.” He said.
“Let’s sit down for a little while.” I said.
Leading the cat toting Peter into my book room, I waved at him with my hand to sit next to me on my dusty blue chaise lounge. He planted himself next to me with George and put and arm around me. George managed to stretch himself across both of our laps, looking unnaturally long.
“You’ve collected all these?” said Peter, looking around at my books.
“Not just collected, read.” I said. “Ask me anything about any of them.”
Peter smiled. “You are so different from anyone I’ve met.” he said.
Leaning in towards him, I rested my cheek on his chest. We sat there talking, late into the night, about my books, and our lives, until we fell asleep.
The week passed by quickly, and I spent every free hour I had with Peter. We talked and talked, sharing our own insights and opinions about the world and our lives. We got along so well. It’s like we skipped the guarded part that happens when you first meet someone, where you dance around each other’s differences.
I was becoming addicted to our conversations. Everything seemed so normal until he’d mention something like his Dad was around when the U.S. Constitution was written.
His mentor was returning that Saturday, and he’d be back under his watchful eye soon. We were going to have to be apart for a while until Peter figured out what to do.
“I have to do what’s right, Emily.” Peter said.
We were standing in my living room, holding hands, preparing to depart for an unknown period. “I wish I understood.” I said. “I know there is a lot I don’t know. It sounds like a lot of careful politics.”
“It is a little bit of politics,” he said. “but it’s also my desire to do good in this world. Love is good…” He trailed off.
He said the word love, about us. The word hung in my mind.
“Love is good,” he said again. “But there is also a greater good, and a balance to things. I need to research, to understand more about the consequences of my having made myself known to you. I also have to make sure I’m not serving myself in this.”
I didn’t like that second part. I wanted to understand. We had spent so much time together in just a few short days, talking and talking. We were getting to know each other, and in learning about him I was beginning to understand more about myself.
I felt like I could relate to Peter, like no one I’d ever met. Just the pace of our conversations, the long pauses for thought, the things made most people uncomfortable felt so natural to me.
As he explained away his departure, I felt like I was retreating into myself. I felt numb. I worried the world I’d just found was slipping through my fingers.
It was all a blur as I closed the door behind Peter. Standing with my face the door for some time, I reached my hand up to my neck to touch the silver locket that Peter had given to me. I forced myself to move into the kitchen, and to make myself dinner. I forced myself to shower, and to put on my pajamas.
As I climbed into my bed, with my heart felt like it was sinking into my stomach. I felt heavy inside of myself, like I was weighed down bricks and falling into the dark depths of the ocean. George curled up by my back, purring and warm as I fell into an uneasy sleep.
V
HUNTED
I poured a cup of coffee without spilling a drop. Gently placing my feet into my shoes, I glanced at the clock, 6:30am. I would be early to work.
Shuffling down the cement stairs towards the sidewalk, my feet seemed heavy. I got into my black Honda Civic and placed my coffee into the cup holder without spilling
a drop.
I focused on every single task, on everything in the present moment. If I didn’t, my mind would fill with Peter, replaying everything over and over again.
I wanted to see him, but he told me I had to stay away. I didn’t like it, no matter what the explanations were. I wanted to understand, but I felt hurt.
Sitting in the tub that evening, I saw George sauntering in to visit. He gave me a wide eyed look, like I was insane for being immersed in water. He stood up on the side of the tub and stuck one paw in. Sitting on the bath mat, he washed his wet paw, and then every square inch of his body.
Standing up with water dripping off of my, I grabbed the towel, dried off and stood in the mirror with it wrapped around me. Looking at the locket that hung around my neck, I then touched it with my fingers. It was still there. It wasn’t a dream.
I got up the next morning and repeated the same thing I did the day before. The next day was the same, and then the next. At work Rick and I collaborated on several projects, where I did some of the best work I’d ever done.
Every moment, everything I studied, I put all of my being into. I’d always put a ton of energy into work, but I was putting my everything into work.
“Well hello little guys!” I said as I peered through a microscope at tiny moving shapes. They gave me a wave of emotion, like they were greeting me. It only felt natural to greet them back.
I heard a chuckle from the other side of the table. “You feeling okay, Emily?” Asked Rick.
My face felt hot. “Yes, I’m just fine.” I said.
Rick must have thought I was cracking with my talking to the microscope. He would have really thought I was cracking if I’d explained to him that I felt like tiny microbes were speaking to me.
Not only did things begin to “speak” to me, but I felt like I understood them. I had to wonder if I was cracking, but the physical evidence in my successes at work were as solid as the silver locket around my neck.
“It just doesn’t make sense.” said Rick from his desk, without looking up at me.
I stopped and turned towards him. “What doesn’t make sense?” I asked.
A Tiny Bit Mortal Page 4
