Afterlife

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “So, do you know where to find Isfet?” I asked, hope raising the pitch of my voice.

  Dom shook his head, squashing that hope like a cockroach. “We’ll discuss it more when we’re safely indoors.” He glanced around, eyes narrowing. “You never know when someone is listening here.”

  I frowned, knowing from experience that I wouldn’t get any more out of him on the subject right now. He was as stubborn as me. Lex was too. Apparently, it was a family trait.

  “Fine,” I said, scanning the woods. Dom’s warning made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I suddenly couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. “But at least tell me something about this place.” I needed the distraction of talking—badly.

  “Such as?” Dom asked.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking. “Well, I know I don’t have access to my sheut powers—I figured that much out already. What else do I need to know?”

  It was Dom’s turn to frown. “You are correct—sheuts have no power here.” He was quiet for a moment. “But Aaru does have its own sort of magic.”

  “Oh?” I recalled the way Mercy had appeared in my hand almost the moment I’d wished for the sword and wondered if he was talking about that strange magic. Absently, I reached over my shoulder, face falling when I didn’t find a sword hilt. I still wore the harness, but I’d abandoned Mercy back in the mist.

  Eyeing me sidelong, Dom nodded thoughtfully. “A single, focused thought can bring anything imaginable into existence,” he said, holding out his hand. My sword suddenly appeared.

  “How . . . ?” I asked, accepting the sword when he handed it to me. My eyebrows bunched together. “How does it work?” I sheathed Mercy over my shoulder, still staring at Dom, waiting for him to explain.

  Dom tapped his temple with two fingers. “I thought of your Mercy, and she formed in my hand, just as you and everything you’re wearing formed the moment your ba entered Aaru.” Again, he glanced at me sidelong. “But be warned, little sister—guard your thoughts, for once something is created here, it will remain forever.” He returned his attention to the woods. “I have often wondered if that is how the Beast first came to be.”

  “Shit,” I said, sufficiently cautioned. I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for creating something like that. “Alright . . .” I fell silent once again, thinking through the implications.

  Being able to create something—possibly anything—with a mere thought was an unbelievable power, but knowing that it was a power available to everyone somehow cheapened it, even as it made it more dangerous.

  “What about getting hurt?” I asked, following the danger train of thought down a new track. “Can we be injured here? Because even though I know I don’t actually have a body, I feel like I do.” I recalled the way my lungs had burned when Mari and I had been fleeing from the Beast. Despite being dead, for all intents and purposes, I still felt alive.

  “The sense of a physical body seems to be something intrinsic to Aaru, just like the creation magic.” Dom fell quiet for a moment. “You can feel pain,” he said with a slow nod, “but you cannot be truly injured . . . at least, not permanently.” He held out his hand, pointing to the way ahead. “Ah, here we are.”

  I shifted my focus from him to the trail ahead. Through the woods, a small stone cottage was coming into view. It looked like something straight out of a storybook with its river stone walls, small glowing windows with their tiny diamond panes, and sloping roof covered in a thick layer of moss.

  I looked from the cottage to Dom and back again, my mind automatically dredging up some of the stories he’d told me of his childhood. Most were heart wrenching—tales of a boy and his mother stolen away by his evil father, the boy forced to do unspeakable things to protect his mother. But the few happy memories he’d shared had centered around a cottage deep in the woods where he and his mother had hidden away when he was a young boy. I had no doubt that this was the cottage from his youth. Dom had recreated his happy place in the hereafter.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, voice thick with emotion. I looked at Dom. “I can see why you were so happy here.”

  He stiffened a little. “Yes, well . . . it was the first place that ever felt like home.” He cleared his throat. “When I first passed through the anchor point and arrived here, confused and alone, I wandered these trails for what felt like days. The woods reminded me so much of those outside of Avignon that all I could think about was this place . . . of home. And suddenly, the trail curved, and there the cottage was.”

  It broke my heart to think of Dom wandering these woods all by himself, and anything I said in response would have reflected that sentiment—which I feared Dom would mistake as pity—so I said nothing at all.

  The others were already inside the cottage by the time Dom and I reached the stone path leading to the front door. I followed him up the pathway, a heavy sadness clouding my mood. Before he could push the door open, I grabbed his wrist, holding him back.

  Dom turned partway to look at me, eyebrows raised in question.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, once again, then barreled on before he could stop me. “I know you want me to stop apologizing for your death and—and everything, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I need you to know, Dom. To really know.” I pressed my lips together, studying his pointed features. “I could’ve saved you. There was a way, and I didn’t see it. I missed it, and I failed. I failed you, and I—”

  “Little sister,” Dom said, covering my hand with his. “Kat . . .” The faintest smile touched his lips. “I know. You and I, we are so very similar”—he placed his hand against his chest, just over his heart—“here. I do not believe that you are responsible for what happened to me. But you do, and you will continue to do so until the day you believe you have earned absolution. Only then will you have peace in your heart. But I cannot give you that—only you can.”

  I swallowed roughly, eyes locked with his.

  “I forgive you, little sister, for whatever small part you may have played in my death,” he said. “I hope, one day soon, you may find a way to forgive yourself as well.”

  5

  The interior of Dom’s cottage was both expected and not, combining elements that fit in with the old French countryside vibe—like the massive stone hearth, herbs hanging to dry from the exposed ceiling beams, and most of the furnishings—with elements that definitely didn’t fit in. The two worn leather armchairs angled toward the hearth looked like they belonged in a study surrounded by shelves filled with leather-bound books, not a country cottage. And the kitchen sink was very much a product of the modern era with its running water and hot and cold settings. But even with the added modern touches, the place retained the comfort and coziness Dom must have been craving when he’d created it, however unintentionally.

  Mari was sitting in one of the leather armchairs near the hearth, feet drawn up, a crocheted blanket tucked over her lap, staring into the dancing flames. Susie and Syris were sitting with Anapa and Re at one end of a rustic farm table near the tiny front window, voices hushed as they discussed the plan Anapa and I had devised for defeating the Mother of All.

  “How long until your next scheduled check-in with Nik?” I asked Dom as I followed him into the cottage through the front door, fingers digging into the back of my neck in a useless attempt to ease the ache caused by bonding withdrawals.

  He let me in past him, glancing across the room to the clock on the mantle above the hearth. It had an antique look, but it still didn’t quite seem to belong. “We try to check in every hour, on the hour—when I’m around,” Dom said as he shut the door. “So, in about thirty minutes.”

  I looked at him, lowering my hand, then did a double take of the clock. “It’s nine o’clock?” I asked, eyebrows raised as I glanced at the tiny front window. Based on the light streaming through the trees, it still looked like late afternoon to me. “In the morning or night?”

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Do
m said as he walked over to the table.

  An array of mirrors was laid out on the far end—a decorative compact mirror, a large glass shard, and an antique hand mirror. A replica of the standing mirror from my bedroom had been tucked against the wall nearby, and a small mirror pendant dangled on a leather cord, hanging from one corner of the standing mirror. They were all Aaru versions of the mirrors I’d charmed to allow me, and others, to reach across the barriers between realms and speak with Dom.

  “Time of day is static here,” Dom explained, leaning over the table to look into each of the three mirrors laid out there. “It never changes, but the clock is helpful for me to keep track of the passage of time.”

  “Huh,” I said, slowly making my way to him. There was a strange, almost static noise that grew louder the closer I drew.

  “Come,” Dom said, waving me over, and I picked up the pace, reaching him in a matter of seconds.

  The static gave way to the hum of voices, and I stared, wide-eyed, at the sources of the noise: the mirrors.

  I shook my head slowly, not quite believing what I was hearing. My eyes stung as tears welled. I could hear Aset’s voice, and Lex’s and Heru’s.

  A moment later, my heart stopped. Nik—I could hear him. His voice was coming in and out of range and his words were virtually impossible to make out, but I would’ve recognized the timbre of his voice anywhere.

  “You can hear them, can’t you?” Dom said.

  I could feel his eyes on me. His, and everyone else’s. Probably because nobody but Dom had been able to use the mirrors on this side to communicate with those still in the physical realm. Until now.

  I nodded remotely, unable to tear my eyes from the mirrors. I couldn’t see any of the people I could hear, but being able to hear their voices was almost as disarming. It felt like years—eons—since I’d seen any of them, and my heart ached to be with the people I loved. To be with Nik.

  “How fascinating,” Dom said. “You must be able to use the mirrors because you are the one who created them. You are just as connected to them as I am.”

  I leaned over the table, looking into each of the mirrors, one at a time. I started with the compact—I could see Neffe dressed in scrubs, standing off to the side of a hospital bed and writing in a notebook as a gaggle of other medically inclined Nejerets moved around the bed with obvious purpose. It took my brain a moment to register that the person in the bed was me.

  I—my body—was hooked up to all kinds of machines, and it definitely didn’t look like it was in very good shape. Bandages had been wound around my wrists, hiding the self-inflicted wounds, and my chest rose and fell, but based on the sounds of the machines surrounding the bed, my body wasn’t breathing of its own accord.

  I shifted my focus to the shard of glass, the largest remnant from the mirror I’d charmed in the high school locker room a few weeks back, and the moment I saw who was on the other side, I leaned even closer.

  Nik was pacing around what appeared to be one of the bedrooms on the upper floor of the palace he and his mom had occupied in the Nejeret Oasis during ancient times. The space was filled with At furniture, looking more like a room in an ice palace than anything else. Nik’s appearance was haggard—he was in rougher shape than I’d ever seen him before. His jeans and T-shirt were rumpled and stained with blood, his hair was in disarray, and bruise-like patches darkened the skin under his eyes.

  “Nik,” I said, planting my hands on either side of the mirror shard on the table. I cleared my throat. “Nik!” I said, raising my voice.

  He didn’t turn and rush to the mirror. He didn’t even look. Probably because he couldn’t hear me.

  Of course he couldn’t. I knew how the mirrors worked better than anyone else. The only way he would be able to hear me was if he was touching the glass.

  I traced my fingertips over the surface of the mirror, eyelids drifting shut. He was a mess, and all because of me. That knowledge caused cracks to spread throughout my heart.

  Opening my eyes, I focused on the only other person I could see through the mirror. Aset sat in one of two chairs set up around a small, round table near the wall, her fingers tapping a quick staccato on the tabletop as she watched her son pace. From the looks of it, the mirror shard was propped up on a raised surface of some kind on the opposite side of the room from Aset.

  Without tearing my eyes from the looking glass, I pulled out the chair tucked under the table and sat. I listened to Nik’s muffled conversation with his mother for minutes, fully intending to sit and wait as long as it took for him to notice me. Occasionally, I picked up a word or phrase, but for the most part, their conversation was incoherent to me. Not that I minded; I could have stared into that mirror and watched Nik pace for days.

  About five minutes in, Aset’s eyes drifted my way, and I sucked in a breath. And then I started waving at her like mad.

  Aset straightened in her chair, eyes rounding. “Nik,” she said, slowly standing.

  But Nik seemed lost to his own ramblings and didn’t stop pacing.

  Aset snagged his arm as he walked past her, halting his movement. When he looked at her, she pointed to the mirror. To me.

  Nik glanced at the mirror shard, expression disinterested. And then his lips parted, and he froze, eyes locked with mine.

  Remotely, I heard Dom ushering everyone out of the cottage, and I watched Aset slip out of the room on Nik’s side of the glass.

  His mom’s exit seemed to be the spark Nik needed to shake off the shock caused by seeing me. Nik rushed the mirror until his face was all I could see. “Kat? Kitty Kat? Is that really you?”

  I nodded, voice caught in my throat. The tears threatening earlier welled anew, spilling over the brim and streaking down my cheeks. I hadn’t thought I would ever see him again—at least, not as me. But there he was, in full, stunning glory, and staring into his eyes was far from comforting; it made the coming sacrifice a thousand—million—times harder.

  “Hey,” he said, voice soothing, “hey . . .” He pulled back a little, and his fingertips glided across the mirror. “I’m right here, Kitty Kat. I’m right here, and I’m alright.” His lips quirked upwards at the corners. “And you’re alright. My mom just shared the news. We’ve got a pulse—you’re alive!”

  I closed my eyes and bowed my head, all of the stress and tension built up over the past few days tumbling out of me in silent, ragged sobs. “I’m sorry,” I said, sucking in a shaky breath. Thankfully the worst of the sobs were short-lived. “I don’t even know why—why I’m crying.” I sniffed, hastily swiping the tears from my cheeks as I opened my eyes to meet Nik’s. “I hate crying,” I said with another sniff.

  Nik offered me a gentle smile, his lip ring glinting. “I know, Kitty Kat.” Much to my surprise, a few tear tracks wet his cheeks as well.

  Seeing that I wasn’t the only one so affected by our long-distance reunion made me feel a little better, and I returned his smile. “How are you?” I asked, wiping my cheeks again. “You look like shit.”

  Nik guffawed. “And I feel like it, too.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as a grin engulfed his face. “It’s not so bad now that I can see your beautiful face, though.”

  “Shut up,” I laughed, but the good humor quickly faded. “How long do you think we have left?” I didn’t need to clarify that I was talking about our bonding withdrawal timeline. He would know what I meant.

  Nik frowned, inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose. “A week, max,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “At least five days, I think.”

  “Have you started losing consciousness yet?” Once that happened, we would only have a few days left until the withdrawals killed him.

  Again, Nik shook his head. “No, just the aches and pains.”

  “Alright, good,” I said, nodding to myself. “Has there been any sign that the Netjers know about the Oasis?” I bit my lip, a little afraid of the answer.

  “They haven’t torn the dome off yet,” he said, pierced brow quirk
ing higher, “so I take that as a good sign.”

  I blew out a breath, relieved. “Good,” I said. “That’s good.” I stared at him for a long moment, just enjoying being able to see him. “So, what have you been doing to keep yourself busy?”

  “Thinking about you,” Nik said, lips twisting into a wry smile.

  “Oh . . .” I leaned back, wrinkling my nose and groaning dramatically. “Too much cheese!”

  Nik chuckled. “Thought you’d like that.”

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

  He let out another soft chuckle. “I’m not doing anything very exciting here, trust me. Just helping people get settled in and reinforcing the dome to buy us a little more time should the day come . . .”

  I crossed my fingers and raised them so he could see. “Let’s hope that never happens.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Nik said. “So, what’s it like there?”

  “In Aaru?”

  “Yeah,” Nik said, leaning in. “Dom never shares much.”

  I frowned, considering how to answer. “It’s . . . definitely a strange place.” I leaned in, elbows on the table, settling in to share pretty much everything that had happened since I’d died. “Like, when you first get here, there’s this mist, and . . .”

  6

  “So,” Mari said, “what now?” She’d resettled in one of the armchairs by the fire, having come back into the cottage with the others some forty minutes after they’d left.

  The twins had returned to the table to continue their discussion on destroying the Mother of All with Anapa and Re. Dom was crouching in front of the hearth, tending the fire while he waited for water in a cast-iron teapot hanging over the flames to boil.

  I stood near Dom by the hearth, one hand on the rough wooden mantle as I stared into the writhing flames, thinking about Nik. I replayed our mirror-bound conversation over and over in my mind. Talking to him hadn’t done anything to lessen either of our bonding withdrawals, but catching up had raised our spirits tremendously. We’d vowed to continue the hourly check-ins until the time came for me to hand myself over to Isfet.