Immortal's Spring (The Chrysomelia Stories)

by Molly Ringle

  He paused, but she stayed silent.

  “I just thought, maybe it’d help if I gave you some space,” he went on. “Some time. Since I know you’ll want to be down here…and, probably it’s best if I’m out trying to do something about them.”

  Sophie swung her flashlight beam slowly across the titoki tree. “You should fix the world. Stop them so it’s safe for us. If you can do that…” She let her arm fall still at her side. The beam of light became a stationary circle by her feet. “I don’t know what I want, for the most part. But I do want that. I want them stopped.”

  ***

  That night, Adrian packed up his bus, hugged everyone who had gathered in the entrance chamber to see him off, and promised to be in touch. Hugged everyone except Sophie, that is. Seemed he wasn’t about to touch her again. She longed to take the initiative and step up and hug him herself, but she felt anchored to the floor. The whole parting scene sent storms of uneasiness fluttering up and down her, deep in her belly and out to her fingertips, especially when he tried to give her a reassuring goodbye smile while misery swam in his dark eyes.

  Then he snapped the whip and was gone. The remaining group started migrating from the entrance chamber toward the fields, talking about having Christmas-night dessert and wine. “No wine for you, Liam,” Tabitha said with a laugh.

  Zoe suggested card games before bed.

  “Join us, Sophie?” Niko ruffled an Uno pack in one hand. “I promise not to cheat. This time.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said.

  The rest of them continued on to the fields. With a flashlight, Sophie walked alone through the tunnel to the bedchamber. She sat on the edge of the mattress, Adrian’s gift in her lap, and switched on the camping lantern that rested on a wooden crate by the bed, so that she had a light on each side of her.

  She untied the purple ribbon and opened the hinged jewelry box. Every muscle stilled for a breathless moment, then she swallowed and let her fingers fall to brush the necklace. Her ancient memory recognized it at once, though this piece was new and only an approximate copy of the one Persephone had worn.

  Five small purple amethysts, cut into ovals, formed the petals of a single violet flower framed by tiny gold leaves. The pendant hung from a slim black leather cord, gold wire coiled tight around the sides of the clasp in back.

  As Sophie lifted the necklace out, a note fell from the top of the box where it had been wedged. Sophie draped the necklace across her leg and unfolded the note.

  The first thing that struck her was that she’d never seen Adrian’s handwriting before, a fact both sad and strange. They’d only corresponded in texts or blog comments. The second thought was that his handwriting suited him: low and casual, with bolder straight up-and-down lines on some of the verticals, and an impression of honesty and sweetness throughout.

  She smoothed out the page.

  Dear Sophie,

  This is a replica of course, and not a very accurate one since I was relying on memory and then trying to describe it to the jeweler. But the gold and amethysts are from the Underworld, so at least that part is the same. I considered having the crown remade but a necklace is more like something a person could actually wear in this day and age.

  Whether you wish to wear it or not, and whether or not you ever want to see me again, I want you to know a few things.

  You’re welcome to the Underworld and everything and everyone in it, anytime. It’s yours as much as mine.

  You don’t owe me anything.

  I’ll always love you and welcome you.

  I just want you to be happy and I want to help you. That’s why I left. You’re right, we have to fix the world. Though it may be a lost cause, I’m going to try. For you, your family, our friends, all the innocent people. For Persephone and Hades.

  I’ll be in touch. Please stay safe and don’t give up hope.

  Merry Christmas,

  Love,

  Adrian

  She slid the paper farther up her knees so the tears dripping off her nose wouldn’t land on it and smear the ink. Why was she even crying? Only that everything made her cry these days, for starters. And because he was so sweet, and because even though she loved him as much as ever on the inside, shock had damaged her on the outside and she couldn’t reciprocate his affection the way he deserved. It hurt him, and it hurt her too.

  Now he was off to fight Thanatos, which yes, someone had to do. But they might catch and kill him next, and he’d drift down here as a ghost, and then his death, too, would be her fault.

  Chapter Eight

  Erick Tracy flicked his gaze across the group. A sorry assemblage for saving mankind, but they would have to do. Perhaps in his hands they would succeed.

  He was fifty-five, not the oldest member of Thanatos, but one of the longest initiated, and almost certainly the best educated. He’d been brought into the group at age twenty-one at Oxford by the elderly chaplain of his college, who recognized the proper mix of interests in Tracy: ancient religions and the modern occult, and the zeal to do the right thing against those who would throw the world into chaos.

  Now Tracy’s day had come. Those chaos bringers were, without a doubt, walking the Earth again.

  Only six members of Thanatos in total had been able to attend in person today, but the rest of the central council attended online in tech-shielded video calls. Half the group was female, half male, with citizenships, ethnicities, and religions from all around the globe. Ages ranged from the young Landon and Krystal to the white-bearded Swami in India, who was calling in via video today.

  Tracy let his gaze rest on Krystal, the red-haired girl with crutches leaning against her chair and perpetual bitchiness in her eyes, then on Landon, who looked about to fall apart in a frazzle of nerves. Honestly, no wonder they had botched the elimination of Adrian Watts. The girl should be confined strictly to weaponry, and the boy shouldn’t be anywhere near the leadership of such an important organization. Quentin had grown a bit soft in her aging mind, it would seem.

  Everyone exchanged polite greetings. The screens and tablets had been set up to include the video callers in the circle. The group sat around the dining room table in the house where Krystal was recuperating, in the small city of Richland in southeastern Washington.

  Tracy straightened the cuffs of his tweed suit, then leaned forward in the chair and steepled his fingers above the tabletop. “So. First off, Adrian Watts, our primary target, the only one we can identify with certainty and by name: no news there, I’m afraid. We’ve still no idea if he’s alive or dead.”

  “He’s dead,” Krystal said. “I shot him in the head, point-blank. No one’s that immortal.”

  “Unfortunately these people may be,” Tracy said. “Our Decrees suggest they survive such things.”

  “They don’t survive fire or explosives,” Landon said tentatively. “But…”

  “But we know Adrian Watts survived, and healed quickly from, a gunshot wound in February,” Tracy said. “It’s likely to be no different this time, even with a head wound. Especially since they’ve all gone into hiding: Sophie Darrow, her brother Liam, Tabitha Lofgren. Probably Adrian is with them, sheltering them. They’re likely watching and waiting, and planning. So a new plan is what we need as well.”

  “They’re following me,” Landon said. “I’m sure of it. Please, can’t someone stick with me and trap at least one of them and get rid of them? I’m…I can’t sleep, I’m going crazy, I—”

  “Yes, we’ll deal with your problem,” Tracy cut in. “We might have no success with it, but at least it can be a diversion while we try for the brass ring.”

  “Diversion?” Landon protested.

  “What brass ring?” a woman asked from one of the computer screens. Her name was Joaquina and she had worked in the governments of three South American countries so far.

  “The real problem,” Tracy said, “is that our enemies can escape to their other home all too easily, yes? Where they’re doing who kno
ws what. Making more of their kind. Building an arsenal. Brewing biological weapons of supernatural origin. We simply have no idea, and we’re powerless as long as they have their ‘other realm’ in which to go on doing mischief.”

  “And?” Krystal said. “What the hell are we supposed to do, other than kill them when they do show up?”

  “What if we could get into the other realm?” Tracy said.

  Everyone stared at him in astonishment.

  “We can’t,” one of the men said—an influential businessman from China. “The one who was converted, Sanjay, he made it quite clear. Only immortals can get across.”

  “All our Decrees and records say the same thing,” Joaquina agreed.

  “Our Decrees and records are incomplete,” Tracy said. “They’re ancient and fragmented, as is to be expected. But they do mention allies of the immortals. Cults dedicated to them, and to their secrets.”

  “Yes, they have allies, we know that,” said Swami, Sanjay’s former guru, from another computer screen. “We are already targeting them as well, are we not?”

  “We are,” Tracy said. “But I’ve long suspected that those secrets which the allies learned might include a way to enter the other realm. Even for regular humans.” He let that sink in, then added, “Our own records, of course, don’t tell of such a method. The allies have kept it under wraps. But were it possible to get into their realm, we could eliminate the problem at its root, once and for all.”

  “The tree,” Landon said.

  “Yes. The fruit of immortality, in the land of the dead. All sources agree that’s where the evil comes from. Find that and destroy it, along with the enemy, caught in their own lair, and we will finally have triumphed.”

  “And this way of getting in, you think you can find it?” Yuliya said, her words accented. She was in her late thirties, and had recently moved to the US from Russia. Tracy hadn’t met her till today, but he liked her voluptuous curves and planned to pursue them in his leisure time.

  “I think I have found it.” Tracy gave Yuliya a lingering smile before continuing. “Those allies of the immortals, they’ve been around as long as Thanatos has. Doing almost nothing, perhaps, other than telling sad stories about days long past. They started out as the Eleusinian Mysteries, and have evolved under other names, in various regions. But they, too, have kept their records and secrets preserved. For many years I’ve looked for such groups, such records, and at last I’ve been successful at…” He coughed to shade over the distasteful details. “Infiltrating a particularly valuable collection.”

  They gathered the meaning of the cough.

  “Who did you have to kill?” Joaquina asked dryly.

  Tracy didn’t answer. No one expected he would. In such matters, the fewer people who knew specifics, the better. “The important thing is I’ve obtained the instructions. How mortals get into the spirit realm. How, and where.”

  The group looked enthralled. Even Landon dropped his haggard expression and adopted one of hope.

  “Where?” Swami echoed.

  “Where, it turns out, is a very important question.” Tracy clicked open the hand-drawn map he had scanned into his tablet, and turned the screen to display it to his comrades. “Each of these marks represents an ancient sacred site. They’re all over Europe, more than a hundred of them. Tourists visit them every day. But at any of them, if you have the right materials and the right method, you can enter the other realm.”

  “Nonsense,” Swami said after the collective stunned pause. “We would have heard of this.”

  “Not necessarily,” Tracy said. “The secret’s been closely guarded. In most places, I daresay, it’s even been forgotten. The group whose records I obtained…they were quite protective of the information. Which suggests to me that it’s true.”

  Landon stared at the map. “Wait. Is one of those sites…the actual Underworld?”

  Tracy lifted his chin, pleased that Landon had caught on. “I think the odds are fairly high. Wouldn’t it be regarded as a sacred site, after all? So. What do we know of the so-called Underworld? The detailed account from the late Sanjay told us a good deal, and his information corresponded with many of our ancient records.”

  “We know it’s a cave in Greece,” Swami said.

  “Near the sea,” Landon added.

  “Indeed.” Tracy clicked to the next graphic: a detail of the same map, this time showing only Greece and vicinity, with orange circles placed around five of the sites. “Sacred sites that are caves in Greece, along the coast.” He smiled at his team. “Who’s up for an expedition?”

  Chapter Nine

  Zoe Connolly leaned close to her laptop computer and squinted to make out the lines of text on the screen in the bright sun. Its cord trailed off her lap and plugged into a briefcase-sized solar-powered charger.

  A generator hummed on the hillside a few meters away, sending electricity down to power Liam’s video games along with some lights and even a refrigerator. They were getting quite high-tech in the Underworld lately. Still, Zoe preferred to use natural sources, such as her solar charger, as far as she could. Supplemented with supernatural in her case, a talent reawakened with her immortality. But in truth, even as a blind mortal she’d often been told by others that her ability to identify things by sound, smell, or general “feel” bordered on uncanny.

  She used to attribute it to necessity, the reliance on other senses that any blind person had to resort to. But lately, in reviewing all her past lives, she realized she often had accessed the world’s energies with a native fluency that some would have called witchcraft (and some did, in occasional harrowing episodes over her lifetimes). However, the powers had never surged through her as strongly as they did with her two immortal bodies: as Hekate and now as newly-immortal Zoe.

  She glanced at the battery level on the laptop and found it sinking. The solar charger collected energy slowly, and seldom kept up with Zoe’s computer usage. She turned her palm upright in the sun and drew in energy until her hand felt almost on fire. Then with her supercharged hand she touched the shell of her laptop delicately, right over its battery. The screen glowed brighter. The battery icon filled to black in a nanosecond. Satisfied, Zoe shook out her hand and blew on it. It would hurt for a minute from that intense sunburn, but, nice thing about immortality, the damage wouldn’t last.

  She sensed Tabitha swooping in. She squinted up into the blue winter sky, and in a few seconds the ghost horse soared into view, Tab’s long blonde hair streaming like a flag above it. Tab landed the spirit animal on the hillside and hopped off.

  Pulling the horse by its ivy-willow reins, Tab walked to Zoe. She was wearing those gorgeous leather boots Zoe adored. Her cheeks were rosy, and in her oversized sunglasses, fingerless black gloves, and thigh-length multi-zippered leather coat, she looked like some steampunk adventurer just descended from her aeronautic vehicle.

  So hot. Quite unfair.

  “Got yourself properly dropped out of college?” Zoe asked.

  “Yep.” Tab eased down beside her. “For now.” She sounded wistful.

  “Sucks,” Zoe said. “After taking all that trouble to get into it.”

  “Whatevs. I wasn’t doing so awesome in classes anyway.” Tab pulled off a glove and flexed her fingers. “What about you? All dropped out of life in Wellington?”

  “Yeah. My parents know what’s up, of course. But I quit my job, and the story for them and everyone else is I’m having depression issues and needed to go abroad for special treatment.” Zoe grimaced at the computer screen full of the curriculum vitae of Thanatos members. “Not exactly untrue.”

  Tab wrapped the horse’s reins around her boot, then planted her foot against the rock to hold it there. She gazed out across the hills and shores, eyes unreadable behind her sunglasses. “I’m sorry I was a jerk to you. I like you so much, and I…I screwed it up.”

  The knot in Zoe’s chest finally began to relax. For weeks now she had carried around so many unpleasant feelings,
mainly fear because of Thanatos, but also resentment and hurt because Tab, her first real hook-up in this lifetime, had treated her casually, like a one-night stand. Now that Tabitha apologized for it, sounding small and contrite, Zoe realized hearing the words was all she had truly wanted.

  So instead of unloading some lofty speech onto Tab as she had sometimes envisioned, she ended up saying, “It’s all right. I like you too, loads. But it’s not like we had an agreement. I just…feel better knowing you. You cheer me up.”

  “Yes!” Tab sounded more her warm, gushing self again. “I mean, look, I’m the last person who thinks we ought to base everything we do on our past lives. But still, you and me, all those past lives—we had tons of fun, and you totally made me happy when we hung out. But can you think of one time we had an actual successful love thing going on? Hekate and Dionysos is probably the closest, and even that…” Tab tilted her head at Zoe. “I haven’t gotten that far yet, but it kind of feels like it fizzled.”

  “I’ve not quite got that far either, but I have the same impression.” Zoe smiled wryly. “I think some lives I didn’t even know you. Other times we had a fling, or we were friends. There’s some nice memories, but, jeez, it’s nothing like Adrian and Sophie. They’ve got one epic love story after another, life after life, starring the two of them and no one else.”

  “I kind of envy that,” Tab said.

  “Doesn’t everyone. Still, even if we’re just friends…” Zoe slid her fingers under Tab’s bare hand, the one from which she’d removed the glove. At the touch of skin, she felt sweetness and gentle desire emanating from Tab, which intensified as Tab closed her grip around Zoe’s hand.

  “There’s things friends can do.” Tab’s voice had lowered. “Especially if they’re going to live a long time, and might want to be…flexible.”