by J. L. Sutton
My thoughts were still my own, they still sounded exactly like me, but I was her. Before I had time to puzzle it out anything further I, she, turned at the sound of someone’s voice. Dawn was standing on the high bank of a small, clear stream. Up ahead there was a bridge, built from a variety of multi colored stones that together created circular patterns around the arches of the middle pillar that disappeared into the flowing water. A young woman, no older than fifteen by my reckoning, came bounding across the bridge, her fiery hair swaying gently in the wind. Her clothing was unlike anything I ever saw before—the rough, drab fabric it consisted of looking like it belonged in a renaissance fair.
As she approached I noticed her face was undefined, as if it were a moving picture taken too quickly. The girl skidded to a stop a foot from Dawn, saying something in the same guttural language I heard Dawn use in the diner. Dawn’s reply flowed from the lips that weren’t mine in the same tongue, and the girl smiled. They both exchanged incomprehensible words back and forth as they walked down the steep bank, taking a seat right on the water’s edge. The girl’s features remained a mystery while they happily conversed, smiling and laughing often as they dipped their bare toes in the water. Due to the language barrier it took me a while to realize Dawn’s voice was off, wrong somehow, like it wasn’t truly hers.
My temples began to throb, and the world started shaking. As I felt my grip on the memory slipping Dawn leaned over, peering into the crystal clear waters. My vision began to darken, shrinking at the edges as the scene tore itself into ribbons of lively colors. I just managed to catch the tiniest glimpse of Dawn’s hazy reflection in the water, a woman whose features I didn’t recognize, as the world once again faded into darkness.
A solid wave of vertigo hit as the walls of my apartment blurred into focus. I blinked rapidly, shaking off the last vestiges of the vivid waking dream that lingered just behind my eyelids, like an indented imprint. As our eyes met I was keenly aware of the fact that Dawn’s hand was still in mine, her deadly touch soft as silk against my skin. Either she had grown warmer, or I was acclimatizing to the temperature difference. Perhaps she had more control than she gave herself credit for. The thought was sobering, and at the same time equally inviting.
Dawn smiled in relief. “Welcome back.”
“How long was I there?” I asked shakily.
“Not long. Time works differently in the mind.” She looked thoughtful as she pulled her hand away from mine, bringing it to rest against her knee. Funny, it seemed like at least a few minutes to me, if not more.
“That was . . .” I paused, my mind struggling to find the right word. I was definitely still feeling some after effects of the shared memory. “Intense.”
“It takes some getting used to.” She nodded. It was a rather large understatement.
“Why was the memory so full of holes?” I asked, not able to find a better explanation for the constantly changing landscape.
“Flaws in the link. That connection to the other person and focusing on the memory requires a lot of concentration to maintain, even between seraphim. The gaps start to get smaller and eventually disappear with practice. But, because you are human it would be more pronounced for you. I am actually surprised at how well we did, all things considered.” She certainly sounded impressed. Up until then I didn’t even realize I had any control over what she was showing me.
“Is it always so unclear? I couldn’t see very much detail.”
“No, that was my fault.” She smiled shyly. “My human memories have faded somewhat, it is difficult to remember the finer details after a few hundred years.”
A human memory. My brain began slowly fitting the pieces together. The voice I heard, the reflection on the water. That was Dawn, the real Dawn. I wanted to kick myself for letting the connection break before I could make out any of her features. “Why did you choose that particular memory?”
“I was hoping because you are human it would have a better chance of working. Also, I figured there was less chance of seeing something else if I showed you a memory before I died. For some reason it is one of the few human memories I can still recall with any clarity.”
Not that I understood a lick of how any of this worked, but her logic had some sense to it. At least, I think it did. Still, even though I didn’t understand a single word spoken it felt somehow more personal knowing she chose to reveal something from her past among the living. That was her friend she was with. Unfamiliar surroundings to me, but to her it used to be home. It reminded me just how little I really knew about her. Was I being naïve to trust her so implicitly with my life? No, somehow I knew my faith in her was well placed.
“It was a nice memory,” I said, remembering the smiling face of the girl with the curly hair. “What language was that?”
“Old Gaelic. Sorry, I forgot you would not be able to understand. It was a few decades before English became widely used where I lived,” Dawn said as she toyed idly with her braid. “Back then only the wealthiest could afford schooling. I only learnt to read and write after I died.”
We really were from two different worlds, even before she became something else. How much had she left behind? “I’d like to hear more about that life, if it’s alright with you?”
Dawn simply smiled. “I was the youngest of four siblings. I cannot remember their faces, but I do recall my three brothers always used to tease me about my small size. My family never had much in the way of money, a long line of farmers going back for generations. Like most girls I helped my mother around the house, cooking and cleaning while my brothers worked the fields. It was a simple life, but a loving one. We never really possessed any concept of just how big the outside world was, so I was more than content to follow my parent’s wishes and marry a good man who would take care of me, living out my days in the same village I was born in.”
“Did you ever have children?” I asked, trying to picture what it must’ve been like.
“Sadly no, I never did get married either. When I came of age I knew the man I wanted to marry—a young, handsome stoneworker’s apprentice from a nearby village. He travelled south one winter to look for work, promising me when he returned he would ask my father for my hand. It was not meant to be though. While he was away I became ill, stricken with what I now know was consumption. Needless to say I passed away soon after. A few years later he married my best friend, the girl from the memory. They were very happy together. Had three healthy little girls with red hair and rosy cheeks just like her.”
Dawn remained perfectly calm as she spoke. I still couldn’t believe how rationally she could talk about her death, smiling fondly as she recalled everything she never had the opportunity to experience. No one should have to suffer all that loss, only to have to come back and watch the aftermath.
“How can you not be upset about it?” I asked, my voice raising an octave. “To be taken so young, before ever living your dreams or travelling the world. You never got to have your happy ending. I’m not even sure you were past the beginning.”
I felt embarrassed by my outburst, but Dawn just sat there, waiting patiently for me to get it out of my system. I wasn’t so sure I deserved it. “I have had a long time to make peace with it. Besides, it would not really be fair of me to complain. I have this existence now.”
“I hope someday I can agree with that,” I said, bowing to her wisdom. Accepting things I couldn’t change was never my strong suit. When something pushed, I pushed back.
She nodded. “I hope you do too. Now, shall we move on to a less morbid topic?”
“Sure,” I said, grateful for her suggestion. “How about we try again?”
“What would you like to see?” Dawn asked, offering me her hand without hesitation. Her skin was cooler than earlier, though I wasn’t sure if it was due to her control or lack of contact with my own.
I smiled. “Whatever you want to show me.”
“Alright.” She returned my smile, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. “
Perhaps something a little livelier then.”
I was better prepared this time as the midmorning scene in front of me evaporated into a cloudless night sky. This memory was sharper than the last, more defined, though the holes plaguing my vision were still very much present.
Dawn was sitting on the edge of a high rooftop, overlooking bustling streets and city lights. I could hear her calm, metered breathing over the sounds of tiny cars rushing past, at least thirty stories down. Judging from the car models I could tell this memory couldn’t be more than a few years old. The city was unfamiliar to me though, it’s towering metal and glass structures far too immense to be Greystone. Her gaze was focused on the sidewalk below, following something I couldn’t make out from this height—her superior senses didn’t seem to translate into her memories quite as well. I saw the legs of her jeans, and the pair of worn black ballet flats she was wearing as she stared out over the breathtaking view of the sprawling city arrayed for miles in front of her. Then she leaned forward, her whole perspective shifting vertically as she began her free fall towards the solid concrete below.
As Dawn plummeted in slow motion I could almost feel the rush of wind whipping past her face. Undiluted terror and excitement ran through my mind in equal measure as the ground below grew closer, so strong that I had to fight to resist the urge to open my eyes and end the memory. Then the world spun around me in a violent riot of smeared colors as Dawn somersaulted through the air. I held a mental breath as the sidewalk, chock full of people, came back into view just a split second away.
Dawn was in perfect control, absorbing the momentum of the impact on the balls of her feet as she rolled forward into a crouch. There was a thunderous crack as she hit the ground and some of the people around her looked up in surprise, but their gazes went right through her as if she wasn’t there. She slowly straightened from her crouch, casually brushing the dust off her knees, like she just took a light tumble instead of jumping off a building that would’ve smashed every bone in my body.
Then the memory seemed to skip forward, picking up again to her speeding off, flitting through the crowded sidewalk at a breakneck pace that left my mind reeling. Not once did she even come close to colliding with anything. Dawn simply breezed through the traffic, dancing in and out of the smallest of gaps with ease. Soon she reached an intersection, but instead of slowing even a fraction she vaulted over the four lane street, arcing through the air above the cars below her. The second her feet touched the ground she was off again.
The fluid movements seemed so effortless, her breathing remaining steady despite the strength flowing through her agile limbs. Something caught her attention and she broke off the sidewalk, slipping into a dimly lit alleyway before skidding to a stop. The memory skipped forward again to her standing at the end of the dirty alley, her head craning towards the top of the high wall she was staring at. Then Dawn ran her hands along the wall, bringing her face to within an inch of the bricks before she slowly inhaled through her nose. Her hands contracted, slender fingers finding purchase between the small spaces in between the bricks and she began scaling up the wall, quicker than I would’ve thought possible. Pausing halfway she stopped to inhale again, and just as she reached the top I began to feel myself pulling away from Dawn’s body. The memory collapsed into itself, relentlessly dragging me with it as my view spun apart like a revolving kaleidoscope.
My shallow breathing only quickened as I once again felt the soft couch under me. Even though I never truly left, being yanked back into reality was jarring. Dawn’s head was cocked to the side, watching me with what I could only describe as an incredulous expression. I concentrated on the rise and fall of her tiny shoulders, the smooth, constant motion helping me to regain my sense of balance.
I shook my head in exasperation as I stared back at the tiny seraph in veneration. How could someone with her delicate frame have such raw power hiding just below the surface? Looking at her now, I was utterly convinced she was the most dangerous, perfectly deceptive creature I ever met—by a very large margin. Yet there she sat, a foot apart from me in all her splendor, her hand still resting lightly in mine. Fate had a very strange sense of humor.
“Finally, I was beginning to think you had no sense at all.” Her tone wasn’t mocking, rather she sounded almost relieved.
“What do you mean?”
“You were afraid of me, just for a fleeting second, but it was there,” Dawn said, her warm smile softening her expression.
“I thought you didn’t want me to be afraid of you?”
“I do not want you to be afraid of me, Benjamin,” she said quickly, breaking our contact as she stood up, “but it is good to know you can be. Sometimes I worry you do not see clearly when it comes to me.”
I was all too aware of what she was—that was exactly the problem. The world she brought with her was terrifying, but it was also exhilarating, a potent combination that would always leave me wanting to know more. “You say it like I should be worried.”
“I am Death,” Dawn said wearily. “By definition, the very opposite of what makes you human. You are risking your life every time I walk through your door, and I want to be sure you understand the consequences.”
What I would give right now to be able to see what brought this on. What did I miss? I ran through today’s events, trying to pinpoint the root of her sudden concerns. It struck me then that if she had picked up on my fear of her, then she also would have noticed the awe in my thoughts. Dawn didn’t like that I viewed her that way any more than I felt when she told me why we met. As much as she liked the idea of us spending time together, it also scared her. None of this was planned, but things were the way they were—be it by random chance, or fate’s design. As long as it was my choice to have her around I would want her here, and for some reason I was still working on, she wanted to be here too. So why bother fighting it?
“It doesn’t matter to me what you are, only who you are,” I said stubbornly, the words flowing through me of their own accord. “I trust your judgment. Could you do the same for me?”
“You are right.” Dawn sighed heavily, slumping back into the seat beside me. She kept her eyes fixed on the wall, her brooding expression giving her the appearance of someone arguing with themself.
“That was an interesting memory,” I said, keeping my tone light in the hope she was too distracted to notice I was trying to change the subject. “What were you doing exactly?”
The look on her face told me she wasn’t buying it, so I smiled innocently, willing myself not to break under her piercing gaze. An agonizingly long moment passed before she groaned.
“You really are impossible, you know that?” Dawn shook her head in exasperation, but I could see she was thawing. She really was terrible at denying me anything. I had to admit, aside from the fact that I couldn’t stay away from her, there probably wasn’t a request I wouldn’t grant her either.
“You always knew that.” I shrugged, trying my best to suppress my growing smile. “Are you trying to avoid the question?”
“Treasure hunt,” she said straight faced, and only when she saw my skeptical look did she elaborate. “You were wondering yesterday how I kept myself busy, so I thought I would show you.”
I raised my eyebrow. “A . . . treasure hunt?”
“It is a good way for us to kill time.”
I couldn’t keep from smiling then, it sounded so ridiculous. “An interesting choice of game.”
“We play by slightly different rules,” Dawn said, a sly expression crossing her delicate features. “Most of my kind like to make wagers, I think the fact that they are not tied to fate makes them think they can beat the odds somehow. I am sure by now you have realized we need something a little more challenging to keep our interest. Usually one of us who is not betting on the game picks a state and hides something in it, and the first one to find it wins. Sometimes we purposefully leave false trails and clues behind that may or may not help, just to mix things up. Last I heard th
ere was still a game going on in Argentina that began in the early seventies.”
Okay, that definitely sounded interesting. Thinking back to the memory I witnessed, something else stuck out. “Why did you stop at the wall?”
“I was following a trail,” she said casually, smiling at my startled expression. She had been testing the air around her.
I wasn’t really surprised, knowing the strength of her senses it should’ve occurred to me sooner. “That’s how you always know where to find me.”
She nodded. “Every human and seraph has a unique scent. Hardly fool proof, but it does make it easier to find people, or in this case where they have been.”
“Could come in handy.” I nodded. It was difficult to believe they needed to find any entertainment with all the things they could do. Remembering she had little use for money, I was curious to find the answer to my next question. “What do you bet with?”
Dawn’s jaw tightened, instantly reverting back to the tense expression she wore earlier. It was exactly the wrong thing to ask. I realized then her earlier apprehension was a result of her expecting to have to answer this question.
“I was hoping this would be one of the things I held onto,” she said in a resigned tone. “But . . . perhaps it is time you knew.”
Dawn reached into her left pocket and removed something before holding out her fist, the indecision still lingering in her features as she opened her palm. In her hand was a small, clear vial, three inches long and no thicker than a pencil. A faint bluish-white light pulsed from within—swirling in suspension like the light was in weightless, liquid form. Moving carefully I reached out and picked up the vial, turning it over in my fingers as I studied the eerily beautiful substance.
“What is it?” I asked, not able to tear my eyes from the way the bright sheen reflected off my skin.
“Lucem Vitae,” Dawn whispered. “Or life, if you prefer. The very same that runs undiluted through your veins.”
I stared at her, unable to hide my shocked expression. “I have this inside me?”
