Queen of the Immortals

by T. R. Hamby

  Michael nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  Nora shrugged. “She’s Immortal now. That’s some consolation.”

  He shrugged too. “I’ll be happy when she’s happy.”

  Mel’s London house was in Knightsbridge, a tall white building with a wrought iron fence and bay windows. It was determined that Nora would take the loft, which had its own kitchen, while the other three would take two bedrooms on the second floor. Everyone seemed rather tired of each other, and went to their rooms to unpack.

  Michael was quiet. All the bedrooms were large, with their own bathrooms, and his and Gilla’s was no exception. They had a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, a clawfoot tub and a walk-in shower. There was a Jackson Pollock hanging over the bed.

  It was all a little too Mel, and Michael began to wonder how they could tweak it.

  His phone buzzed, and he glanced at Gilla. They were on opposite sides of the bed, unpacking their suitcases. Most of their things--Michael’s guitars, Gilla’s piano--had been delivered the week before.

  She looked at him expectantly, and he picked up his phone.

  Get rid of the Pollock?

  He chuckled, and smiled at her. “Great minds.”

  She smiled too, which was a relief to see. She tapped on her phone again. And the tub?

  “Yeah. I don’t like it either.”

  The walls too. Gray would be better.

  He studied her. Her nose and eyes were still red from crying all day, and she looked a little disheveled from the flight. But she was still gorgeous--tall and graceful, with those blue eyes.

  He was reminded of when they first met, how he had been so sure that he could never love her, that it wasn’t in his nature. And now here they were--married--and he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  And now he didn’t have to.

  “How are you?” he asked gently.

  She paused, and looked down at the blouse she had been unfolding. Tears welled in her eyes again, but she brushed them away, took a deep breath.

  She made the “okay” sign, and he smiled, slightly relieved.

  Then Gilla pointed to him, and then patted her stomach.

  Michael chuckled. “It’s better. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  She nodded.

  Then she frowned, looking at him cautiously. She pointed to the door, and Michael assumed she was indicating the bedroom across the hall.

  Mel.

  He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “I fucked up,” he said quietly.

  He hated to say it.

  She nodded again. She didn’t seem angry, but she didn’t seem happy, either. She raised an eyebrow, and Michael nodded, ashamed.

  “I know.”

  They were quiet a moment. Then she pointed to him again, her expression worried. Was he okay?

  He took a deep breath. He couldn’t lie to her. He came around the bed and slipped his arms around her waist, squeezing. She relaxed against him, and he kissed her brow, loving the feel of her in his arms. She brought a hand down to his waist and poked a rib, and he chuckled.

  It was a huge relief to see her playful, to see her smiling. He knew they weren’t out of the woods yet--it was a long road ahead. But in that moment, despite everything, he knew they were happy.

  Persephone

  Two Months Later

  She was sitting at the bar, in a club on the West End. A young woman--no more than twenty-two--was on the dance floor, swaying to the music, laughing with her friends.

  Persephone sipped her cocktail and watched her. She sat regally in the chair, dressed in a short pink dress with black stiletto heels. The girl caught her eye, smiled cheerfully, and returned to her friends.

  Persephone wondered. Lacerations, maybe. Enough to make the blood spill. Or, with a simple twist, a broken ankle. That would make her scream.

  It had been three months since her husband’s “tragic suicide,” and Persephone had enjoyed every single day of it. The money had come in quickly, and she had used it wisely, very wisely.

  Soon….maybe tonight….

  But she was distracted. There was a Presence nearby. Normally she didn’t care if she ran across another Angel, unless it was Serene. But this one was different. He was overpowering, attracting him to her like a magnet. A Talent, she supposed. It was annoying, seductive, and she finally got to her feet and clicked her way to the back door.

  She could feel him following her. She stepped out into the chilly night air and whirled around, slamming the Angel against the door, a Blade in her hand. She pressed it against his throat, and he chuckled.

  “I knew you’d be feisty,” he said, squirming beneath the Blade. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. Promise.”

  “A likely story,” Persephone spat, but she removed the Blade anyway. “Who are you?”

  “Lucius,” he said, massaging his throat.

  He was tan-skinned, with long dark hair and glittering black eyes. “And you?”

  She cocked her head, now intrigued. “Interesting Talent. You were trying to get me to sleep with you.”

  “I call it luring,” he replied, smirking. “It works much better on humans, which is why I’m here. They just can’t resist me.”

  “I bet that strokes your ego,” Persephone said idly. “Among other things.”

  Lucius chuckled. He studied her, a smile playing on his lips. “I saw you staring at that girl. Did you want to sleep with her?”

  Persephone appraised him. He certainly didn’t seem like the goody-two-shoes Serene was. She sensed an irreverence--perhaps even an anger.

  He could be useful.

  “I left my purse at the bar,” she said.

  Lucius smiled, clearly intrigued, and went to get it.

  She thought, turning around, observing the street. Groups of girls, shivering in short dresses, were making their way down the pavement. Men called to them, and they shouted back, swearing and showing off middle fingers.

  Persephone smiled. Such fascinating creatures...so careless. Oblivious. Susceptible to pain, to injury. To death.

  It was delicious.

  Lucius returned and gave her her purse. Without a word she began to walk down the street. He followed, rather like a dog, his long hair swaying.

  “Where are we going?”

  “How do you find humans, Lucius?” Persephone asked, extracting some lipstick and a compact from her purse.

  He chuckled, and it was rather like a purr. “I love them.”

  “Hmm.”

  She reapplied her lipstick and put the items away. “So do I.”

  He was quiet, expectant.

  She looked at him and said, “Come with me.”

  And for a while they walked, silent. Then they finally turned a corner, and entered a tall building. It was a finished building, but not yet up and running. Persephone had seen to that--she had bought it.

  They took the elevator to the very top floor, the penthouse. They milled around for a minute, Persephone smirking.

  A lot of work had been done. The walls were covered with a dark foam, the windows shuttered. There were two bedrooms, one bathroom.

  Persephone looked at Lucius, who was quiet, his face blank. She smiled, and led him to the second bedroom.

  There was no bed. The floor was unfinished concrete, the walls covered with more of that dark foam. A length of chain was looped on the wall, with iron cuffs attached. There was a drain in the middle of the floor.

  She walked into the room, her heels clicking on the concrete. She turned, catching the slight smile on Lucius’ face.

  “Father Created something special,” she said clearly, raising her chin. “But I will do far more. My Creations will be much more wondrous.”

  Mel

  It was a snowy two months, but the four settled into the house pretty well.

  Sign language lessons were held at seven every morning. They then had breakfast together, watching the news carefully for any sign of an evil Angel’s handiwork.

  Activities varied dur
ing the day. Mel still ran the jewelry company, taking and making calls from the library. Gilla, Nora and Michael would often continue their signing lessons until the women were ready for lunch. Michael and Gilla remodeled their bedroom, and Nora took on the monumental task of redesigning the whole house, updating the furniture, changing the artwork and repainting the walls. When Mel wasn’t working he helped, though he really didn’t have to--Nora clearly had it covered.

  Nighttime was a little more important. The two couples alternated patrolling the streets at night. It was a little pointless--they had no idea what they were looking for. But it was better than nothing, and it helped them get acquainted with the city.

  It was another night of patrolling for Mel and Nora. Date Night, Mel jokingly called it, making Nora roll her eyes.

  He was in the living room, putting on his coat. Gilla was sitting on the couch watching the news, which still had no useful reports.

  It was getting frustrating. When exactly were these Angels supposed to appear? This was two months the four could have spent enjoying themselves--not fretting over Gilla’s voice, lost careers or an international move. They could have stayed in Rome longer, spent more time in their homes.

  He shook himself. There was no point brooding over what could have been. The four were just starting to feel like themselves again. He needed to remember that.

  Gilla looked around, caught sight of him, and went over. Mel was trying to get his bad arm into the sleeve of his coat. It was very painful, and his whole arm shook.

  Should have said something, Gilla signed, a gentle look on her face.

  She helped him adjust his sleeve, and then buttoned the coat for him.

  Mel smiled at her. Sweet, he spelled out with his right hand. It was difficult signing with his left hand out of commission.

  Gilla beamed. Her mood had improved quite a bit since the move. There were still times when she seemed down. But she was easily cheered now, and the signing lessons were helping tremendously.

  You happy? Gilla asked.

  Mel was taken aback. They still weren’t very close, although now that they lived together they talked every day. He was touched that she cared enough to ask.

  He nodded. “I am, despite everything. Are you?”

  She nodded. She pointed to his arm. We need to fix.

  Mel chuckled. “You sound like Nora.”

  Gilla nodded firmly, and he laughed.

  She went upstairs, and Mel leaned against the couch, checking his phone for any messages from clients. He was waiting for Nora to finish getting ready so they could go on their patrol.

  Michael was in the kitchen, right across from him. Mel had known he was there the whole time, of course. Michael had a strong Presence.

  The several days after the….conversation had been difficult. Michael’s brush with death had shaken Mel up more than he had realized. He had known an apology for his behavior regarding Patrizio was long overdue. But he hadn’t expected Michael’s reaction, and certainly hadn’t expected how it would affect him. It had been….painful. Very painful.

  God, why did it have to be so complicated? But he knew why. He dreamed about Lilith every night now, had to be shaken awake by Nora, breathless and shivering.

  Michael was right. Reconciliation was a joke. They were back to their old selves, their old relationship. That was it.

  Michael cleared his throat, leaning on the counter, and Mel glanced at him.

  “We were thinking about changing the flooring,” he said, referring to the remodel. “Updating the wood. Something that--”

  “Sure,” Mel said, shrugging coldly.

  He returned to his phone, though there was nothing for him to do on it, having received no messages.

  Michael paused. Then, “You need to see that doctor.”

  Mel felt a flash of anger. Great. Back to the nosiness. Fucking typical.

  “We can’t do anything right if one of us is disabled,” Michael said before Mel could retort. “And Nora told me what he said, that it’ll become permanent if you don’t treat it.”

  “The pain would be unbearable,” Mel growled, “and we don’t know how much anesthesia it would take to work on me.”

  “Something else would.”

  He rolled his eyes. “What.”

  “Agatha.”

  There was a silence. Mel stared at Michael, frowning.

  It was unlikely….but possible. Agatha could suck the energy out of any living thing. Maybe, if she controlled herself, she could drain just enough energy out of Mel to make him pass out.

  But he shook his head. “She can’t come down here.”

  “You should talk to Nora about that,” Michael replied. “She asked Father about it. If you could see our sisters again.”

  Another silence. Mel didn’t know whether to be furious or relieved.

  “You’re deciding to tell me this now?”

  “I only thought of it today.”

  Mel was about to retort when Nora came down the stairs, bundled in a coat with a knitted beanie over her curls.

  She looked between the two of them, clearly sensing tension.

  She took Mel’s hand and tugged him to the door. “Let’s go; it’s already nine.”

  “You two weren’t fighting, were you?” she asked as they went through the gate and onto the icy street.

  It was March, but still cold out, and snow was expected later in the night.

  Mel took her hand and looked at her. “You didn’t tell me about my sisters.”

  She frowned at him for a moment. Then she gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth.

  “Christ, Mel--I’m so sorry--I completely forgot,” she exclaimed, looking mortified.

  “How do you forget something like that? You remembered enough to tell Michael.”

  He couldn’t help but feel a little hurt--after all, she knew very well how dearly he missed his sisters.

  “Mel, I’m so sorry,” she sighed, squeezing his hand.

  They turned the corner, heading for the seedier side of the city, where they expected some form of Angelic crime to be going on. They didn’t take the Tube, preferring to be out and about, in case they spotted any Angels along the way.

  “It was fresh in my mind after I came back, and Michael was right there. But then it was another ten months before you came back, and by that point I just….forgot. God, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he said, sighing. “Eighteen months isn’t going to make a difference after 200,000 years. I’m just glad you asked Father.”

  She looked relieved, her breath misting in the cold air. “I think he liked that I asked. I think he found it almost….cheeky.”

  “Well, no one can deny that you’ve got cheek,” Mel murmured, and she smacked his good arm.

  He looked at her and smiled. She was beautiful, with the beanie jammed over her curls, a wool scarf around her neck. Her cheeks and nose were pink, but there was a bright smile on her face.

  Mel ducked down and kissed her cheek, and she flashed him a grin.

  “Don’t; I’m trying to be serious,” she laughed.

  They finally reached the beginning streets of Hackney. Mel was firm, placing a hand on Nora’s waist. He was still paranoid about her getting attacked, and liked keeping her close as they walked the pavement.

  Nora was unafraid, scanning the streets for anything out of place.

  “Michael told you about your sisters?” she asked curiously.

  Mel glanced at her. “Yeah.”

  He hesitated, then said, “He thinks Agatha can use her Talent to put me to sleep….so I can have the operation.”

  Nora was quiet a moment. Mel could tell she was excited, but she kept her cool.

  “Good,” she said quietly. “I hope it works.”

  “Only if Agatha can control herself. We might have to test things out first.”

  They approached a small Chinese restaurant with a window. Mel took one look at Nora, who was pleading, and went to the window to ord
er.

  She was only six inches away from him when she shrieked.

  Mel whirled around. Nora was on the ground, and a man in a black hoodie was sprinting away. To Mel’s horror, Nora jumped to her feet and chased after the man, grabbing him by the shoulders and bowling him onto the pavement.

  Mel ran over to them.

  “Christ, you nearly broke my arm off,” the man said in a thick accent.

  “Well that’s what you get for groping my ass, perv,” Nora shot back, wrenching her phone out of his hand.

  Mel felt a flash of anger, and the air crystallized. The man shrank away, staring horrified at Mel.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I just wanted her phone, mate, I swear.”

  Mel stared at him for a long moment. He had an idea. An unsavory one, but useful.

  He took a deep breath, allowed the anger to fade. Then he stooped down, grasped the man’s hand and hauled him to his feet. Mel was much taller, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, walking them away from the restaurant. He could hear Nora following behind, and knew she was confused.

  “What’s your name?” Mel asked, turning to face him.

  The man looked relieved he wasn’t feeling Mel’s anger anymore--though unaware of what that anger was.

  “Tom,” he said, shrugging. “Tom Barrett.”

  “Tom Barrett,” Mel murmured, looking him up and down.

  He was decently sized, but not imposing, with brown hair, tattoos on his neck. Youthful. Not remotely intimidating.

  “You make a lot of money off stolen phones?” Mel asked, and he flushed.

  “I’m just trying to pay my rent, mate,” he said. “I can’t get good work with my record.”

  “Record for what?”

  “Possession.”

  And he looked down at his shoes.

  Mel studied him. He couldn’t be older than twenty-five--still just a kid, in many ways. And he couldn’t even find money for rent.

  “How long have you been clean?” Nora asked gently.

  Barrett looked wary. “One year,” he said firmly.

  “Congratulations.”

  He looked surprised at her kindness.