by Becca Fox
Now that I’d admitted it to myself, I realized how childish it was. My mom couldn’t turn back time or fix the things Death had wrecked in our lives. She was human, just like the rest of us: flawed and needy and doing her best to survive. She wasn’t going to fight for the happiness I believed she deserved, not when she thought her life was already as good as it would get. There was no use trying to convince her she was wrong.
I took a deep breath, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. It was like she said. We’d both made our choices. She was letting me go; now I had to let her go. Along with all my hopes and expectations.
This was how things were between us, maybe how they’d always be. I just had to love her anyway and take advantage of every second we could spend together.
* * *
Chapter 36
Charles
We convened in one of the conference rooms: Uncle Victor, Jasmine, me, and two immortal couples. It sounded like the beginning of a really weird joke, and if I’d gotten more rest the night before, I might’ve laughed. But I was operating on four hours of fitful sleep so I wasn’t laughing. In fact, it was all I could do to stay awake. My eyes stung like fresh burns. I stared at the ice cubes bobbing in the water Uncle Vic had gotten for everyone, thinking how nice it would feel to press them against my eyelids. No one seemed to be in the mood for sipping water right now anyway.
The Wards wore polite smiles all the while maintaining stiff postures, like two mannequins that had been positioned to look like a couple sitting arm in arm. The soon-to-be-senator and his wife had cut and styled their hair to keep up with the latest trends; she had blond highlights and professionally applied makeup. They must’ve been wearing powder too because their complexions were definitely lighter than the Smiths’. They could’ve passed for third generation Hispanic or Mediterranean. They dressed sharply in tailored suits and expensive-looking shoes. They even spoke like locals, with no trace of accents.
The Smiths, sitting directly across from the power couple, were a startling contrast with their all-natural appearances, simply cut hair, and second-hand clothes. They quietly watched their former friends, Mrs. Smith with heartbreaking sadness in her eyes and Mr. Smith with suspicion.
Uncle Victor sat toward the middle of the table between the two couples, looking calm and in control despite his precarious position. He laid out all the details of the investigation that he could share, along with what he’d discovered about the Salamander, and talked briefly about the suspects he’d already cleared.
Jasmine and I stood toward the back of the room, present but not technically part of the conversation. I’d wanted to take a nap and get the SparkNotes version of this interrogation from my uncle after it was over. My sister, of course, wanted to be right in the thick of things. Protectiveness beat exhaustion in the end. So there I was, leaning back against the wall, trying not to doze off.
“The Smiths’ innocence has been proven as well,” my uncle concluded by saying. “Which is why I requested to meet with both of you today. I’m fresh out of suspects and this hired killer is still at large. Can you think of anyone else who might be behind these murders?”
He was giving them a chance to come clean about the third couple before accusing them of withholding information. It was more than any other cop would’ve done.
Still, Mr. Ward shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Detective. I’ve told you everything I believed to be pertinent.” He glanced at the Smiths before he shifted closer to his wife. “Why did you require us to come here? Couldn’t we have discussed this over the phone?”
“Yes, and why are they here?” Mrs. Ward added, staring daggers at the Smiths.
Jasmine pushed away from the wall, hands fisted at her sides. “They’re here because, unlike you, they actually care about justice.”
Mr. Ward lowered his brow. “Excuse me?”
“What my passionate niece is trying to say,” Uncle Victor said, shooting Jasmine a frustrated look, “is that the Smiths have provided us with the names of two other potential suspects, mutual acquaintances of yours who might have reason to want to intimidate you out of the election. We’re curious to learn why you neglected to tell us about this couple.”
Mr. Ward barked at the Smiths in a different language. Mr. Smith stood up, but his wife grabbed his wrist. They locked eyes and then he dropped back into his seat. Mrs. Smith responded to whatever accusation the soon-to-be-senator had thrown at them in the same foreign language, her expression defensive despite her soft tone.
“Enough squabbling,” Jasmine said, drawing everyone’s attention. “There’s too much at stake here.”
Mrs. Ward leveled my uncle with a harsh glare. “Why do you let the children stay?”
It was my turn to say, “Excuse me?”
“Because they’re also part of this investigation.” Uncle Victor leaned an arm against the back of his chair and twisted around so as to fully face my sister. “But if my niece can’t control herself, she won’t be welcome here anymore.”
Jasmine nodded curtly before slouching back against the wall next to me.
“I didn’t tell you about Fadele and Nij because they aren’t involved in this,” Mr. Ward said, having abandoned the role of the amiable politician. “We swore a long time ago that we’d stay out of each other’s way. We haven’t seen them since. If either of us drifts too close to each other’s territories or work, we send emissaries to leave anonymous notes in public places with a specific tag underneath.” He spread his hands out and settled back into his chair. “I haven’t received any messages in over a year.”
“Darling,” his wife said, placing a hand on his forearm. “What about that chalk message about proposition two-one-eight?”
“It could’ve been left by anyone.” Mr. Ward turned to my uncle and added, “The tag was missing.”
“When did you find this message?” Uncle Victor asked, pulling out a brand-new notebook and pen.
“That’s irrelevant,” Mr. Ward said dismissively.
“But it might not be, so spill it already,” Jasmine snapped.
“Jazz!” our uncle said with enough force to make me flinch. “Let me work or leave.”
Grumbling to herself, Jasmine crossed her arms.
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked so only she would hear.
My sister tapped her fingers against her arm as she continued to give Mr. Ward the stink eye. “It’s been too long since the Salamander showed himself. I bet you anything we’re going to be sensing the death of another campaign member any day now and this guy is still keeping things from us.” She scoffed. “It’s bullshit and I’m over it. Uncle Vic is being too nice.”
“That’s days before the first murder,” our uncle was saying when we started paying attention again. “These strings of murders could very well be related to that message, sir.”
“What is this proposition?” Mrs. Smith asked.
“Prop two-one-eight,” Mr. Ward said, puffing his chest out with pride, “is the reason I’m going to win the election. It’s the intention to have all imported goods from foreign countries, including global companies operating overseas, not based in the U.S., pay an increased tariff—” He glanced at me and Jasmine before adding, “—taxes or have goods held for confiscation. All imported goods must be declared upon arrival to the U.S. and have an additional assessment to make sure all goods have been registered and the proper taxes assessed before being distributed to the market.”
He was really excited now. “This is to increase U.S. income on foreign goods sold to the U.S. market, and encourage local, U.S. based companies to push productivity within the U.S. market in a grander attempt to make America self-reliant and grow an internal revenue.”
His wife was petting the back of his hand and beaming at him by the end. “It’s brilliant.”
The Smiths exchanged a worried look.
“If this proposition passes, it’ll make it harder for Fadele and Nij to transport their illegal goods. It
’ll also cost them more to do business with foreign countries.” Mr. Smith shook his head. “How could they not see this as an act of aggression against them?”
“The proposition isn’t going to pass,” Mr. Ward said with a smirk. “The liberals will never allow it.”
“But, by being the first to propose this, David has set himself apart from the other candidates and made a lot of people in his district very happy,” Mrs. Ward added.
“Another lying politician,” I muttered. “How original.”
Uncle Victor pretended not to hear me and instead addressed the Wards. “How were your immortal brethren to know your real intentions with this proposition?”
“Immortal?” Mr. Ward asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion. The power couple looked at each other before they started laughing. It was the most grating sound I’d ever heard because it was so fake.
“Fadele and Nij aren’t immortal,” the soon-to-to-be senator said in between chuckles. “Where did you get an idea like that?”
Jasmine and I rolled our eyes at each other, like, “Can you believe this guy?”
“You want to take this one?” my sister asked, gesturing to the power couple. “I’m not allowed to speak anymore.”
“Yeah, all right.” I stepped forward, waving a hand between me and my twin. “Cursed by Death at birth. She accompanies the souls of the recently departed into the afterlife. I get to watch it happen.” I took one of my contacts out, startling everyone in the room except for my uncle who leaned back in his chair and sighed up at the ceiling. “Purple eyes, like Death herself.” I returned my contact, blinking hard against the new stinging. “We know you guys were cursed too so—ow!” The contact slid off to the side. Goddammit! I should’ve just left it out.
Everyone must’ve seen it move because they cringed or looked away uncomfortably.
“So you can cut the bullshit and tell us everything you know about the third couple,” I finished with a growl, savagely rubbing my eye.
“We don’t know anything,” Mr. Ward insisted, refusing to look at me. “It’s like I said, we haven’t spoken to or seen them in years. We don’t know what aliases they’re using or where they’re operating from. We’re already risking too much just by sending random employees to leave those messages for them every so often. Why would we risk tarnishing our reputation further by keeping any sort of tab on them?”
“You four know them best,” Uncle Victor said, drawing a wide circle in the air with his pen. “We need you to put your heads together and help us come up with something that could lead us in the right direction. Interpol and the FBI have been trying to catch the Salamander for decades. I have no hope of apprehending him, but I might be able to stop the people paying him for these killings. It’s the only way I can see this case coming to a fruitful conclusion. So, please.”
He swiveled his chair in order to look at every immortal in the room. “Please, try to think. What have you heard? What have you suspected? What do you remember from your time with them? Anything you can give me could be helpful.”
It was quiet for a while. The Smiths had a telepathic conversation with a lot of head tilting and scrunched lips and furrowed brows. The Wards weren’t looking at each other at all. Mrs. Ward kept glancing at Jasmine and me, and chewing on the inside of her cheek. Uncle Victor waited, pen poised over his notebook.
The water cooler gurgled. The fan hummed. Outside, the cloudy sky finally started spitting the drizzle forecasted for today.
“If Fadele and Nij hired this contract killer in response to the proposition,” Mr. Ward finally said, addressing the ceiling, “then they would have to be part of my district. Otherwise, the proposition wouldn’t apply to them.”
“I figured as much,” Uncle Vic said with a respectful nod.
“In that case, how could you not sense them?” Mrs. Smith asked.
The Wards cast another uneasy glance at me and Jasmine, as if they didn’t want us overhearing a conversation about their weird sixth sense.
“Seriously?” Jasmine asked. “We’re all cursed here. What’s the problem?”
Mrs. Ward’s left eye twitched. “You have no proof that we—”
“What, you think we’re going to blackmail you?” My sister raked her hands through her hair, breathing deeply as if barely keeping her anger in check. “People are dying. That might not mean anything to you, but it does to us.” She gestured to our uncle. “He’s not wearing a wire. We’re not interested in telling anyone your secrets. We just want to solve our case.”
“Because we can’t…” Mr. Ward cleared his throat. “I mean, because we haven’t been made aware of them, I believed them to be beyond our radius. Fadele and Nij would want to flock to rural areas with high crime rates in order to blend in, but there have been no reports of increased crime in my district. More reasons why I didn’t suspect them sooner,” he added in his defense.
“It’s possible that your district is only one place where they do business,” Mr. Smith said almost reluctantly, “and they reside somewhere else, outside our radius of awareness.”
“Then they could be anywhere,” his wife added, casting a sympathetic look Uncle Victor’s way.
“Indeed.” Mrs. Ward sent a haughty look toward our uncle. “Have we done enough of your work now? Are we allowed to go? We have meetings to attend.”
Jasmine’s face twisted in disgust. She was about to say something, but I reached out to her, shaking my head.
“Of course, ma’am,” Uncle Victor said, rising stoically from his chair. “Thank you for your time.”
The Smiths stood and joined us in watching the Wards leave. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more helpful.”
Jasmine was so mad she was shaking. “You were more helpful than they were.”
Uncle Victor, ever the polite host, shook their hands. “Thank you for coming.”
Mrs. Smith draped her jacket over her arm with a nod. “Of course. Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”
As soon as we were alone, Uncle Victor shook his head. “Your behavior was inexcusable, Jazz.”
“They were being uncooperative. You should’ve threatened them with obstruction,” was my sister’s retort. She paced in front of the water cooler, glaring out the gloomy windows. “So many lives have already been lost because of their carelessness and arrogance. But do they care? No. They’re more concerned about their meetings.”
“Be that as it may, we’re supposed to be professionals,” our uncle said, dragging out that last word. “And you were anything but. You’re not allowed to participate in my interrogations for the foreseeable future.”
Jasmine heaved a big sigh; some of the anger drained away from her face. “Yeah, I figured.”
“What do we do now?” I asked around a yawn.
“Nessie will keep scourging the Salamander files.” Uncle Victor rubbed his eyes. His shoulders seemed to sag in defeat. “I’ll try to get my buddies from Interpol and the FBI on the phone again, see if they can’t remember the Salamander ever being associated with a powerful couple in the underground.”
“Fadele and Nij were in New Delhi in the nineteen-sixties, around the same time as one of the Salamander’s hits,” Jasmine said. “Mention it to your friend. Maybe something in that murder investigation will be the connection we’re looking for.”
My uncle nodded before hiking up his sleeve to check the time. “Are you guys hungry? It’s past lunch time.”
My stomach growled. Oh, yeah. I hadn’t eaten anything since the toast…
Thinking about breakfast got me thinking about Esmer. I’d been successfully distracting myself with the case all morning so my insides wouldn’t be chewed up by anxiety and doubt, but all those worries came back, like a swarm of gnats buzzing around my face.
Had she found my presents yet? Was she still mad at me? Would she take me back? Was her silence my answer? Did that mean she wasn’t going to forgive me?
I saw us sitting on her bed, passing the can of wh
ipped cream back and forth, sharing awkward memories, laughing at each other while the music played. All those afternoons playing games on the Switch and doing homework together. Drinking in her secretive smiles and fierce green eyes without being afraid of getting caught. Freely confessing my fears and weaknesses and doubts. Holding her. Kissing her. Discovering new things about her with every stroke of my hand.
Was it all gone now?
I’d heard the expression “heavy-hearted” before, a term I’d coined as “overly dramatic” and dismissed. But I understood now. There was no other way to describe the weight in my chest, pressing over my lungs, making me queasy. I couldn’t lose what we had. I couldn’t lose her.
“Charlie.”
I’d been digging my fingers into my sides and clenching my jaw until I heard my name. Looking up, I forced myself to relax. “Yeah?”
“Lunch?” my uncle asked, lifting his phone. “I can order takeout.”
“Sure.”
Jasmine gave me a questioning look.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I think I’ll help Vanessa go through those files.”
I never volunteered for quality time with my uncle’s partner, but I needed another distraction before I could go into a full-blown panic attack. My phone buzzed as I stepped into the hallway. I ripped it out of my pocket to see that I had a text from an unknown number.
You haven’t lost me yet, Charlie boy.
I laughed. I’d never seen a kissy face emoji next to my name before but I could get used to it. As long as we were still together, she could send me as many corny emojis as she wanted.
My mom has a day full of touristy things planned, her second text said, I’ll call you tonight.
I stood there, grinning down at the little conversation bubble, long enough for Jasmine to catch up to me. She had to stand up on her tiptoes to read over my shoulder. I didn’t notice her until she pinched my cheek.