The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1)

by Fernando Rivera

  Micah copies him, reducing his turquoise irises to thin rings of blue. “Is that a problem?”

  James intervenes. “I have a suggestion. How about asking Lucy to show him around?”

  Micah’s eyes return to normal. “Miss Weston?”

  “Yes. She did work directly under Isidore, so she’s more than capable of answering questions regarding the business. And frankly, if Manny is to learn more information about the Afterliving, I think we can all agree it’s best introduced to him by someone he trusts, given his and Lucy’s history.”

  “I beg to differ,” Nicholas interjects. “Given their history, I think Miss Weston’s presence would pose as a distraction to the boy. I am more than happy to step in as his mentor.”

  James leans forward. “Are you saying my nephew is incapable of separating his emotions from his duty?”

  “Of course not. I’m merely suggesting there’s a probability Miss Weston’s involvement could interfere with Manny’s proper judgment.”

  “Let me remind you, Nicholas, it is because of Miss Weston’s involvement that the allotment you manage, along with countless others, has continued to flourish under this Fellowship, and any indication of the contrary is not only laughable but an insult to this family.”

  Micah taps his knuckles on the table. “That’s enough, James.”

  But James isn’t through: “And if you continue to insist Miss Weston’s presence is anything but conducive to my nephew’s future or the future of Stockton Farms, I’ll see to it you are banned from partaking in any assemblies regarding changes to the allotment or this Fellowship. Is that clear?”

  “You’ve made your point, James,” Micah chides. “There is no need for threats.”

  “I wasn’t making a threat. I was reminding Nicholas his presence at this table is a privilege, not a right.”

  “Understood,” Nicholas replies. “My sincerest apologies. Excuse me.” He surrenders his argument and exits the library.

  “Then would I be correct to assume the burden of tour guide has been passed on to Lucy?”

  “Yes, Anthony, you may go,” Micah permits. “But before the day’s over, we need to discuss this business with Michelle.”

  Anthony complies and takes his leave.

  “I’ll tell Henry to rearrange Lucy’s schedule,” James says. “In the meantime, I suggest you freshen up. You smell like wet leaves and expired milk.”

  Micah dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Thank you, James.”

  I leave my phone to charge before getting into the shower. The battery’s been dead since yesterday, and though I’d normally be abhorred by being off the grid, a larger part of me is grateful. Dealing with work is the furthest thing from my mind, and reconnecting with Dr. Kris is something I’m not yet prepared for. Not to mention, where would I begin with my mother? I’m okay, and btw, it’s cool you and Dad are Disciples. Not sure if I’ll join you…

  As the steam and hot water envelope my body, I realize how right Lucy was about James’ assumption: The longer I refrain from my pills, the more attuned I am to my senses. Light is brighter; smells are heavier; air is more plentiful; colors are warmer; touch is more seductive; and my thoughts are louder than ever. It’s like I’m a whole new person.

  After washing, I find a pleasant surprise waiting for me in the bedroom: clean undergarments, a Columbian blue sweater, khaki trousers, and a brand-new pair of leather shoes. The fabrics are of the finest quality, providing my skin with an unparalleled level of comfort. Everything fits, too — which is strange because I’m way bigger than James, Anthony, or Micah. Are they my father’s clothes?

  There’s a knock on my door. James enters. “It’s vicuña wool. Do you like it?” He indicates my sweater, which is vaguely similar to his. “If not, I can have your clothes cleaned within the hour.”

  “These are fine. I like the color.”

  He snickers. “Good. Because that jumper alone cost six thousand pounds. Pennies, really, compared to the suit you wore to Isidore’s funeral.”

  “You left me the suit?”

  He nods.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I examine the sweater once more. “Six thousand pounds for a sweater? Seems a little unnecessary.”

  “It is — for a human. But for someone enduring centuries of hardship and persecution, with the pains and joys of life multiplied by a thousand, I would disagree. Being a Disciple is as exhausting as it is rewarding. The least we can do is be comfortable.”

  “I’m not a Disciple.”

  “No. But as a Daemon, the Afterliving allows you to experience your mortal life through a Disciple’s immortal lens. I’d say that’s especially convenient for you, considering your lack of faith.”

  “I never said I didn’t have faith.”

  “Really?” James walks to the window and pushes open both shutters. “Then jump.”

  “Jump?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s crazy. I’ll break a leg.”

  “Not if you have faith.”

  “Yeah” — I pull the shutters closed — “faith in gravity.”

  “Suit yourself. But you won’t master your gifts unless putting them to the test. And speaking of gifts…” James retrieves a sleek pair of black mirrored sunglasses from his pocket. “These shades were your father’s. Take a look.”

  I put them on and approach the window — whoa. The sun is still bright, but it’s not blinding. And to my eyes, day almost feels like night. “These are way better than my Oakleys.”

  “The lenses are custom-made, tinted with hyper-halide to protect you from more than just the sun.”

  “Like what?”

  “Jump, and I’ll tell you.”

  “James, I’m not gonna — ” He thrusts his palm into my back, pushing me out the open window. My arms and legs thrash about as my body somersaults to the solid ground below.

  Horizon-grass-window — the world spins all around me — horizon, grass, window. Then the revolutions happen slower. Horizon. Grass. Window. And slower. Horizon… Grass… Window… My feet gently touch the ground.

  Lucy cheers from across the lawn. “Oh, my goodness, Manny! That was incredible. You’re learning so fast.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, dazed.

  James peers down from my bedroom window, smiling behind his mirrored shades. Did he know Lucy was watching?

  Neither of us has mentioned the conversation we had in the Phantom earlier today. Our exchange has been strictly professional as we pass the afternoon inspecting fences, greenhouses, and irrigation equipment throughout the allotment.

  Lucy goes into detail about the process of belonging to the BHSA — members’ applications, their tiers of interviews, payment plans, ongoing background checks, etc. “We check for slayers, Lycain sympathizers, vampire-compelled informants, even vampires masquerading as humans or faking Discipleship. You can never be too sure.”

  I look around at the random allotment members. “So everyone here is either human or Disciple?”

  “Yes. And admittance to the BHSA is by Disciple-referral only.”

  “They come all the way out here just to plant a few vegetables?”

  She nods. “Privacy is key. It’s why members prefer this allotment to those in town, and to uphold our secluded environment, we don’t permit the use of cars, phones, or other electronics on the premises. Clients drive to designated stations and arrive by shuttle or use one of several busses Stockton Farms operates throughout Brighton and Hove. Members never have to worry about transporting supplies, either. Whatever materials or services they require are provided by us — for a reasonable price, of course.”

  “You guys really have thought of everything.”

  “The purpose of the allo
tment is to remove people from the distractions of the world and place them in an atmosphere where they can embrace the peace of God. We want them to disconnect from technology and connect to each other.”

  I survey the rows of gardens and tents and the people tending their plots. No one has their thumbs hovering over a phone or their faces buried in a screen. They’re talking, laughing, or peacefully working alongside one another, nurturing their small rectangular oasis. It’s a huge difference from the hustle and bustle I’m used to dealing with at USD. I’d almost be sold on the whole “doing God’s work” thing if last night’s vision of Michelle wasn’t seared into my memory.

  “Each person has been carefully chosen by a Disciple who loves them and wants to share with them the glory of God,” Lucy goes on to say. “The allotment provides a haven to nurture that fellowship until the human is ready to be Saved, however long that may take.”

  The word fellowship makes me cringe. It has ever since joining 3FC my first year of college. It stood for “Fun Freshmen Fellowship Club,” and was promoted as a cool way to meet new students and score free pizza. By mid-semester, I discovered 3FC was really a front for some crazy evangelical college group. Needless to say, my participation became nonexistent after that.

  “You don’t think you’re deceiving people? Telling them they’re here to garden but really expecting them to find God?”

  Lucy shakes her head. “Everyone here gets exactly what they pay for. Finding God may be our objective, but it’s their decision.”

  She stops. “I’m sorry. About earlier today. I didn’t mean to be so judgmental.”

  “I know. And I shouldn’t have overreacted.”

  “You know, I was relieved when James said you wanted me to show you around. And I was happy to hear you’re considering your father’s inheritance, especially because Isidore established this allotment for you, as a tribute to you and your mum. He wanted to give Disciples the option of traveling less and devangelizing from a more permanent residence. I understand that was a concern of Minerva’s when you were growing up.”

  “She just said he was always out on business. You say he was devangelizing?”

  “Yes. It’s when Disciples reteach the Living about Christ. Devangelists are like missionaries for the Afterliving, and during outreach, they can be absent from their Fellowships for weeks or months at a time. This allotment and dozens of others were created so Disciples like Isidore could serve the Afterliving closer to home.”

  “So there are other Stockton allotments?”

  “Yes. All over Western Europe. But they’re fairly recent developments. Before that they were standard animal farms, which Micah and your father amassed shortly after Isidore was sired. The properties were small and family-run — usually on the verge of bankruptcy — but Isidore saw their potential. When devangelizing, it’s important your Saved, or ‘new Disciples,’ have round-the-clock access to animal bloodstocks. It discourages Bloodlust,” she adds, “which is an abuse of the Living — when a Disciple feeds on humans for sport or sustenance.

  “Anyway, Isidore would offer to purchase the farms at a fair price and allow the family to maintain residency in exchange for ten percent of annual profits and unlimited lodging rights. After the deal was made, your father would stay with them until their businesses were back on track, and in the process, Isidore taught them about the true Christ, eventually leading them into the Afterliving.”

  “But what if they freaked out and thought he was some kind of monster?”

  “That’s where talents come into play…” Lucy proceeds to tell me how every human is born with a talent, a power that unlocks when they become Saved. It’s supposed to be a baptismal gift from God, an ability Disciples use to keep the Afterliving safe from enemies.

  Talents are predetermined by the color of a Disciple’s eyes. My father’s eyes were brown, which made him a Voloccult. Voloccults are Disciples with the Talent of Influence, meaning they have the ability to evoke action, or impel people to do things.

  James’ eyes are hazel, a combination of brown and green. Because of this, he’s called a Cereflex, signifying his talents are mixed. The brown makes him part Voloccult, like my father, and the green makes him part Synchopath. Synchopaths have the Talent of Sentiment, which is the ability to give and take emotion. This means they can make you feel what they feel and vice versa.

  I ask Lucy if being a Cereflex give James an advantage over Disciples with uniform talents, but she says, “Not entirely. James’ talents are split, which means he doesn’t wield the same power as a full Voloccult or a full Synchopath.”

  “So then, James’ talent… Influence, was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “His Talent of Influence technically wouldn’t be as strong as mine, if I were a Disciple, because my eyes are fully brown. Is that right?”

  “Right. You’re a full Voloccult like your father. And Anthony. This gives you the ability to impel, whereas a Cereflex like James can only compel.”

  “How’s that different?”

  “Compulsion is only useful on the weak-minded. It’s a superficial talent that can be overcome if the target has a strong enough will. Impulsion, on the other hand, can only be resisted by other Voloccults. To everyone else, Impulsion cannot be opposed, no matter how hard the victim’s mind fights. It’s foolproof manipulation, tantamount to playing God. So as a Voloccult, it’s your responsibility to impel solely under the most extreme conditions, conditions in which the well-being of the Living and Afterliving are at risk.”

  After hearing Lucy’s explanation, I’m certain I’ve experienced both sides of a Voloccult’s talent since yesterday — when I impelled the officer on my flight and when Anthony impelled me in the woods. Both encounters were unsettling. In the first, I felt unnaturally powerful, and the second, utterly powerless.

  “These talents, I get how they can be helpful, but at the same time, they don’t seem very ethical,” I tell her.

  “They can be abused, yes, but just because Disciples possess abilities, it doesn’t mean they have to use them. And everything in the Afterliving has a balance. There are rules Disciples live by to guide them in their devotion — commandments, sacraments, and sins. For instance, Disciples sire their Saved through the sacrament of Baptism, but then, and only then, are they allowed to drink the blood of the Living. If they disobey, it’s called — ”

  “Bloodlust,” I interject.

  She smiles. “So you were paying attention. Well, Bloodlust is one of the Afterliving’s Immortal Sins.” Lucy keeps track with her fingers. “Bloodlust, Impulsion, Insurrection…Manipulation, Hemocide, Intercession, and — I always forget this bloody one… Disingenuous Conversion. That’s it, Disingenuous Conversion.”

  She tells me the Immortal Sins, also known as the Seven Offenses, weaken a Disciple’s will and systematically poison his soul. One begets two. Then three. Then the desire to sin destroys the virtue of the Disciple, and he leaves the Afterliving to join ranks with the Fallen, with the vampires.

  “Is there a certain number of sins a Disciple commits before he’s considered a vampire?” I inquire.

  “It’s all subjective, but that’s why the sacrament of Reconciliation exists — forgiveness, Manny. It helps restore the Disciple’s virtue. It’s all very beautiful.”

  “So why haven’t you done it, then? If you truly believe in the Afterliving and all of its principles, why haven’t you been sired?”

  Lucy wants to answer me, but she holds back. “We should get moving. There’s more allotment to cover.”

  “You still have doubts, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t be encouraging you about this if I had doubts.”

  “Then why aren’t you a Disciple? It doesn’t make sense, unless there’s something about the Afterliving you’re not telling me.”

  She sighs. “Do you really want to know?”

&nb
sp; “Yes.”

  “Fine. Committing to the Afterliving is committing to infinity, Manny, an infinity of devotion to God. And as much as I’ve wanted that, as much as I’ve known it would bring me joy, I’ve also been scared.” Lucy pinches her crucifix and drags it back and forth along the silver chain.

  “Why?”

  “Because in the Afterliving, there is no gray area. An eternity with God is also an eternity without the people who would reject Him. And maybe, just maybe, there’s been a tiny part of me dreading such a finite decision. So, there. Now you know.”

  “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I know I should drop the subject, but curiosity gets the best of me. “You’re not talking about me, are you? I’m not one of the people holding you back? I know that’s presumptuous, but — ”

  She scoffs. “Well, that would be foolish of me, wouldn’t it? Delaying the chance of a lifetime for a mate I haven’t seen in twenty years — and one I barely know.”

  Ouch. “You’re right. That’d be foolish of you. It’d be foolish of me, too,” I laugh. “Sorry. Just had to ask.”

  Lucy motions toward the path once more. “Can we go now?”

  As we make our way to the front of the allotment, a husky man in clean khakis, button-up shirt, and wide-brimmed hat approaches. “Excuse me? Miss Weston?”

  “Mr. Starkly, good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon. Have you seen the owners of plots A89, A91, and A33?”

  “Not today.”

  “They failed to attend last night’s meeting of the BHSA Plot Owners’ Association, and everyone in Sector A knew how important this particular meeting was. Elections for Sector A Site Representative are fast approaching, and as you know, I am up for election,” he announces. “Every vote counts.” He points to a giant button on his breast pocket bearing the cheesy slogan, Stark without Starkly.

  “I’ll have my assistant make Nicholas aware. Is there anything else?”

  Starkly smiles and hands me a flyer bearing his signature catchphrase. “Is this a new plot owner in Sector A?”