by Becca Fox
I glanced at the journal, feeling like it was a bomb just waiting to go off. “This whole case has been weird as hell. I can’t wait for it to be over.”
“She was cursing Death when she woke up. It was the most lucid I’ve ever seen her after a revival.” Anthony rubbed his forehead and gave a little sigh. “I feel like such an outsider, Charlie. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Trust me; you don’t want to know.” I pulled up Jasmine’s rolling chair and dropped into it. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
“I do want to know.” Anthony turned to me, folding his arms. It wasn’t an intimidating stance, but more of a sign that he was willing to wait there patiently while I spilled my guts.
I glanced at the alarm clock sitting beside my sister’s bed. “Aren’t you off in, like, an hour?”
“It’s fine. I don’t have plans for tonight.” He said it with a tight smile and forced levity.
I didn’t want to ask but I knew Jasmine would chew me out if I didn’t. “Is everything okay at home?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
It wasn’t convincing. But, hey, I asked. I was off the hook. So I filled him in on the case. Anthony nodded occasionally and knitted his brow, but didn’t comment until the very end.
“After all these years, you found another couple cursed by Death. It’s mind boggling.” Anthony took off his glasses and cleaned them with his sleeve. He looked older to me all of a sudden; the circles under his eyes more visible now without the wire rims.
He went home early last night. Hadn’t he slept at all? I shrugged the thought away. It wasn’t my business.
“It looked like the contents of the journal might’ve helped your sister come up with her theory. Although, she gave me credit for cracking this case before she died.” The doctor shook his head. “I wish she’d wake up so she could explain herself.”
That was out of character for him. Anthony cared more about how Jasmine felt and what she needed to make a full recovery than his own needs. Jasmine had confused him in the past with her pre-death and post-revival babble, but even if he’d been anxious to disturb her precious sleep so she could answer his questions, he’d never said it out loud.
I swiveled away from my sister to study the doctor more closely. His clothes were just as immaculate as ever; his curly brown hair was styled. He looked like the same old Anthony, but then there were the stress lines on his face and the restless tapping of his fingers against his thigh and the way he stared at Jasmine as if she held the key to his happiness. Now I wanted Jazz to wake up so she could put the poor guy out of his misery.
She just kept on snoozing.
Anthony resorted to pacing after five minutes of intense staring. I found my gaze drawn to the diary while I waited. Whatever my sister had read in here had led to a breakthrough, according to the doctor. I could find my uncle and ask him if that was true, but I didn’t want to leave Jasmine. Plus, Uncle Victor was giving me the silent treatment again; I didn’t feel like having him explain everything through Vanessa Burkley. If they were even still talking. After their almost kiss last night, I doubted they were acting like nothing had happened.
When I got home last night, my uncle had been waiting for me on the couch. He’d quietly expressed his worry and disappointment, like always, and then threatened to confine me to the apartment if I ever left without telling him again. He’d conveniently forgotten to ask if I’d overheard him and his almost-partner admit their feelings for each other. I didn’t really want to talk about it, so I hadn’t brought it up. Esmer would call me a chicken. Jasmine would probably drag me up to Uncle Vic’s desk and force us to talk about it. She might even rope Vanessa in there and make it one big sharing session.
I shuddered at the thought. Instead of opening up that can of worms, I snagged the journal off my sister’s desk and flipped through it. Maybe I would get lucky and stumble on the same information Jasmine had.
“I’m going to get the mail,” Anthony said, snatching his keys from the coffee table. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Okay.”
I turned back to the book. I figured it would be safe to start somewhere in the middle and work my way up to the present. Who knew how long these immortal people had been alive? I didn’t feel like reading about colonial times. Entries that old wouldn’t be relevant to the case anyway. I turned a few more pages before I landed on an entry from the early two-thousands.
I am afraid. I am afraid to write, to speak, to breathe. I’m paralyzed. But Dymeka urges me forward. He tells me it is important to write…
I lowered the book into my lap after I’d finished the entry. The pages were shaking a little. Or was it my hands? I shut my eyes, breathing as evenly as I could despite my stuttering heart.
Angela’s words were bringing back horrible memories of being a kid, pacing in front of a window in my new guardian’s apartment, desperately hoping I’d be allowed to go home to my real parents soon. Knowing deep down that I would never see them again. Back then, depression and anger had driven me to torment our nanny, act out in school, scare people to get back at them for calling me a freak. But all I’d really wanted was to be known, understood. Loved.
Uncle Victor and Anthony had done the best they could. And I had Jasmine, of course. It took me years to realize that was enough. I still remembered those dark years, though. I still hated being afraid.
I was about to shut the journal and throw it across the room when Jasmine touched my arm. I almost leapt out of my skin.
“Death didn’t do this to us on purpose, Charlie,” my sister murmured, sounding half asleep still. “She was just trying to figure out the extent of her powers when she cursed us and the immortals. Now she thinks she’ll use up the rest of her power if she tries undoing our curses.” Jasmine tried to sit up, grimacing. “I begged her to try. She wouldn’t listen to me. She’s too afraid of the unknown.”
There was that damned word again: afraid.
I scowled. “How does she not know what she can and can’t do? She’s Death.”
“I don’t think she really understands what she is.” Jasmine rubbed her stomach, as if she were feeling queasy. “The little girl…How’d she die?”
“She found her father’s gun and shot herself by accident.”
My sister shivered. Burrowing deeper into her covers, she murmured, “Awful.”
I nodded in agreement. “Don’t get me started on gun safety for the idiots of the world.” After a few moments of depressing silence, I said, “Anthony mentioned something about a theory you came up with before you died?”
“From reading Angela’s journal, I learned that there are three immortal couples in total,” Jasmine said, holding up three fingers. “The Wards, the Smiths, and one more.”
I gaped at her. For years, we thought we were the only cursed ones and now there were not just two others, but six? I was already feeling dizzy but it sounded like my sister was barely getting started.
“The Wards are involved in politics because they want to shape the world they’re going to live in forever, make things better for themselves.” Jasmine gestured to the book in my lap. “Or so Angela says. The Smiths are humanitarians. They just want to survive and do some good while they’re trapped in this never-ending existence. The third couple is kind of like the anti-Wards; they’re involved in the black market.”
“Okay…”
“I started wondering; if both the Smiths and the Wards knew about the third couple’s shady dealings, why would the Wards be so quick to cast suspicion on the Smiths when Uncle Vic asked who could be targeting the campaign staff?”
“Because they were protecting the third couple,” I assumed.
My sister blinked at me. “Wow. You got there a lot faster than I did.”
“Question is: why?”
“I have an idea.” She gestured to the book. I gladly handed it over. “Death gave the immortals only one way to die: at the hand of another immortal. So the three couples parted ways, sta
rted traveling the world, doing their own thing.” Jasmine flipped through the pages until she found the entry she wanted. A strand of hair fell into her face. She quickly tucked it back behind her ear. “Even though they tried to avoid each other, the Wards and the Smiths still managed to bump into each other. And they were working on opposite sides of the spectrum career-wise. Which leads me to believe that the Wards and this other couple—”
“Had to have overlapped sooner and more frequently due to their chosen professions,” I realized.
Jasmine laughed. “It’s uncanny the way you can read my mind. It’s like we’re twins.”
I rolled my eyes. “So if the Wards and this other couple kept running into each other...?”
“I figured they must’ve agreed not to interfere with each other’s work. It’s the only way they could coexist peacefully.”
“And if they did end up interfering with each other’s work?”
“The Salamander,” my sister and I said at the same time.
“But it’s just a theory. I don’t know where this other couple is or what they’re calling themselves nowadays or how to tie the hit man to them or if my theory is even plausible.” Jasmine closed the journal and tapped the end of it against her knees. “All I can do is hope Uncle Vic can put the pieces together somehow.”
“It’s what he does best.” I smirked. “Good detective work, sis.”
Jasmine shrugged, smiling with bashful modesty. It was so fake. “I do my best.” Then the smile slipped from her face. “I want to talk to Angela.”
I sighed as I leaned back in the chair. I started rolling back so I sat up and scooted closer to the bed. “Yeah, I figured.”
“You’re not throwing a tantrum.” My sister scrutinized me with those eggplant-colored eyes of hers. “Why aren’t you throwing a tantrum?”
“I do not throw tantrums,” I deadpanned. “Period. Exclamation point. Frowning emoji. End of discussion.”
The way her mouth squirmed, I knew she was trying to hold back a smile.
“I look out for you, that’s all. The Smiths…”
I am afraid.
I shuddered, avoiding my sister’s gaze. “They make me uncomfortable but I can tell they’re not dangerous. They’re people, just like us, with questions and fears and a stupid curse. After reading Angela’s diary, I’m sure you have questions. Who knows? You might find out more helpful information if you met with her outside of the precinct.”
“I might.”
“So, if you’re looking for my permission—”
“I’m not,” Jasmine said.
I frowned. “I’m giving it to you anyway.”
We kept up the serious staring contest for a little while longer. Then my sister grinned, slow and creepy, like the Cheshire Cat.
“I like you with a girlfriend. Esmer makes you more reasonable.”
“Esmer’s got nothing to do with this,” I grumbled, my face searing hot.
“Uh-huh.” Jasmine settled back into her pillows. “How’d it go last night?”
My mind was transported back to that half hour of being tangled up with Esmer. Her body had felt so warm and soft and perfect against mine. Beside her, over her, under her; it didn’t matter. We fit together just right. I couldn’t describe how addicted I was to her hands, how electrifying it had been to have her touch my back, my chest, my face, my hair. While her lips and tongue…
My heart was tapping some crazy hard beats against my ribs. It almost hurt. But not as much as it hurt knowing I had to wait until tonight to kiss her again.
I’d always hated pop songs featuring some guy going on and on about every little detail of his new crush. But I totally got it now. It was like my senses had been heightened, like my memory had improved by one thousand percent. Esmer’s touch and taste, and how they made me feel were imprinted onto my psyche. I’d dreamed about her last night, my mind replaying our time together on the big screen in vivid color and crisp sound. I’d woken up with enough energy to power a small town. It was incredible but also kind of terrifying.
I couldn’t be in love with her, right? We’d just started dating. We’d only known each other a few months. It was just because she was the first in a very long time. Everything was so intense because I was rusty. Yeah, that had to be it…
“Earth to Charlie,” my sister sang, waving a hand in my face.
I snapped out of my thoughts with a real smart-sounding, “Hmm?”
My sister looked so smug; it chased away the lingering effects of my titillating memories. “You were drooling a little bit there. Where did your mind wander off to?”
“Nowhere. Nothing. Shut up,” I growled.
Jasmine heaved a dramatic sigh and cupped her cheeks. That goofy smile of an enamored fangirl made me scowl. “You’re so lucky you get to kiss someone. I’ve always wanted to. Give me all the gory details, little brother.”
“Oh, gross.”
“Come on. Let me live vicariously through you,” she said with a pout.
“Knock it off, Jazz.”
My sister was still giggling when Anthony came out of the elevator with a bundle of letters in one hand and his keys in the other. He smiled real big when he saw Jasmine was awake. He crossed the apartment in three strides, dropping the mail on the coffee table as he passed.
“Good. You’re up. How’re you feeling?”
“Same as always,” my sister said, flashing a tentative smile. “Don’t tell me you stuck around just to make sure I was okay. Charlie’s here. You could’ve gone home.”
“Well, to be honest, I was anxious to hear more about your theory.”Anthony sat on her bed with his back to me. I could only see his profile but he looked deliriously happy.
What was going on with him?
Jasmine must’ve noticed the doctor was acting a little weird because she gave me a look which clearly said, “Give us a minute?”
I rose from the rolling chair. “I’m going to see if we got any letters from Mom.”
Honestly? I couldn’t care less. Which had me stumbling on my way to the coffee table. I used to look forward to those letters, no matter how disappointing and insufficient they were. When had that changed?
The last one I’d read had been shortly before Esmer and I had run into each other at my favorite taco truck. Coincidence? Probably not. Life was more bearable now. The desire to escape was so minuscule, it was practically nonexistent. I guess it might’ve had something to do with the new lifeline I had now, the one that trumped empty promises and halfhearted declarations of love from the woman who’d given us up.
I still flipped through the envelopes until I found the one with my mom’s handwriting on it. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw my sister leaning forward as she spoke to her doctor in hushed tones. She reached out to grip his hand. I set Mom’s letter down, apart from the rest, so Jasmine would find it easily. Then I went looking for my uncle.
Thinking about my past and remembering everything my uncle had done for me made something very clear: I was an ingrate and a jackass. I’d already apologized for scaring him last night, but I’d been a little pissed at him for unnecessarily sacrificing his happiness for us, so it hadn’t been the most sincere apology. I planned to be sincere this time because I did appreciate all he’d done for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said it and, as lame and awkward as it would sound, I knew it was important to get the words out there. Maybe after that awkwardness was behind us, he could update me on his progress with Interpol and the FBI without having to go through Vanessa.
I was rehearsing what I was going to say as I stepped out of the elevator. I didn’t notice the ginger standing there until he was in my way. I looked up, surprised anyone would have the balls to come this close to me. He was completely covered in freckles. Although the pink whales stitched into his navy-blue button-down shirt drew the eyes away from his freckles. I stepped back.
He was wearing suspenders. He was my age and he was wearing suspenders. What the hell was up with th
at?
He looked vaguely familiar. I thought I might’ve seen him around the precinct before—by the records room maybe?—but obviously I’d never talked to him. Until now.
The guy gave me a nervous smile and held out his hand. “Hey there. I’m Ralph the intern. You must be Charles.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Given that only four people have been cleared to use this elevator and I’m not old or a girl…yes, I must be.” I didn’t like this. At all. Why wasn’t he cowering in fear or avoiding me altogether?
“Right.” Ralph dropped his hand. He glanced at something over my shoulder before looking at me again. “Is Jasmine okay?”
My hackles rose. Metaphorically speaking, of course. “She’s fine. What’s it to you?”
“Hey, man, take it easy,” Ralph murmured, shuffling back a bit. I saw his socks poking out from under his khakis. They had whales on them too. “She hasn’t visited her birdhouse in a while and the last few times I’ve seen her roaming the precinct she’s seemed preoccupied.”
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to be completely still despite the rage burning through my body. “Are you stalking her?”
Ralph’s eyes bulged. His freckles seemed to pop as the little color in his skin drained away. “What? No! No, it’s nothing like that.” He frantically waved his hands at me. “We bumped into each other once and talked for, like, two minutes. She seemed really cool, just sad. I thought maybe she could use a friend.”
I squinted at him, not buying it for a second.
“I kept meaning to approach her again but my boss was hovering for a while and then I got buried with new records to scan. I saw her walking out of the interrogation room with you yesterday, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to interrupt you guys. So today, when I finally got a break, I thought…”
He sighed. Shook his head. “I’m not an idiot. I promise. I know the contract says I’m not supposed to approach her. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” He summoned an uneasy smile. “And you just said she was okay so I guess that takes care of that. Thanks. I’ll leave you alone now.”
Ralph turned on his heel and walked away, shoulders scrunched up by his ears, which were turning redder than his hair.