by Ash Krafton
“I couldn’t reach you.” Senza dropped her forehead onto his chest. It caused a sweet pain, the comfort it gave. “You were always a step ahead, an eternity away.”
“You did not want to reach me. You’ve spent the last century and a half running from me. Until today. When you cast aside your fear and realized I am not one to be feared.” He lifted her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. “Your grandmother…she loved you so much, Senza Fyne. She’d only wanted you to live a life worth living. She never meant for any of this.”
“How do you know about Grandmother?”
“Because I was there. And that was the moment I had fallen in love with you.”
Senza shook her head, uncomprehending. She hadn’t met him until that ball, when he kissed her hand and called her beloved. But he said Grandmother—
Grandmother. Begging a moment more from an unseen visitor. The dressing gown slipping to the floor. Senza’s vision blurred, first with memories, then with tears.
She realized who her lover was.
She finally knew who he’d been all along.
“Your name. You said it was Knell, but…” The last of her breath was stolen in a crumpled rush. She knew his name, as clear as any hindsight. She’d learned his name in so many languages, so many tongues. As she readied his name upon her tongue, it struck her heart hard enough for a great crashing beat, born of her epiphany. “It isn’t. Not really.”
Her lover and her greatest fear had been one and the same.
“Ah.” He twined his fingers around hers and raised them to his lips, his kiss warm and welcoming. “Finally, you see, Senza Fyne.”
“Thanatos. The angel of Death.” Saying it made him real, made him here, and laid bare all her foolishness. “If I knew—”
She bowed her head, resting her forehead against his chest once more, feeling a terrible sob swell inside her chest.
He wrapped his arms around her, encircling her within his shadowy embrace, warm and secure. Thanatos pressed a kiss upon her head, a gentle touch from the gentlest of all souls. “But you could not know. No one is ever allowed to know, not until the end.”
“What happens, now?” She wrapped her fingers into his lapel, pulling him tightly against her. So afraid to let go. If she turned her head just a fraction, she’d see the couch, see Piotr, see proof that life ended, that love and light eventually succumbed to the endless night. “Does it all just end? Will I just end up, lying in this cottage like him, until he and I are discovered?”
“No. I could not allow that, bien-aimée.” He untangled her fingers from his jacket and stepped back half a step. With a gentle touch, he pushed back her straggled curls, blinking his suddenly bright eyes as he studied her. An unfathomable sadness had settled into the lines of his face, a weight that had never before existed. “We go back. We go back and you live the way you were meant to live. Without fear of the end. Are you ready to go home?”
She raised her eyes to meet his, those deeply dark pools, seeing her face reflected within them. So long. She’d lived for so long and it was all for this moment, simply to be held by the one who always loved her. What lay in store for her, her future?
Senza swallowed hard and closed her eyes, spreading out her arms to receive whatever he deemed to be hers. A single tear slowly curled down her cheek, a tear that had taken a century and a half to swell. That tear held all the joys, the regrets, the thrills, and the longings of a girl who’d never grown up. Not until now, when she realized that all she’d ever truly wanted had been right there in front of her, all along.
After a lifetime of living in the present, Senza realized the future held nothing she wanted. After an eternity of selfish running, she deserved nothing but an end.
But in the end, it was her past he presented her.
In the space of a heartbeat, the crashing of the Atlantic Ocean disappeared, and the cold salty air lightened, acquiring a taste of sunlight and lavender. Birdsong.
She cracked her eyes, wondering if Heaven’s Gates stood before her.
It was not Heaven. Not at all.
Senza blinked a few times. It was…Surrey.
She stood outside Felicity Keating’s manor. The great square home, white glazing that had once captured the sunset and reflected its glow. The stone paths were just as she remembered, lined with carefully-tended flower beds. All was painted in the muted shade of grey.
Everything, the house, the grounds, were cast in a grey dimness. Knell’s limbo.
Senza stood on the walk, the windows of the parlor just behind her, Knell before her. If she turned her head toward the home, who would she see? Would she be able to peer in through the window? Would Felicity’s casket still be inside? Would the shades of the living that milled through the home look like her long-dead family and friends and acquaintances, all dead these past one hundred and fifty years?
And, as distressing as it should have been to find herself back on these grounds, she had no fear, no grief, nothing but a sense of acceptance. She’d lived too long to feel any sort of surprise now.
Senza quietly looked up at her stately lover, as they stood on the very spot where they’d once spoken.
He stroked her arms and studied her face, another stolen moment. “You have a life, Senza Fyne. It must be lived and it would be lived better if you were not afraid of the end. You have all your life, bien-aimée, and it waits for you in there.”
Suddenly, she realized what he planned to do. He meant to leave her here.
“No, Thanatos. You can’t.” How could she go back in time, after everything that had happened? She’d lived a century and a half past this particular night. She’d seen the deaths of queens and presidents and lovers and soldiers in great wars and she couldn’t be just a girl in Surrey. Not ever.
Not ever again.
And Knell—how could she face the dreadful suitors knowing her heart, whether it beat or no, would lie within his forever?
She clutched at his arms, trying to hold onto something she knew she couldn’t keep. “What about you? What about us?”
“There will always be us. I’ve waited this long, bien-aimée. I can wait a little longer. But you have to do something, now.” He grasped her shoulders and steadied her, brushing her tear-streaked cheek. “You must live.”
He stepped back and opened his cloak, and reached into his breast pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he held the shimmery mass of her life that he’d pulled from her so long ago.
“I’ve kept this for you.” He cocked his head. “Are you ready?”
Senza shook her head, a wild fear in her eyes.
“Good.” Like a viper, he struck, slamming the essence into her chest. A thunderous blow, it knocked the wind out of her and she stumbled backwards.
Clutching her chest, she dragged in a great breath. Pain sliced through her, dimming her vision, and she held onto her knees to keep from pitching forward.
As the pain subsided, it was replaced by a rhythm, a sensation in her chest. She looked around her, watching color seep into her surroundings.
Limbo had melted away. She was back in the world. Her heart was beating.
And he was gone.
“Miss Fyne? Are you out here, dear?” A handsome voice called from the front of the house and she turned toward the sound. Twilight was spreading, a lush layer of purple and early stars. She didn’t want to be alone in the dark. Inside would be better—
Rounding the corner, she ran straight into a young man, nearly spilling his glass. Mortified, she haphazardly curtsied, almost forgetting her manners. “I’m so sorry, I—”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Fyne. I brought you something to drink but it appears you’ve recovered substantially.”
Senza drew him closer to the lamps glowing by the door to better see his face. Who was he? He was almost familiar. But she couldn’t remember. Hadn’t she seen him at the last ball? Did they dance together? She scratched at a pin that held her coif in place. That dance seemed like a lifetime ago.
She accepted th
e glass. “Thank you, Mr.—”
“Vitalli,” he supplied. “Jonathan Vitalli. We’ve been introduced. Last month at the Westmore’s.”
She stared at him, trying to sift through a stack of muddied memories. Last month? Was it…in London? Echoes of crowded streets and grand soirees and alleys. She shook her head, as if the images were discordant notes of a cacophonous tune. When had she ever been to London?
And carriages without horses, and televisions, and cottages overlooking the cold Atlantic—one by one, the words and images melted into oblivion, bringing her present into sharper focus.
The faces of those she’d known were the last to release their hold, fading into ghosts, a lingering touch of the softest place of her heart.
His expression fell. “You don’t remember.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” She cleared her throat and flexed her fingers, feeling the world slip that half-step back into place. “Quite a lot has happened since then. But I should like it very much if you were to remind me.”
Senza slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. There was no hunger, no beckon of heartbeat or pulse to steal. He felt…ordinary.
He smiled down at her with an expression that was far from ordinary. “Of course, Miss Fyne.”
“Senza. Please.”
“You have a very unique name, Miss Senza. But I do not think it befitting a woman like you.”
A blush warmed her throat, despite the evening breeze. “How do you mean, Mr. Vitalli?”
“My grandfather, you might deduce, is Italian.” He winked at her. “A proper scandal, I know. But I hope to follow in my father’s footsteps and take over the family trade business one day. I was taught Italian, among other languages, for the sake of our business. Senza is the Italian word for without. And you, Miss Fyne, should never be without.”
She swallowed, mouth dry above her fluttering heart. His dashing good looks and earnest gaze touched her in a way she’d never known before, yet seemed familiar. Her cheeks flushed and she dipped her chin, suddenly shy. “I think you would prove a great tonic to a poor name, Mr. Vitalli.”
He grinned, pleasant surprise lifting his expression. As if remembering the solemnity of the occasion, he cleared his throat and gestured to the door. “We should—ah, go back inside. I know this entire experience must have been dreadful for you, Miss Fyne, but we have an obligation. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Mr. Vitalli. I am quite recovered. We do have a duty, but I seem to have gained the clarity of perception I’d been lacking. Death is not at all what I’d always imagined it to be. It’s simply a reminder that we are alive, and we should live that way. After all, tomorrow may never come, and what we do today will have to be enough to last.”
“Profoundly spoken. Would you care to converse further, inside?” He tugged his watch out of his waistcoat and glanced at the face. “Surely we have time before the vicar arrives.”
“My dear Mr. Vitalli.” She smiled up at him, full of courage and bold hope. The last vestiges of her haunted past released her, slipped away in the night. Finally free of the fear that had shackled her for so long, Senza experienced a feeling of rebirth that swelled with every beat of her boundless heart. “We have an entire lifetime.”
They turned and strolled back to the doorway, disappearing inside, into the comfort of the life within.
Thanatos remained on the path, peering through the window, making sure Senza had settled back into her life. She would not remember him, nor the decades of extra years she’d endured in her efforts to evade a mistaken impression. There would never be a Gehring for her, nor a Piotr. There would only be Vitalli.
And Vitalli would be enough.
His own heart beat in time with hers, always would. He took comfort knowing he’d glimpse her throughout the years to come, as her long life inevitably would be darkened, at moments, by grief and loss. Such was a human life. Death came for them all.
He kissed his fingers and raised them in a farewell. Though he loved her best, and looked forward to their reunion, he would be happy to see her happy, and he would be content to wait.
Such was the devotion Death holds in his heart, that day and each day and every day. Such is the devotion Death hides in his touch, in the fragrant warmth of his embrace, in the tender kiss he bestows on each brow. Death is known but by very few, but those few know of a joy and comfort unsurpassed by any mortal imagination.
Death is not the end. He is the welcome home.
A distant sensation, like a tug on the sleeve, drew his attention. He turned toward it, dissolving into the night, pulled to another whose heart called his name. So many called his name.
They all called his name.
And as he loved Senza Fyne, so he loved them all.
Selfless, pure, and without end.
FIN
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
Edgar Allan Poe, “A Dream Within A Dream”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Heartbeat Thief is the first release for AJ Krafton, a New Adult speculative fiction author from the Pennsylvania coal region. If she’s not writing, it’s probably because she’s distracted by all the cool junk on her desk or by the stacks of books that have grown up around it.
She also writes novels, short fiction, and poetry for adult audiences as Ash Krafton. Some of those novel titles include:
The Books of the Demimonde: urban fantasy trilogy
Bleeding Hearts (Demimonde #1)
Blood Rush (Demimonde #2)
Wolf’s Bane (Demimonde #3)
Stand-alone paranormal romance
Words That Bind
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Heather Hand, my Facebook Friend who named Felicity. I couldn’t have picked a more suitable name for such a sweet, fun, and happy girl…
Extra-special thanks go out to my beta crew for dedicating their time, thoughts, and energy to this project. *smoochies* Lizzy and her squees, Yvonne and her underlining, authors Tricia Schneider and Cesya Cuono, Mesquite Librarians Alison Reyes and Colleen Duke, and my ARC reviewers —you each have done me incomparable honor. My heart is within you, always!
And most extravagant thanks go out to all the readers and bloggers and bibliophiles who have supported my scribbles, especially with this newest book. Long live “Scary Jane”.
WORKS CITED
THE HEARTBEAT THIEF features excerpts taken from the following sources:
Newspaper article dispatched from the London press dated September 30, 1888 as reported in the Daily Alta California, Monday October 1, 1888, Page 5
“The Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe
“A Dream Within A Dream” by Edgar Allan Poe
“Hamlet” by William Shakespeare
; DEDICATION
For my bien-aimées
My husband, my children, my family
In fondest memory of EAP:
I’ll always carry pennies for you.
Table of Contents
Part 0: Life
Part I: Unbirth
Part II: Afterlife
Part III: Death
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DEDICATION
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