by Frankie Rose
I was awake, but Daniel clearly hadn’t realized. Sleeping out in the hangar was a relief on the really stuffy nights, when the walls of my room just seemed impossibly close. At least in the hangar, the filtered air sometimes felt like a kind of breeze, lifting the cloying dampness from my sleep-sticky skin. And tonight, after learning Aldan was the key to saving us all, I felt like the night air was trying to suffocate and drown me in equal parts.
It must have been the early hours of the morning, or at least I suspected it was. Some sharp noise had woken me, and obviously alerted Daniel, too, as he sat crossed-legged on the floor across the other side of the room. He rested with his back against the coolness of the wall, his head tilted, as if paused, listening for something far off.
Still. So, so very still.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the grey sepia of the muted light emanating from somewhere out in the hallway. The first thing that caught my attention were his bare feet, crossed underneath him. It was oddly intimate, vulnerable perhaps, that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. And that’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt, either.
Oh, come on!
It was bad enough trying to deal with my physical attraction to him with all his clothes on, but now I was in real trouble. Each and every muscle that made up his body seemed to have been carved out by some master sculptor’s hand, a hand that had studied a hundred different physiques and finally come to create perfection in Daniel’s. It was almost as though he were too perfect. Not that I was complaining, as I studied him surreptitiously through half-opened eyes. A black smudge on the left side of his chest attracted my attention, and I squinted a little more, trying to make out what it was.
A tattoo? I had no hope of making out whatever it was in the near dark, however.
Wow. New levels of freakdom achieved here, I thought to myself. I was actually perving on him. It was impossible not to, though. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, even if I could hardly see a thing, and even if I’d never been in the same room as another shirtless guy before. Everyone else would probably pale in comparison next to him.
What was he doing here? For all I could see, he was watching me sleep. The thrill of that thought made my palms break into an embarrassed, longing sweat. But it wasn’t possible that he was watching me. He could only be watching over me, making sure I wasn’t going to try and escape, or that I wouldn’t manage to somehow get myself attacked or kidnapped in the safety of the hangar. He lowered his head and looked straight at me, making me wonder if he could see that my eyes were slightly open.
“Did I wake you?”
Yes, he could. Damn. I hadn’t really decided whether I’d forgiven him enough to talk to him, but it was too late now.
“Uh…no,” I said, unsure exactly what had woken me. I had more pressing things on my mind. Like how I looked. It didn’t matter that Daniel had already seen me at my absolute, tear-streaked, bedraggled worst. I still had an overwhelming desire to be pretty for him, which made me resent myself.
I dragged my hair out of my face and pushed it over my shoulders so that it tumbled down to the small of my back in a black, tangled mess, and pushed myself up to a seated position. Daniel watched me move, slowly flexing his hands in his lap, like they ached or he needed something to do with them. A small twist of paper curled around the tip of his index finger, which he played with absentmindedly.
“Why aren’t you in your room? Don’t you like it in there?” His voice held a curious note, one I’d never heard before.
“No. It’s fine. I just…it’s so small. I have trouble sleeping in there sometimes. It gets so dark. Heavy.”
He gave a small chuckle, which again seemed much softer than his usual, scornful laughter. “It’s dark out here, too. Isn’t the dark the same wherever you are?”
“No,” I replied. “Usually the dark’s just an absence of light. But sometimes it’s made up of velvet, and fills your head. Other times it presses down on you like it wants to get in.” I cringed. Why on earth would I tell him that? But it was too late to snatch back the crazy. The lazy white flash of his teeth was visible from across the room.
“And that’s how you felt tonight? Like it was trying to get in?”
“No. Tonight it felt empty. It felt like I was the only person for miles and miles. Like I’d never find another soul alive in all that black.” Like the time you found me in the dark. I bit my lip. Just. Stop. Talking.
A small flicker of light suddenly cut through the shadows, lighting up Daniel’s face in a blue glow that arced between his fingertips. It was gone in an instant, but I saw in the second that his face was illuminated that he looked tired. And worried. And sad?
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“What was that?”
“It just happens sometimes. I can’t seem to…” He sighed. “Never mind.”
I desperately wanted to know what he had been going to say, but prying might have made him angry. It would only take a word and he was so utterly calm. It seemed silly to chance ruining the ease of our strange conversation, so instead I folded my legs up beneath me to mirror his pose.
“I’m not the only one with a bedroom. Why are you out here? Are you afraid of the dark, too?” I felt suddenly very foolish that I had admitted to being afraid of the dark. I wanted him to see me as strong and capable, not some little child, unable to sleep without a nightlight.
Yeah, well, you’d be able to sleep a hundred times easier if he hadn’t let your father traipse into your dreams, uninvited, a rankled voice reminded me. It was true, but I couldn’t help this stupid, overwhelming desire that grew in me day by day: I wanted him to see me as an adult. I wanted him to see me.
Daniel flexed his shoulders. “Hmm. The dark doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t really exist for someone who can turn on the lights whenever they feel like it.”
All of a sudden my ears were rushing, a loud interruption to the quietness of our hushed voices, and he was alight. Daniel was alight. It wasn’t coming from his hands this time, but from him. Electric blue, prickling at my eyes. And so, so beautiful. If he hadn’t looked like some sort of god before, he certainly did now.
The tattoo over his chest was clearly visible in the light that flooded from him: a black inked heart encircled by an elegant filigree crown. A sun, blazing and full, backed the tattoo. Its rays spread long, glorious fingers out across his all-too-chiseled, outrageously flawless chest. The light went out, momentarily blinding me with bright flares burned into my retinas, but I could still see that heart. It wasn’t some cartoon love-heart. It was real, blood and all, and exactly above where his own must be.
“See what I mean?” he said, quiet again now that the rushing was gone.
“Not really. I think my eyes might be damaged. Won’t that make me sick now?”
He laughed quietly, slowly emerging back into focus as the spots vanished. “Don’t worry. This thing that I have inside me, it can be dangerous. But it can just be light when I want it to be, too. You’ll be fine in a second.”
My vision was fine, but I was certainly far from it. I would have paid to find out what was going on with him—why he was being so cordial with me, and why he had treated me to that little light display. He’d never done it before, and he’d never seemed this… well, this okay.
“Fine. So the dark’s not a problem,” I said, acting cool, as though what he’d done hadn’t just blown my mind, “So why aren’t you sleeping?” I was still intrigued as to why he would be sitting there in nothing but his loose linen pajama bottoms, all devilishly, broodingly divine, while I sleep-drooled on the sofa cushions.
He shifted a little and ran his hand through his messy, dark hair. Somewhere in the dark, I saw a hint of those green, green eyes. “I don’t sleep much,” he said quietly. “I was checking up on a couple of leads. We’re tracking some of the Reaver’s servants.”
Hmm. Reaver’s servants, instead of your father’s. Was he trying to save me some discomfort? That was
entirely out of character, too, given that he usually enjoyed seeing me squirm. “The Immundus?” I asked, pushing the thought aside.
“Yeah. That’s one name for them.”
“Agatha told me they’re human. Is that true?”
Daniel breathed out deeply. “They are. Although, they’re more machines really. Or puppets. They let the Immortals inside their heads. Half the time they’re themselves, the rest of the time they hand over the wheel to their masters.” Daniel’s voice was flat as he spoke, filling the already cool air with a whole new kind of cold.
“Why would they do that?” I remembered Agatha’s words when she’d first told me of the Immundus—that the Immortals used them as their lackeys, but it still didn’t make any sense.
“The Immundus are addicts.” Daniel paused, weighing his words. “The Reavers are their dealers. They peddle them a buzz like any other dealer, except one taste of this particular high is usually enough to hook a human for life. Make them willing to die for another fix. It’s quite ingenious, really. The Reavers lose very little and in return they get to trade off and take some of the Immundus’ soul. Some of them have been hooked for so long they have no souls left at all. And on top of everything, the Reavers gain a devoted, desperate servant, willing to do anything to make them happy in return.”
“And what is it, this high?” I asked.
Daniel left my words hanging undisturbed in the air for a moment before he said, “Life.”
“Life?” I felt stupid, repeating every other word he said. It was surprising he hadn’t begun mocking me for it already.
“Yeah. It’s the same high the Immortals feed off, but humans can’t handle the strength of it. They can’t handle the power.”
“Oh.” The word sounded like a small, round pebble, cast into still water. The ripple it made was palpable as we both sat there, awkward and uncomfortable.
“The Immortals can take life, filter it, and pass some of that on to another person. Someone like you,” Daniel murmured.
I didn’t like the way he said that, as though he thought I might be the sort of person up for stealing someone’s soul in order to get wasted, like some out of control junkie. He clarified what he meant when he spoke again. “It would be so easy for them to take your life. And, trust me, it would taste sweeter than most.”
The thought set my teeth on edge, even if it did kind of sound like he had paid me a weird, creepy compliment. The prospect of anyone tasting my soul was more than unpleasant.
“They call the process riding the lightning. I’m sure you can imagine from the name that it’s not an easy or pleasant experience.”
I could imagine. I’d heard the term before, but used in reference to when the state executed someone in the electric chair. The comparison made me judder. “Doesn’t it hurt the Immortal? To channel energy like that?”
Daniel gave a low grunt. “Far from it. It costs them a tiny part of their energy stores. It’d be the same as a billionaire spending ten cents. And the returns are well worth the small outlay.”
“And once they’ve given the Immundus their hit, what? Then they’re under their control?” The whole thing sounded seedy and gross and so very, very wrong.
“No. The Immortals come and go as they please. Once they know someone’s mind…” He trailed off, probably feeling awkward that he was reminding me of what happened with Elliott. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, too loud not to have been audible. “But it’s like Aldan said,” he added quickly. “Only the Immortal who entered into that person’s mind can keep the connection open. And these Immortals, the bad ones, they do keep it open, so they can skip in whenever the urge takes them.”
I had an urge of my own, but it was muddled. Confused. I couldn’t decide in that moment whether I wanted him, to touch his pale, smooth skin, or throttle him for what he’d done. I’d only just started to get over what had happened. It didn’t matter that Aldan was a good guy and would keep the door into my mind closed. I shoved both thoughts to one side. It was impossible to think when I was trying to work out which emotion was stronger.
Daniel skillfully changed the subject. “It’s easy to tell when one of them is inside an Immundus, though. Maybe you already know how?”
The halos. I remembered the Immundus’ eyes that day at the fairground. How they pulsed in a way that made me afraid. It had to be the silver halos. “Their eyes?”
Daniel was silent, but I could make out the imperceptibly small movement of his nodding head. “Their eyes give them away every time.”
That age-old line came into my head, and I found myself saying it out loud. “Yes. The eyes are the windows to the soul.”
Daniel let out a surprised, derisive laugh and cracked his knuckles. “When you see that light in their eyes, it’s showing you that there is no soul. The Reavers are in residence and those monsters forfeited theirs a long time ago.”
“And what about Aldan?” A wrinkle of discomfort marred the air. Did Aldan have no soul? I found that hard to believe.
There was no response. Daniel was on his feet, facing the corridor back towards the bedrooms with his hands clenched by his sides. I just knew his jaw would be straining, and that look would have settled on his face.
No. Don’t do this. Please don’t go.
But how could I say that to him? I found something much more stupid, much more pathetic to say instead. “I know he does. I know it in my heart.”
It sounded ridiculous, like a six-year-old declaring that they knew Santa was definitely real. But some of the tension I could sense in Daniel seemed to drop from the strained profile of his shoulders as he hovered by the bookcase.
It didn’t change anything, though. I’d still lost him. He didn’t breathe another word as he padded barefoot past where I sat, collapsing under the weight of my own stupidity on the sofa. It was amazing how I managed to say the most idiotic things sometimes.
Daniel was so protective of Aldan. Of course he would be upset about someone pointing out he was potentially soulless, that his mentor was a killer, or had been once upon a time, just like my father and all the others. As Daniel left the room, the darkness that I’d been trying to avoid seemed to spill in and take his place, as though he was the only source of light available to me. And with his departure, he took that light with him, leaving me alone with the blackness working at the edges, trying to get in. All that he left behind was a small, twisted length of paper.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Time Travel
