by Jen Kirchner
“Don’t be too hard on Luucas,” I said. “He’s carried his son’s death for almost five hundred years.”
Mikelis’s expression darkened. The shadows that cut across his square jaw made him look even more severe. “Ruairí O’Bryne murdered my entire family. His troop of deranged followers abducted me. But I got over it.” His eyes narrowed. “Isn’t it obvious that I’m over it?”
I raised both eyebrows at him. A moment of tense silence passed between us.
He made a strangled noise in his throat. He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I’m not over it, but Luucas still shouldn’t have done this on his own. He’s already in a lot of trouble with the Council because he won’t give up your identity.”
“Maybe no one’s noticed his investigation,” I said. “It’s not too late to talk to him and get him to stop.”
His arm slid around me and he pulled me against his chest. “I’ll try.”
Our lips touched. Since we were standing in the dark, on my shaded back porch, cocooned in the privacy of my yard, our kiss turned to dangerous territory. Mikelis backed me up against the door. I giggled.
Death Radar stirred. A single signal appeared out of nowhere. Literally out of nowhere.
A stranger was inside my house.
I stilled, and my eyes went wide. Since they’d randomly appeared, it could only mean one thing—they’d just emerged from my lab, where the protection posts would hide their signal. The information Death Radar told me was basic: Ronel Magdelena van Niekerk, death by blood disease. She was almost as old as Luucas. Third channel, the magic channel focused on attack. Fire and brimstone. Hard on immortal eyes.
Mikelis tensed. Something about him felt predatory. I had a feeling he knew Ronel van Niekerk and it wasn’t a positive relationship.
He released me and tried the door; it was already unlocked. Someone had picked it open and hadn’t bothered to lock it again.
We slipped into the house. The secret bookcase was shut, which meant the intruder had probably used the elevator.
I watched Mikelis’s stocky silhouette reach up and open the bookcase. The mechanism inside the walls let out a soft click. Mikelis and I both froze, listening carefully for any other reaction to the sound.
The intruder’s signal didn’t move, which I hoped meant we were still undetected. As the bookcase swung open, we heard voices below, though I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said. A female voice spoke, and then a male one responded.
She wasn’t alone.
A second signal appeared, and someone else walked out of my lab: Norayr Hakobyan, third channel, death by blood disease. He was only one hundred and ten years old, practically a baby in immortal terms.
Mikelis froze. He turned to me. Our eyes met. In the dark, it was hard to read his expression. I had no idea who Norayr Hakobyan was, but he was apparently bad enough to cause Mikelis some internal debate.
He glanced at the porch door as if debating whether we should abort, but when Norayr’s signal came down the hall and went into Luucas’s room, Mikelis’s expression changed. His lips mashed together like he was biting back a curse. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and sent a quick message. When he was done, he motioned for me to stay back, as if that was going to stop me, and then crept down the stairs.
The basement hall light was off, but the weak lamplight from Luucas’s bedroom cast enough of a glow that I wouldn’t fall down the stairs. Mikelis went first and stopped halfway down, just before he could be seen. I tiptoed to the stair above him. We crouched down and peeked into the basement.
Luucas’s bedroom door was wide open. Ronel van Niekerk stood in the hall outside of Luucas’s bedroom with her back to us. She had dark skin and wore a crisp navy pantsuit with black loafers. Plain white blouse, ironed, without stains or smudges. She stood rigid and straight. She looked like she liked rules and was never invited to parties.
In one hand she held an old straw doll with a tattered cotton dress and black feathers attached to the feet.
“I can think of no other reason, sir,” she said.
Her dialect was crisp and formal. It was a more antiquated way of speaking, like she couldn’t be bothered to keep up with current lingo. I couldn’t place it. Dutch? South African? Given her age, probably both.
I could only see Norayr Hakobyan if I leaned precariously around Mikelis. Norayr was in Luucas’s room, in the little office nook. There were two cardboard boxes on the floor, identical to the ones in my panic room. The desk light was on and Norayr was rummaging through one of the desk drawers. He paused and picked up a small object.
Mikelis’s hands flashed with small movements. A black spell string stretched around him—long, with bold strokes. Waves of energy washed over me, fast and hot. Mikelis gestured at Ronel’s back. The voodoo doll made a sickening popping sound as it exploded in a cloud of straw and dust.
Norayr dropped the object he had picked up. It clattered against the desk, bounced, and tumbled off the edge into an open box.
The woman whirled in our direction, grabbing for something at her hip, hidden under her jacket. A taser? Immortal law prohibited gun use for most Immortals, including conservators. In the dim light, I could barely make out her expression. She looked furious but somehow not surprised.
“Hello, Mikelis. It has been a while.”
I noticed she didn’t say she was happy to see him.
Mikelis stood and took the stairs two at a time, stalked around Ronel, who was still pointing her weapon at him, and headed toward Luucas’s bedroom door.
Norayr emerged in the doorway, giving me a better look at him. He was tall and built like a tank. His skin was tan with a pinkish undertone. Turkish, maybe? Armenian? His black hair was shaved short and he had a goatee trimmed into a sharp point. His eyes were large, round, and dark, and too inquisitive for my liking. He also wore a navy suit, like Ronel van Niekerk, but his shirt had pinstripes. I guess he and Ronel didn’t want to be twinsies today.
He stepped into the hall, out of Mikelis’s way. Mikelis slammed Luucas’s door closed.
“What are you doing here, Ronel?” Mikelis demanded.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Mikelis snorted.
“We have been following Luucas for some time,” she said. “We saw him removing boxes from a historic site.”
“Then call his office and ask about it,” Mikelis said.
I crept down a few steps. From here I could see to the end of the basement hall. My lab door was open and the light was on. To my relief, the panic room door was closed. I dared to come down one more stair, and a soft creak went up from under my feet. Norayr and Ronel turned in my direction. I looked to Mikelis, nonchalant, as if I couldn’t feel their stares raking over me, scrutinizing every detail.
Mikelis turned to address me, though his eyes remained fixed on Ronel. “Kari, this is Ronel van Niekerk. She’s with Immortal State Intelligence.” He glanced at Norayr. His voice sounded tight. “And although we’ve never met, I know this is Norayr Hakobyan. He’s the head of Immortal State Intelligence.”
Oh boy. Luucas had mentioned Immortal Intelligence. And because of the telepathic link I’d shared with my dad for years, I’d listened in on a lot of Council meetings where they had been involved.
Norayr was new in his position as the Director of Immortal Intelligence. The previous guy had been fired when my existence was made known. It was largely thought that the head of their intelligence division should have known about me. They replaced him with someone who was passionate about maintaining the sovereignty and strength of the Immortal State, and who wasn’t sympathetic to necromancers.
Actually, the name “Immortal Intelligence” was misleading, as they did very little intelligence gathering. Until recently, the Immortal State had few enemies, so there was little need for covert operations, much less a full division of people to command. Immortal Intelligence ran errands and chased issues that Principal Conservators were too busy to handle. Th
e Immortal Council valued them considerably. No one else did. There was a running joke that intelligence agents were people who couldn’t cut it as conservators.
But I didn’t allude to knowing any of that. It would have made them suspicious.
“I— Intelligence?” I stuttered.
Mikelis nodded. “Ronel chased Luucas and me for nearly seventy-five years, hoping we’d bring her closer to that voodoo master we told you about. Unfortunately, her exuberance and inexperience enabled the criminal to get away.” His voice hardened. “Twice.”
“You and Luucas were breaking Immortal State law. You killed many of O’Bryne’s associates, which you had no authority to do. That is why I was assigned to your case.”
“We were immortal, but not part of the State,” Mikelis retorted. “Luucas was made immortal against his will and didn’t know what he had become. For the first century, he didn’t even know there was anyone else like him and Ruairí. When he met me and Changed me, we were nowhere near Immortal settlements to have learned about them.”
“Ignorantia legis neminem excusat. Ignorance of the law excuses no one.”
Mikelis laughed. “Actually, in our case, it did. It was decided in court.”
Ronel ignored him and turned her attention to me. “Miss Hunter, I understand this is your house.”
I nodded. “Yes, so I’d like to know what you’re doing in it. Breaking and entering is illegal for Immortals, too, isn’t it?”
Norayr gestured down the hall, to the lab, with one hand. “If this is your house, what’s that room for?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Luucas Mikkelson rents the basement. This is his space. He can do whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t burn down the house.”
“So those protective necromancer stanchions in the room—”
Mikelis cut him off with a lie. “I made them. Luucas has a lot of new conservator recruits, and he uses that room for defensive training.”
Ronel hmphed. She returned her attention to me. “Are you and Luucas lovers?”
Mikelis frowned.
This woman had to be baiting someone, but whether it was me or Mikelis, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it would have worked had I not been busy trying to mask my panic attack.
“He’s my tenant,” I said. “He pays rent. This is his apartment, and you’re breaking the law by being here. Why do you care? Are you trying to crack the case of Luucas’s love life?”
Before they could answer, all three immortals looked up at the ceiling. I checked Death Radar; Luucas was coming up the driveway. Their sensitive ears must have heard the garage door opening from all the way down here.
Ronel ducked around me and darted up the stairs, presumably to head Luucas off at the pass. I stepped back, flattening myself against the wall to make room as Mikelis chased after her, shouting at her to get out now while she could.
I stayed put, waiting for Norayr to follow upstairs. But he didn’t move. He just kept looking at me. Silent. Observing me like an exhibit at the zoo. Wasn’t he here to confront Luucas? Luucas had a lot of power in the Immortal State. Plus, he was respected. He and Norayr were probably evenly matched in terms of political power and support.
When his gaze glided over me again, sizing me up, the proverbial light bulb went off over my head and I understood. He’d seen what he came to see: me.
To my surprise, he turned away, slid his hands into his pockets, and strolled down the hall toward the lab.
“Hey,” I shouted after him, “you can’t go in there. You’re breaking and entering.”
He didn’t acknowledge me.
Death Radar told me that Luucas was in the house. The air erupted in angry overlapping shouts. Reuniting with Ronel was obviously not a pleasant trip down memory lane.
Norayr and his signal disappeared into the lab. I heard drawers opening.
I knew I should have run upstairs to the safety of Mikelis and Luucas, but I didn’t like the idea of Norayr poking around in my lab. He was so close to the panic room.
Had I left anything damning in the cabinets? I was pretty sure that I’d packed everything back into the panic room.
Two more drawers opened. I heard the telltale sounds of rifling…
I jumped three steps to the floor and ran down the hall. All of the drawers and cabinet doors were open. He was holding up an XXL thong. It was canary yellow spandex with hot pink flaming lips. Norayr stretched out the fabric so he could clearly read the word STUBBY that I’d written across the crotch with a black marker.
I’d forgotten about that. Stubby had been especially bratty before I went on tour, so the knife got time-out in the drawer of ugly discount underwear. But I’d gotten creative with the punishment and created a monogrammed thong that I’d wrapped around the knife’s hilt.
Norayr’s accent was thick and severe. “If Luucas lives in this basement, then this drawer of underwear is his.”
In my panic, I blurted, “Well, you know what they say, the clothes make the man.”
I snatched the underwear out of his hand, threw it back into the drawer, and slammed the drawer shut. In fact, I started shutting all of the nearby drawers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Norayr’s hand reach for mine…
I aborted my mission and backed up, fast, out of his reach. My back hit the table and I jumped. To my relief, he didn’t follow me. His head cocked slightly to one side and a grim smile spread across his face.
“I think we both know why I’m really here,” he said.
I folded my arms across my chest and tucked my bare hands under my armpits where Norayr couldn’t touch them. “Yeah, because you’re annoying.”
He said, “I know who you really are. I’d hit dead ends until your cousin cast that spell today.”
I pinged the fourth channel hard, trying to get Mikelis’s attention, but it only resulted in giving me a headache. The single power that I’d added to the channel had seemingly made the channel so thick and tight that nothing moved. The shouting upstairs continued.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying to sound flippant and bored.
“Can you really create spells and add them to the channels?” He glanced around the room, as if sussing out what I really did here. “What else can you do…”
It didn’t sound like a question, more like he was pondering aloud. I answered anyway. “You’ve mistaken me with someone else.”
His gaze returned to me, focused and sharp. Predatory. He took a step toward me.
Suddenly I felt as if we were playing chicken. I wanted so badly to move back, further from his reach, but I was scared to. It would confirm his suspicions about me. So, I stayed put, rooted to the linoleum.
“I was born in Armenia,” he said. “I was a young boy when the genocide of my people began.”
His tone was casual, like we were old friends catching up, but his words made my stomach curdle. He took another step toward me.
“My family was killed. I had no country,” he said. “I was utterly alone in the world. I begged and stole, and survived on scraps. I got involved with bad people and did bad things for survival.”
Another step closer. I was almost within his reach. My skin crawled.
“The Immortal State saved me,” he said. “They gave me a country. A large family. A home. Identity. Safety. Pride and self-worth.”
Another step.
He continued. “Eliana Rendon threatens the existence of the country that gave me so much. I will not go back to being without a country and a family, living on scraps. I will do anything”—His voice took on a bitter, dangerous edge—“anything to preserve my country. I do not care who I must kill to protect it.”
Last step. I was within touching distance. I had to tilt my head to look up at him. I realized I was shaking. He reached up and stretched two fingers toward me. Toward my exposed neck.
I broke, tripping over a stool to get out of his reach, running for the disguised wall of the panic room. The cold metal panels pr
essed against my back. I suppressed a shiver. I realized I’d pulled my sleeves over my hands and was protecting my neck.
His smile was triumphant. He looked like he’d just won the lottery. He hadn’t touched me, but he knew. My heart pounded so hard I could feel my pulse in my throat.
“I’ll make you a deal. I know you’ve applied for asylum within the Immortal State.” His hands slid back into his pockets as if we were making casual conversation about the weather.
“Agree to help us, and I will arrange for you and your cousin to become full citizens of the Immortal State. You would have our full protection, and all of these problems would go away. All you would have to do is agree to lend your magic to preserve and protect the sovereignty of the State. With your magic, the world would be… inclined to negotiate.”
“You want war,” I choked out.
“If that’s what it comes to. Immortal settlements have been established in fifty-seven countries. Forty-six of those countries are now considering eviction because of you.”
I hated that possibility, but the idea of giving this guy carte blanche over my magic scared me to my core.
“Millions of people could die,” I said.
“From war?” He let out a caustic laugh. “You do know how these things work, don’t you? The Immortal State doesn’t have land of its own because immortals require humans to survive. You are our food source. If we’re evicted from human lands, we’d have nowhere to go and no food.” His gaze sharpened. I could almost feel the fury rolling off of him. “The immortal race would be virtually wiped out by famine. I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening, even if it means war.”
I felt sick.
I wanted to be protected.
I wanted these problems to go away.
I wanted everyone to be safe.
But I wouldn’t arm him for war. People had died because of me before. I’d never be able to live with myself if I enabled a war that killed more innocents. My hands tightened around my throat.
“No,” I said.
Somehow, his expression became even more sour. “Think about it. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to decide. If you still say no, I’ll have no choice—”