by Jen Printy
Tobias?
Although not an uncommon name—I’ve known a couple in my time—the coincidence is too much to overlook. I peer in Tobias’s direction to find him staring at me. An expression full of contempt crosses his face, and I break eye contact, returning my attention to Sally.
Noticing Tobias’s and my silent exchange, Sally goes on. “We’re lucky he agreed to help. We couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Thank you for this.” I gesture to my arm. “And for helping Leah and me escape. I’m in your debt.” I bow my head.
“Don’t thank me,” Tobias says. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle at his curt tone. “I didn’t do it for you. Sally and Nadya forced my hand.” He turns to Leah. “She’s Endless, one of his. Death won’t be happy we took her. We have no idea what he’ll—”
“She’s one of us, too,” Nadya interrupts, her voice rising, exasperated. She seizes Tobias’s hand, preventing him from turning away. “We couldn’t just leave her there.”
“But we should have,” he says.
“Tobias!” Sally says in a stern tone.
Not pausing to argue further, Tobias wrenches his arm free and walks away. Nadya purses her lips into a hard line and follows Tobias from the room.
“Don’t worry about him,” Alasdair says with a dismissive wave. “Nadya will make him see. She always does.” He smiles and trails the path of his companions.
“Alasdair’s right,” Sally says. “Tobias just believes he’s protecting us. He doesn’t know you like I do. I suppose it doesn’t help that his father was Endless. As you can imagine, it makes matters more complicated.”
“Was Endless?” Leah asks.
“Tobias said he died a long time ago. It must wear on a man to hate what he came from. He’s worried that, since you’re a council member, you’ll lead Death to us.”
Leah’s expression turns earnest. “I would never.”
“I know, dear,” Sally says, “but Tobias’s prejudices run deep, instilled in him by his mother. It clouds his thinking. However, this is my house, and I decide who stays and who goes. And you’re staying.” She gives a quick jerk of her head, the matter settled. “You both must have a lot of questions. Only natural.”
“So many I’m not sure I know where to start,” Leah says.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Where are we? That seems to be a good enough place to begin as any.”
“You’re safe. But I think it’s best if that’s all I tell you for now, because of the others,” Sally says with a quick glance at the empty door.
“Back there in the shadows, you killed Pacal, the Soulless,” I say.
“Every creature of legend has a fatal weakness. For the Soulless, it’s us. We call it accelerated metamorphosis. Basically, with just a touch, we can move them through time, back to the moment before their soul was lost. Once they’re mortal again, the rest is just killing. A stab to the heart or lungs or a slash to the throat finishes them off fairly quickly.”
“So you’re immortals?” Leah asks.
“We are, but on our own terms,” Sally says. “However, Death knows how to take our lives. That’s if he can find us, and with our skill set, that’s easier said than done.”
Lips parting, Leah leans forward. “What are you?”
Sally fights back a chuckle, looking again at the door. Then, with a committed set to her jaw, her gaze returns to us.
My stomach gives an embarrassingly loud growl, bringing a grin back to Sally’s lips.
“How about I get us something to eat? And a clean shirt,” Sally adds, scowling at mine. “Then we’ll start at the beginning. My beginning.”
Waiting for Sally to return, Leah sits on the sofa while I pace, filled with nervous energy. Too many unanswered questions fill my mind. As I pass by the fireplace, the gold ring forgotten on my finger gleams in the firelight, distracting me from my thoughts. I gaze down at Artagan’s poison ring and begin to twist it around my finger, wondering how much of a hand he had in this rescue and what his connection to Tobias might be.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Leah says. “He’s a crafty dude. Besides, Otmar and Kemisi will keep him out of any real trouble.”
As long as Death doesn’t figure out he was behind this. “You’re probably right, but I can’t help wondering when I’ll see him again. I have a few questions only he can answer.”
Leah cocks her head, clearly not buying my reason.
I sigh. “And yes, despite his deceitfulness and his philandering behavior, I’ve gotten used to having him around.” I smile and then grow serious again. “Did you see Artagan’s face? That smug grin he gets when he knows he’s right. He knew about Tobias, maybe even Sally and the rest of them, too. Whatever they are, Artagan knew they could help us. It looks like I owe him again.”
“We both do.”
I stand in front of the fireplace, staring into the flickering flame. Artagan shrouds my thoughts. I let my eyes wander over a menagerie of photographs lining the mantel. A black-and-white picture in a dark-walnut frame catches my eye, distracting me from my current train of thought.
“Leah, look at this.” I point at the photo.
Two women, each dressed in a drop-waist dress, stand arm in arm in front of a Studebaker Special Six. The lady on the left is Sally, her salt-and-pepper hair twisted up and disappearing under a bell-contoured hat. She hasn’t aged a day. But it’s Sally’s companion who commands my attention. Although she appears to be younger than the time I met her—mid-thirties at most—with her small, distinct Roman nose and almond-shaped eyes, I recognize her at once.
“It’s Gladys,” I say, so low I’m not sure Leah hears me.
Leah steps to my side and studies the photo. Her eyes widen as she looks at me. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Sally says from behind us, taking us both by surprise.
A copper-skinned girl carrying a tea set follows Sally. The girl barely acknowledges our presence as she sets the teapot and three matching cups on an oval table by the sofa before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“That’s Itzel. Never mind her. She’s a shy one,” Sally says as she places a platter full of finger sandwiches next to the tea set. Smiling, she then hands me a plaid shirt that was hanging over her shoulder, and her eyes glance toward the photograph. “The picture was taken in the spring of 1922. That era had the loveliest hats. The woman by my side is Gladys. She was like a daughter. I bought her that car for her birthday. She was turning ninety-two.”
“Ninety-two?” I cast a fleeting look at the photo.
“Yes. Gladys was like you.” Sally’s gaze rests on Leah. “She started out as a soul immortal too. My dear friend lived many lives before she transformed into a Timeless. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Sit, eat, and I’ll tell you my story.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My ruined shirt exchanged for a new one, I settle next to Leah on the sofa, balancing a plate stacked with egg-salad sandwiches on my lap. A teacup in hand, Sally sits in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. She clears her throat and begins.
“I was born Sarah Prudence Marbury in August 1648.”
I jerk my head back and glance at Leah. She stares at Sally, her mouth agape. “1648! That would make you, what?” Leah begins to count on her fingers, her eyes growing wider. “Almost 370 years old. Two hundred years older than Jack.”
“It would.” Sally smiles, amused. “Back then, I seemed like any other girl. I’m one of seven children. My father, a baker, moved the family to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and we settled in Boston. In 1666, a smallpox epidemic ravaged the area. I, along with my two younger sisters, contracted the disease. Abigail and Constance both died, while I, who seemed to be the sickest of the three, survived. A sovereign act of God, they called it.
“A year after my miraculous recovery, I married Isaia
h Barrowe, a farmer from Salem Village. Unaccustomed to farm life, I struggled. A patient husband and kind teacher, Isaiah taught me many things. One day while I was helping him deliver a breeched foal, the mare kicked me in the temple. Again, I had a brush with death, and again, I survived. It wasn’t long afterward I had visions and dreams of future events. Just snippets here and there. While some of them never came true, some did. The future is tricky. One can’t always rely on what one sees, because what’s to come is so easily influenced. A million tiny decisions can alter it from one path to another.
“I never told a soul about my ability, not even Isaiah. Witchcraft was an accepted reality in seventeenth-century New England, punishable by death. Puritans believed in the invisible world of witches and specters as much as they believed in the rocks and rivers.” She chuckles, shaking her head.
I take the opportunity to peer at Leah. Her expression of bewilderment has vanished, leaving a mixture of wonder and captivation in its place. I feel much the same. If this story is any indication, Sally has certainly lived an extraordinary life.
“I was able to keep my new gift well concealed,” Sally goes on, “and life went on as normal. Isaiah and I had five children and lived happily together until his death in 1689. After that, tranquility ceased. I found myself involved in some bitter land disputes with the Putnam family and drew their anger again when I opposed the hiring of a Reverend Samuel Pariss. So when the accusations of witchcraft started running rampant, I can’t say I was surprised when Putnam’s maidservant, Mercy Lewis, pointed an accusatory finger my way.” Sally pauses, her expression turning inward as she runs a forefinger up her cup to wipe away a dribble of spilled tea.
“Like my friend Giles Corey, I refused to play their games. To prove my guilt, they bound my hands and feet, attached me to a boulder, and tossed me into Wilkins Pond. Whether because of damaged ropes or loose knots or fate alone, I floated to the surface. Little did I know at the time, I had just survived my third brush with death and had been turned Timeless. I felt nothing remarkable with the transformation.
“With proof that I was an instrument of Satan”—she rolls her eyes—“they took me to the gallows. Imagine everyone’s surprise, including mine, when after two attempts, I didn’t die. It’s a good thing they didn’t attempt to drown me again, or they would have been successful, since after we become Timeless, our third brush with death is the only way my kind can die. Afraid of my wrath, they released me and returned all my property. The elders went as far as to expunge my name from all the records in hopes I wouldn’t curse them. But little did any of us know I’m much more than a witch. So much more.”
Sally grins over the rim of her teacup, and her face transforms. She’s sixty, then twenty, then fifteen, and then ninety. My eyes widen, and so does Sally’s smile. “I’m a descendant of Time through her daughter Clotho, one of the Moirai.”
My eyebrows dart up, remembering Artagan’s history lesson.
“The Fates. Those are Death’s daughters,” Leah says, beating me to the punch.
“Yes. Centuries ago, it seems Death and Time were a bit of an item. Time claims Death tried to steal their children from her. Of course, I lived long enough to know there are two sides to every story. Whatever happened between them, she hates him for it, going as far as passing her hatred on to her children. Not just to the Fates, but to Tobias too. I’m getting off track again. We have all the time in the world to gossip about our family drama.” She chuckles, looking at Leah.
“Our family? So you’re saying, what? I’m Timeless?” Leah shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
Sally smiles.
“Along with being Endless,” I say.
“Well, she’s not really Endless, now, is she? Not naturally, at least. Death turned her into one.” Sally’s attention turns back to Leah. “From what I understand, genetic mutations are rare in both the Endless and the Timeless family lines, showing up randomly through our lineage. Tobias says for one to have a chance to become Endless, both the mother and the father have to carry the Endless gene, while a soul immortal inherits their mutation from one parent.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I say, remembering Artagan explaining it almost identically.
“Things are much the same for the Timeless. Except for us, there is no chance for any abnormality if only one parent carries the gene, unless”—she sticks a pudgy finger in the air—“the other parent is a carrier of the Endless gene. When that happens, as long as the soul immortal survives their three brushes with death like any Timeless must do, they become Timeless as well.”
“So what you’re saying is because she lived through cancer, a car accident, and escaped Shadow Death, Leah’s Timeless?”
Sally confirms with a bob of her head.
“And if I had succeeded in saving her from either the accident or punishment, she wouldn’t be?”
“Well, there’s no telling. The future is mystery most of the time.”
“Huh,” I say, rubbing my stubbled chin. “Remind me not to question your gut feelings again.”
Leah tilts her head and smirks in my direction.
“It’s the Fates—Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos—that decide,” Sally says. “They all have to agree to save just one of us. That’s a miracle in itself because from what I hear, they do little besides argue among themselves, like most sisters do, I suppose. Nadya says that’s why there are so few of us.” Sally chuckles.
“Is it common? A soul-immortal-slash-Timeless?”
“No. It’s rare but not unheard of. That being said, you are the first one I’ve ever met that was an Endless—natural or otherwise—who was transformed into a Timeless. And I’m over three hundred and fifty years old.”
Leah rubs her arm, her attention drifting away.
Upon seeing her discomfort, Sally continues. “Then again, I can only speak for Clotho’s line. We don’t have much contact with the others. No real need.” An eager smile spreads across her lips. “There’s no telling what talents you’ll have, though. It’s all very exciting.”
“Like a science experiment,” Leah grumbles.
“I suppose.” Sally’s smile has faded, but it still lurks at the corners of her mouth and in the creases around her eyes. “Gladys remembered every life she ever lived. All five of them. Is it the same for you?”
Leah bobs her head, then she and I exchange a meaningful glance. The question of Leah’s dreams of me and her memories of her past life as Lydia Ashford answered at last.
“In the church, did the shadow creature refuse to judge me because the Fates stepped in on my behalf?”
“Oh, yes, that. That horrid creature couldn’t judge you, dear, because it can’t harm an innocent soul. Or in your case, two.” Sally nods at Leah’s stomach.
Shock freezes on my face. Then my gaze slides to Leah’s abdomen, where her hand now presses against the hollow curve. I swallow hard, relaxing a little, torn between exaltation and panic.
“Are you saying I’m pregnant?” Leah whispers. “But we only… it was just… how can you be sure?”
“My friend Gladys was a talented seer, and she was never wrong, not once,” Sally says as her gaze wanders to the mantel. “Many of us have the gift, but only a few can make that claim. I’ve been wrong countless times. Before her death, she told me you were coming. She didn’t know when or why. She just knew. A gut feeling, she called it. She also told me that when you arrived you would be pregnant with twins, and I should do everything in my power to keep them safe. It would seem congratulations are in order,” Sally says, the amusement steadfast in her voice.
Correctly deeming Leah and I need a moment to ourselves after such news, Sally shows us upstairs to our room. The chamber is large as bedrooms go, with faded striped wallpaper and regal furnishings. At the far end, the sun shines in through a bay window with gossamer curtains that float like white clouds down to the floor. A marble-ti
led fireplace similar to the one in the parlor holds the remains of a slow-flickering flame.
After stoking the fire, Sally pauses at the door. “I must ask you not to shadow walk while you’re with us. The shadows are Death’s realm, and he’ll have a much easier time finding you if you enter them. You’d lead him straight to us.”
“We won’t. I promise. Neither Leah nor I will do anything to jeopardize any of you,” I say.
Sally exits with a nod, a little smirk still curving her weathered lips. As soon as the door latches, Leah collapses backward onto the bed, followed by a twang of objecting springs. I sink down next to her.
A father. I rake my fingers through my hair. Bloody hell.
The next several minutes proceed in stunned silence, my mind occupied by two distinct but opposing paths of thought—a list of my qualifications for fatherhood, or lack thereof, on one path, and a sense of unfathomable joy on the other.
“Are you happy?” Leah asks, breaking through the quiet. Her tone is a little tentative, and she gives me a shadow of one of her usual smiles. “I get this is unexpected and all, but I guess I thought you always wanted kids.” She looks away.
I lie down and roll to face her, sliding an arm around her waist so we’re close together. “Of course I’m happy. Shocked, and I’ll admit, a bit nervous, but the woman I love with all my heart is making me a father. How could I not be happy? Ecstatic, even? For so long, I never believed I’d have a family of my own. And now…” My mouth breaks into a smile. “But how are you feeling?”
“Honestly, right now, I’m wondering what the Fates were thinking. I know nothing about babies. I’ve never even babysat,” she says, her strained voice hushed. “And twins!”
“Well, love, we’re even then because neither do I. I guess we’ll just have to figure it out together.”
Leah seems satisfied with my response, at least for the time being. She curls into my side. Her breathing soon fades into the unvarying cadence of slumber. Despite everything that has happened, in this instant, I feel at peace. I close my eyes and drift off into slumber.