Queen of the Immortals

by T. R. Hamby

  Queen of the Immortals

  Mel

  He was dead. Michael was dead.

  Now Mel felt the horror that his own anger brought on people. He felt beyond sick, beyond terrified.

  No, no. Please no. Not Michael, not Michael.

  His fingers shook, pressed against the artery in Michael’s neck. He couldn’t feel a pulse, though he repositioned his fingers several times. Michael lay there, eyes closed, his face gray. He didn’t move; his chest didn’t rise.

  Mel felt a surge of desperation, and he took Michael’s face in his hands and jammed his fingers hard into the back of his jaw.

  Michael instantly jerked, grunting. “Christ, Mel,” he groaned, brushing weakly at his hands. “Get off me.”

  Mel took his hands away, breathing hard. Overwhelming relief crashed over him, and he had to steady himself, dizzy. For a moment he had thought…

  No. Not now. There was work to be done.

  “Michael, stay awake,” Gilla sobbed, as his eyes closed again.

  Mel repeated the procedure on his jaw, and this time Michael seized Mel’s wrist, nearly crushing it.

  “Stay awake,” Mel growled, clapping his shoulder. “Michael. I said stay awake. Stay awake for Gilla.”

  At Gilla’s name Michael turned his head, catching sight of her leaning over him.

  She nodded encouragingly. “Yes, stay awake for me, love. Talk to me.”

  Mel nodded. Good. “Keep him talking, Gilla.”

  Then he turned to Nora. His right hand was trembling, and his whole body was tense, fueled by adrenaline. His left hand, oddly, was rather weak.

  But that wasn’t important. He looked at Nora, who was a little green, pressing the bath towel hard against Michael’s wounds.

  “Let’s see,” he whispered, and she nodded shakily, carefully removing the towel.

  They looked: The three small punctures were now just oozing blood, very slowly. The scarlet puddle on the floor had stopped growing; blood was no longer pouring out of Michael’s stomach.

  More relief. Mel took a steadying breath and nodded.

  “Okay--Nora--remember my black case?”

  It took her a moment to understand. Then she nodded quickly.

  “It’s in my bathroom upstairs--”

  “I’m going.”

  And she was on her feet, sprinting out of the apartment.

  While she was gone he kept an eye on Michael, who was clearly trying desperately to stay conscious. Gilla was bent over him, her short hair skimming her jaw, speaking to him quietly. She murmured something, and he managed a chuckle before grimacing.

  Finally Nora returned, pink-cheeked and out of breath. She handed Mel the case and knelt beside Michael again.

  “What are you going to do?” she breathed, watching as Mel shakily unzipped the case.

  He took another steadying breath. A long time ago, when medicine had just started to become refined, Mel had written to Agatha, requesting several needles and spools of thread. Human-made needles could never pierce the skin of an Angel, but anything fashioned in the Immortal World could.

  Mel had never thought they would need to use the little Angel-emergency-kit he had put together so many years ago, but now Michael had wounds. And they needed to be sutured.

  He extracted the needles and thread, and Nora understood immediately. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Thread this for me,” he said; his hands were too shaky.

  He looked at Gilla and Michael while Nora threaded the needle. Michael was still awake, gripping Gilla’s hand and watching her speak.

  Mel reached out and grasped his shoulder, hard. “Keep it together,” he growled, as Michael grimaced again. “This is going to hurt.”

  Michael managed a small nod, though what Mel had said didn’t seem to have fully registered.

  Then Mel looked at Gilla. “Don’t hold his hand. He’ll crush it.”

  She was ashen, wide-eyed, but she nodded firmly.

  Nora handed him the threaded needle. Mel held the needle with his right hand, which was slowly steadying. His left, however, didn’t seem to want to cooperate; his fingers fumbled, and he realized after a confused moment that he couldn’t quite feel them at all.

  He swore under his breath. His heart began to race again, humming in his chest.

  He was scared.

  “Tell me what to do,” Nora said again, touching his hand soothingly.

  He looked at her, saw her soft brown eyes, her determined expression. It relaxed him ever so slightly, and he nodded.

  “Hold this here,” he said, bending over Michael’s torso, “and hold steady….he’ll move….”

  He was right; Michael did move, swearing as Mel dipped the needle over and under each wound. Gilla had to soothe him, and they had to take breaks, give Michael time to recover. He was shaking, breathing heavily, and sweating--something Mel had never seen an Angel do.

  Fucking god. Could he get through this?

  No. He had to. Mel couldn’t think any other way.

  It took about twenty minutes before they were finished. Nora helped Mel tie off the sutures, and then they sat there, staring at Michael. His color was still pale, his skin still clammy, but he was awake, getting his breath back. Mel felt his wrist; his pulse was good, much better than he had expected.

  He looked at him. “Do you know where you are?”

  Michael raised an eyebrow. “On the goddamn floor,” he whispered, and everyone chuckled, relieved.

  Mel couldn’t help but grin. “Let’s get you up,” he said gently, “just get you to a bed, and then you can sleep. All right?”

  Michael nodded weakly. Mel was quick; the faster they got this done, the faster Michael could rest. He dragged Michael to his feet. Michael groaned, clutching his stomach and swaying.

  Mel held him tight. “Don’t make me carry you,” he warned, and Michael rolled his eyes.

  It was more difficult than Mel had expected. His left arm was weak, trembling, and two arms were needed in this sort of situation. Nora had to step in, grasping Michael’s other arm and helping the two stumble to the guestroom.

  They got him into bed and laid him back against the pillow. He was already blinking drowsily, but he managed to keep his eyes open enough to look around.

  “Gilla?”

  Gilla darted forward and sat beside him. They murmured to each other, her head bent over his, until he fell asleep.

  Nora

  It felt like they stood there for a very long time, watching Michael’s chest rise and fall as he slept. Gilla sat beside him, holding his hand, and Nora and Mel stood nearby, watching.

  Then the spell broke, and Nora shook her herself. She looked around, almost wildly. Gilla was absolutely covered in blood; her shirt was soaked, her face and hair spotted with it. Her hands were the worst--Nora couldn’t find a single patch of pale skin beneath all that dried blood.

  Gilla looked up, as if sensing Nora’s gaze, and looked around at her. Tears were in her eyes, and the gravity of what had just happened seemed to hit both of them with full force. Gilla let out a moan and flew to Nora. They crashed into each other, holding each other and crying quietly.

  Nora squeezed her eyes shut. Images of Will Bakker, teeth bared and Blade in hand, went through her mind. Mel struggling with him, begging them to run. Michael appearing, and Bakker thrusting the Blade into his gut. Gilla had screamed, but it was the look on Michael’s face that Nora knew she would never forget. She knew he had been staring death in the face.

  And how close he had been to it.

  She pulled away after a moment, gripping Gilla’s arms and looking her over.

  “You’re okay,” she breathed, relieved. “It’s just his blood.”

  Gilla nodd
ed shakily. “I think so,” she whispered.

  She looked over Nora too, touching her hand, tears still pouring down her face and mixing with the dried blood on her cheeks.

  Then they embraced again, shivering. Nora felt almost sick; she had been close to losing the three most important people in her life, her three best friends. Hugging Gilla had never felt so good, so glorious.

  She had really almost lost them...except, she remembered, for Mel. She couldn’t lose Mel, because he could never be killed--even by an Immortal Blade. No matter how much or how severely he was injured, he could never die. Thanks to Michael, Mel truly was invincible...unless he tried to take his own life.

  She shivered, and broke away to turn to him. He had been watching them, an anxious look on his face, and she knew he had been scanning them for injuries.

  She would have thrown her arms around his neck if she hadn’t caught sight of his left arm. The sleeve of his shirt was soaked with blood, and torn open mid-bicep.

  “Jesus, Mel,” she whispered, quickly approaching him.

  He cupped her face in his right hand, his blue eyes piercing. “You’re okay?”

  “Yes--but--your arm,” she replied, gingerly touching it.

  Mel frowned and looked. There was a wound on his upper arm, very similar to the puncture wounds on Michael’s abdomen. It was still bleeding, letting out a lazy river of blood down his arm, soaking his shirt.

  “Shit,” he breathed, clearly surprised.

  “We need to get this fixed,” Nora said firmly.

  “But you’re okay?” he said, gripping her arm. “You’re not hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she replied, nodding reassuringly. “Let’s get that fixed now. It’s still bleeding.”

  Mel hesitated, looking back at Michael. Gilla went to Nora, touching her arm, and the three of them stared at Michael for a long time again. He remained sleeping, his chest still resolutely rising and falling.

  Gilla looked at them. “I’ll stay with him,” she said firmly. “If anything happens I’ll call.”

  And she returned to the bed, sitting beside Michael and holding his hand.

  Nora hesitated. She didn’t want to leave Michael either. What if his condition worsened, and she wasn’t there? But she would be in the next room, she remembered. Mel needed his wound tended to. They couldn’t waste any time.

  She turned to Mel and tugged on his good arm. “Come on, Mel.”

  He hesitated again, staring worriedly at Michael. His face was very pale, and Nora noticed that he trembled beneath her hands.

  Her heart ached. She rubbed his arm soothingly, and he looked at her and sighed. He followed her out to the living room.

  God, it was like a bomb had gone off. The couch was collapsed, with springs and stuffing leaking out of the fabric. The Christmas tree was snapped in two, and ornaments and tinsel were scattered across the floor. The coffee table was in shambles; the dining table was knocked over. The only thing that seemed to have survived was the recliner.

  “Jesus,” Nora whispered, squeezing Mel’s hand.

  “Sorry,” Mel murmured vaguely.

  She ignored his apology, feeling a rush of gratitude and franticness. She turned and kissed him, hard, holding his face in her hands. Then she broke away, gingerly wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her head in his chest. She listened to his heartbeat, which was almost a purr beneath his skin.

  Mel sighed, holding her close with his good arm. “I love you,” he whispered, squeezing her waist.

  “God, I love you too,” Nora whispered, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  He chuckled, still shaking. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters to me.”

  He paused, then frowned, brushing at her cheek. “Right….you came back. Why did you come back?”

  She felt a surge of guilt. “I’m sorry--as soon as Michael dropped us off Gilla wanted to go back. I tried to hold her back--keep her in the condo--but, you know, she’s bigger than me….so I just….went with her.”

  Mel looked pained, and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s lucky you two were okay. Especially Gilla….being mortal….”

  “She killed him,” Nora breathed, and they looked at each other.

  “Yeah,” Mel said quietly, “she did.”

  Nora shook her head, stumped. God had told her that Gilla would be special one day….though when that day was, or what exactly “special” meant, was unclear. Could her killing of Will Bakker have something to do with this extraordinariness?

  Mel seemed to be reading Nora’s mind. “It is incredible, regardless of her….destiny,” he said, using the word with disdain.

  “Incredible? It’s fucking insane,” Nora replied, and Mel’s lips twitched.

  But she shook herself. His wound was her priority now.

  “You’ll have to walk me through it,” she said, as Mel tugged off his shirt and she retrieved the black case.

  He righted the dining table, and they sat down tensely. “I’ve never experienced this before.”

  She sat beside him, struck by the amount of blood that had stained his arm. A steady stream was still issuing from the wound, and she felt nauseous. She got some gauze from the kit and put pressure on the wound.

  She frowned. “Does it hurt?”

  He frowned too, and looked at it. “Yes….but not very much. It’s only….like an ache.”

  Nora wondered at that. Michael had been in agony just a few minutes earlier, having been stabbed too. But Mel’s pain was mild.

  “It’ll probably be worse when you start working on it,” he said darkly.

  She sighed. “Let’s get it over with, then.”

  Mel prepared himself, gripping the arm of the chair with his good hand, and Nora began working under his guidance. It was certainly painful; Nora could hear Mel grinding his teeth, and he clutched the arm of the chair so hard that it splintered. But she was able to get it done in just a few minutes.

  She set the kit aside, relieved it was over. Mel looked relieved too; he was catching his breath, leaning back in the chair. He looked at his arm, curled his fingers a couple times. They shook, and he grimaced.

  Nora felt a surge of worry. “You’re having trouble moving it?”

  He glanced at her, cautious, as if he didn’t want to answer. “It’ll be fine. Just shock. It’ll heal.”

  She considered arguing--that kind of damage to his motor function couldn’t be a good sign. But she had no idea how an Angel healed, after all. Not in this instance, with this injury. Maybe it would be okay.

  They looked at each other, and several emotions seemed to be shared between them. Shock, worry. Confusion, exhaustion. Nora didn’t know where to start.

  She decided on the most important question. “Will he be okay?”

  Mel’s head twitched, holding a protective hand over his stitches. “I think so. He has a decent pulse, and he was conscious, talking to us.”

  “Has there--has there been an Angel with that kind of injury before?”

  He hesitated, his face darkening. “None that has survived. But Michael’s the strongest Angel there is, and the bleeding’s stopped. He just needs rest, I think. He’ll be fine.”

  But his breath hitched at the end of his sentence, and he suddenly hunched over, holding his head in his hand. Nora knelt beside him worriedly, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

  Mel was quiet, though his breathing was shaky. Finally he sighed, taking his hand away from his face.

  “I thought he was dead,” he whispered hoarsely. “I really….”

  “I know,” Nora whispered.

  She had looked upon Michael’s gray face, his still body, and thought he was dead too. When Mel had woken him she had been almost faint with relief.

  God, Michael.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Mel whispered, staring at the floor, confusion on his face. “I have no idea what to do.”

  It was a strange thing to hear from him, especially since he had been directing them
for the last hour, his sole focus on saving Michael’s life.

  Nora wasn’t sure what to do either. Their whole world had, literally, been blasted apart. What do they do now?

  “Let’s start with showers,” she finally said.

  It seemed like a reasonable decision.

  Mel and Gilla were hesitant--neither of them wanted to leave Michael. But Nora eventually convinced them, and everyone took turns sitting with Michael and washing up. When that was done Mel brought in the surviving recliner, and he and Nora sat in it while Gilla sat on the bed. All three kept their eyes trained on Michael, and for a long time they were silent.

  Gilla then turned and looked at Nora and Mel. There was an indecipherable look on her face. “I killed him...he’s gone?”

  Mel nodded. “Yes. He’s gone. He’ll never hurt you again.”

  She absorbed this, now looking troubled. “I killed an Angel,” she said. “Me.”

  “You killed your abuser,” Mel said firmly. “You did it, Gilla.”

  She was quiet, frowning at Michael. Nora looked at Mel and knew he was thinking about the same thing--God’s prophecy about Gilla.

  Mel’s head began to nod not long after. Nora eased the chair back, and despite some stubborn attempts to remain conscious, he finally fell asleep. Gilla followed soon after, climbing into bed beside Michael.

  Nora lasted a while longer. She couldn’t take her eyes off Michael, had to watch him breathe. She remembered those weeks when Mel had first Regenerated, how annoying Michael had been, constantly appearing in her kitchen, eating her food, chiding her for being depressed. She remembered the times she would tease him, and he would pretend to be annoyed, hiding a smile. That time he told her he loved her.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she shook herself.

  No. Be strong, she thought.

  He was alive, thank god, and he would be okay. They had all made it, and they would all be okay. She had to remember that.

  Michael

  Michael.

  He opened his eyes.

  He was in a dim Place, once again, feeling suspended as if in molasses, or soup. Everything was slowed, even his heart, which beat gently in his chest. His wounds were no longer painful, his body no longer exhausted.