Queen of the Immortals

by T. R. Hamby

  He looked up--he always felt the urge to look upwards when Father was speaking to him. “Father?”

  You survived. I am glad--I was worried.

  He frowned, a dull sense of fear rising inside him. “You weren’t...going to save me?”

  That wasn’t my decision. It was your brother’s. And once again, he has saved your life.

  Michael closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he felt now--shame, guilt, anger. Confusion. Whatever it was, it hurt, even in this muted Place.

  “Why?” he breathed, opening his eyes again.

  That’s not a question I can answer, Father replied.

  “You must know.”

  You know your brother better than I do. Perhaps you could tell me.

  Michael looked down, a wave of anger hitting him, this one strong, strong enough to break through the deadened state he was in. For once he couldn’t hide his frustration, his desperation to understand Father’s plans, his contrivances.

  Father was patient. You are angry.

  “Yes.”

  Do you want to tell me why?

  He thought for a moment, taking deep breaths. “No.”

  He wasn’t in a sharing mood. And besides...Father knew his thoughts anyway.

  A pause. Then, You’ve changed, my son. Far more than you realize. The women who have taken you into their lives have brought you more happiness than you have experienced in hundreds of thousands of years.

  “I don’t deserve them.”

  I think they’d beg to differ.

  Michael sighed. “What do you want from me, Father?”

  It’s what I want from all of you. You’ve come across two killer Angels in the span of just a year. Have you wondered about that?

  He was silent, frowning. He hadn’t had the time to wonder; so much had happened.

  My younger children--far removed from your generation--have sported evil seeds. Young Angels who yearn to spill human blood, or else torture them, for sport. You’ve already met two of them. More are coming, and very soon.

  Michael nodded slowly. “How many?”

  They will occupy the four of you for years to come.

  Michael felt a jolt. “Four?” he exclaimed, and he knew instantly that Father was thinking of Gilla.

  Yes. Gilla will become a part of your company, and I believe she will be far more integral than any of you can imagine. If she chooses it, of course.

  “She won’t,” Michael said firmly, anger boiling in his stomach. “You can’t let her, Father. Please.”

  She will choose to join you, Father said, and his voice was cold. And she will request Immortality. If she chooses more, then I will meet her there.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Michael insisted, desperate now. “Look what just happened to me.”

  You are alive, he replied, and his indifference staggered Michael.

  There was a silence.

  Michael was still desperate. He didn’t want Gilla anywhere near what they did, even if it meant she could become Immortal. She needed to be safe.

  But resignation overcame him. It didn’t matter how much he begged, how angry he got, how much he raged. Father’s will was absolute. If Michael pushed, something worse could happen, and he couldn’t risk that.

  It was Lilith all over again.

  He shook his head. “You said you favor her,” he whispered dully. “Why do you put her in danger then?”

  It is Gilla who will make that decision.

  Suddenly the anger flashed again, and he finally lost it.

  “You make the law; you make the plans,” Michael seethed. “You know what will happen. And you let her walk into it!”

  You are getting to be too much like your brother, Father said, and his voice was horribly dangerous.

  The air turned icy, and Michael shivered, overwhelmed with dread. It was very much how Mel’s anger felt.

  Do not test my wrath, Father whispered. You have always been my Favored Son. You have been given many gifts. Don’t make me take them from you.

  The dread began to fade, and Michael closed his eyes. He still felt cold--but mostly he felt fear. Fear for Gilla.

  “She’s everything to me,” he moaned, struggling one final time to change his Father’s mind.

  He ignored him. She will want to be made Immortal. She won’t have to ask; you will tell her. And for her Immortality I require something in exchange. Something to prove her willingness.

  Michael stared into the dimness, anger and fear making him weak again. “She must die?”

  No, he said. I ask for something much more precious: her voice.

  There was a long silence as Michael tried to collect himself.

  Father didn’t give him any time. You will start in London. Gilla will decide when you arrive, and then the four of you will be busy. It will be the four of you now, and you will have much more ground to cover.

  A pause, then, These Angels you will seek will cause harm to so many humans. They are most unfavored children, bringers of destruction. Be careful, my son.

  Darkness was swallowing him, and in a slow moment he was opening his eyes.

  He grimaced, grunting. His stomach was searing. Every breath, every slight movement jarred his wounds and sent waves of pain throughout his body.

  He gripped the sheets for a moment, taking deep breaths, waiting for the pain to pass.

  He heard footsteps and opened his eyes. Mel was standing by the bed, looking worried.

  “Hey,” he said awkwardly.

  His hair was rumpled, and there were circles under his eyes. His blue eyes shone in the sunlight pouring into the room.

  Michael frowned. “What time is it?”

  His body was heavy, aching. He felt more drained than he had ever felt before, as if Agatha had come and used her Talent on him. He didn’t even know if he could sit up without help.

  “Noon. You slept for a while. Here,” Mel said, and he grasped Michael’s arm and slowly helped him up.

  It took some time; Michael’s wounds were so very painful, the most pain he had ever experienced.

  Once he was up Mel handed him a glass from the end table. The contents smelled like whiskey, and it was a tall glass of it.

  “Drink that. That should be enough to help with the pain.”

  Michael couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have a stash of pills somewhere?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know if those work on us. Unless you want to snort some.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Michael took a few gulps of the whiskey, feeling the familiar warmth in his throat, wishing that was the only sensation he was experiencing. Mel dragged the recliner closer to the bed and sat down, staring at him worriedly.

  Michael looked around. “Nora and Gilla--”

  “They’re fine. They’re cleaning. You got blood everywhere.”

  Michael felt a surge of irritation and rolled his eyes. Mel chuckled, and Michael realized he was teasing him--which was a first.

  He looked Mel over. Again, there were circles under his eyes, and his face was pale. He looked healthy otherwise--although he seemed to be favoring his right arm. His left arm he was resting on the arm of the chair, and every so often he grasped his bicep and curled his fingers shakily.

  Michael frowned. The whiskey was already starting to kick in, and the pain in his stomach lessened. “You’re okay?”

  Mel nodded firmly. “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong with your arm?”

  He hesitated, glancing at it. Michael could tell he was considering lying.

  But after a moment he said, “He got me too. Should be fine after a few days.”

  Michael frowned; there was worry in his voice. He shifted, and his wounds seared again, the sutures tugging at his healing skin. He swore under his breath, and it took a moment for the pain to subside again.

  “You should heal soon,” Mel said, watching him. “The swelling has already gone down. I’d say a week or so. Your Talent is making it easier.”r />
  Michael nodded, bitterness creeping inside him. He took a swig of the whiskey, grinding his teeth together.

  “Yes,” he breathed bitterly, “Father has given me so many gifts.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He looked at Mel. He longed for Gilla instead--to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, to hear her voice. Nora too--to hear her laugh, to hear her teasing. But it was Mel he needed most right now.

  He needed his advice.

  “Father spoke to me,” Michael said, and Mel immediately glowered, his blue eyes darkening ever so slightly.

  “Oh joy,” he said sarcastically. “A ‘get well’ message?”

  “Listen.”

  Mel waited, and Michael began. He told Mel about their new mission--hunting evil Angels soon to descend upon the Earth. The move to London. And finally, Gilla’s future involvement: her coming Immortality, and the price she would have to pay for it.

  He felt a wave of despair when he spoke of Gilla. Of course he wanted her to be Immortal….he didn’t want her to die. But to barter her voice for it? And Michael knew Father; this wasn’t some sort of loan; this wasn’t a tiny request. It was absolute: Father required Gilla’s voice, and he would take all of it, every last bit.

  She would never be able to sing again. That gorgeous voice that had graced so many stages would never return. She would never hum around the kitchen again, or sing in his ear when he was in a bad mood.

  And what was almost worse--she would never speak again either. Her voice would be gone, period. She wouldn’t be able to communicate. Wouldn’t be able to tell her parents she loved them, wouldn’t be able to murmur to Michael in her beautiful Swedish.

  She would be devastated.

  Mel sprang to his feet, and paced around the room. Michael could sense his anger, and it actually made him shiver--his weakened state must have made him susceptible to Mel’s Talent again. Mel paced and paced, his head twitching, sometimes muttering under his breath, his eyes nearly black now.

  He finally groaned. “Fuck. God fucking dammit.”

  “Mel. Too loud.”

  His head twitched again, and he shook it impatiently.

  He looked at Michael. “This is….it’s….depraved.”

  Michael closed his eyes; ran a hand through his short hair. He was suddenly exhausted--whether from the alcohol or from his condition, he wasn’t sure.

  “You can save the outrage,” he said tiredly. “It’s not helping.”

  There was a pause, and he could sense Mel’s annoyance, knew he was considering retorting.

  But instead he sat down again. Michael looked at him--he was absentmindedly gripping his arm, and curling and uncurling his fingers, which shook almost violently. His head twitched again.

  Michael studied him. His injury seemed much worse than he had let on, but Michael decided not to comment, not when he was so angry.

  Mel finally looked at him, his jaw tight. “There’s no….other way? No chance she’ll say no?”

  Bitterness went through him again, and he shook his head. “He said the only thing he didn’t know was….”

  And he frowned. “Something about more. That she’ll be….integral to our work, if she chooses it.”

  Mel suddenly shifted. There was a guilty look on his face, and his anger faded, his eyes returning to their natural color.

  Michael stared at him. “What?”

  He sighed, avoiding his gaze. “Father told Nora….something we didn’t tell you.”

  “What?” Michael breathed, incensed. “Why?”

  “We didn’t want to worry you.”

  Michael swore. He tried shifting to better face him, but ended up jarring his wounds again. He swore again, clutching his stomach, the pain making him tremble.

  Mel got up, grasped Michael’s shoulder and examined his stitches. When he was satisfied he sat back down, now glowering at him.

  “If you’re going to be pissed, keep still while you do it,” he said impatiently. “You’ll tear your stitches if you move.”

  Michael looked at him. “Just tell me.”

  Mel looked at his hands, grinding his teeth together. “When Nora made her deal with Father, he asked for a second thing as part of the bargain. She’s….supposed to….I don’t know--take care of Gilla. Support her, be there for her. Be a good friend, I guess.”

  Michael was bewildered. “Why?”

  Mel sighed, still avoiding his gaze. “He said she would suffer--I’m assuming now because she’ll lose her voice. And Nora will be important in supporting her.”

  “What about me?”

  “Father said,” Mel continued firmly, ignoring Michael’s question, “that Gilla will be special.”

  Michael stared at him for a long time.

  Special. Special? What did that mean? He had thought that Father’s only special creatures were himself and Mel, being the first Created, and carrying out his work on Earth. Gilla was special in so many ways….but how could she be special to Father?

  It wasn’t good. It couldn’t be good.

  A horrible chill went through him, and he shook his head. “He didn’t elaborate?”

  Mel snorted. “Of course he didn’t.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I know.”

  He held his head in his hands, his heart racing. Dread overwhelmed him, and he felt sick.

  He felt Mel’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “Breathe. Don’t panic.”

  “She’s everything to me.”

  “So don’t panic. You won’t help her if you panic.”

  But Mel’s rough words weren’t working, and Michael felt the room spin.

  He was going to lose her. He could feel it….she would be extraordinary, and then something terrible would happen, and he would be alone….Father would kill her….no no no….

  “I need Nora,” he said suddenly, trying not to hyperventilate.

  Nora would calm him down. She was good at that.

  He heard Mel get up and leave the room.

  In a moment Nora was beside him, holding him. “Hey. Shh. Relax.”

  “He’ll kill her.”

  “No he won’t. He loves her.”

  “He’s already putting her in danger.”

  “Shh. It’ll be okay. She’s strong. She’ll be Immortal.”

  “I can’t let her….”

  He trailed off, and Nora rubbed his shoulders soothingly. He realized he had tears in his eyes, and he brushed at them impatiently. Nora shushed him again, and for a while they were quiet.

  He finally took a shaky breath. He felt a little better. Exhausted, but better.

  “Better now?” Nora murmured, sitting in the recliner and holding his hand.

  Michael looked at her. “You kept it from me.”

  She flushed guiltily. “Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry. We didn’t want to scare you...we thought there was time.”

  He stared at their hands dully, and shrugged.

  “I know it’s not the best excuse. But I really mean it. We didn’t want you constantly looking at her and wondering….not until something actually happened.”

  He sighed, and brushed at his eyes again. “Well. I guess it’s happened now.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I wish I had known when.”

  “I know.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Why you? I mean--I understand why--but why not me too?”

  Nora was soothing. “I don’t think he was excluding you. Just not mentioning you. I mean….you know how he is.”

  That made some sense. Michael ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “God. What do we do?”

  She frowned. “Mel said something about….her voice?”

  Michael nodded and told her, and she was quiet for a long time. Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed them away.

  “Fuck.”

  He nodded again, his heart aching. All of them were devastated….but Gilla would be crushed, just crushed.

  Nora looked at him, and he could see an idea forming. “I know
sign language,” she said quietly.

  He stared at her, shocked. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I guess I never mentioned it to you….I told Mel about it ages ago, when we were in Denmark….but anyway, yeah. I could teach her. I mean, I’m a little rusty--but I could teach all of you.”

  He considered this, and couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. It was almost a fucking joke, that Father would take Gilla’s voice away, knowing full well that Nora could sign.

  “Maybe that’s part of why I’m so important to her,” she murmured vaguely.

  He squeezed her hand. He didn’t know what to say.

  She looked at him. “When will you tell her?”

  Another wave of dread. He looked away. “I don’t know. Soon.”

  Again, they were quiet. Michael’s wounds ached, but the whiskey seemed to have worked. But he was drained, and longed to lie down again. If he could just see Gilla first. Hold her. He had already seen Nora and Mel….

  He looked at Nora again, frowning. “What’s wrong with Mel’s arm?”

  She looked worried. “I don’t know,” she replied quietly. “He can’t move it right. He keeps downplaying it, but I think he’s worried.”

  He thought for a moment. “Maybe a nerve? Humans have trouble moving when a nerve is injured, right?”

  Nora nodded slowly. “Yeah. But maybe it’ll heal. He’s an Angel, after all.”

  She studied him, and said hesitantly, “He was...very upset. Knowing you almost died. I just want you to know that.”

  He was quiet. Mel hadn’t spoken to him properly in six months, ever since he had learned the truth about Nora’s death at the hands of Patrizio. Michael had understood--he should have watched Nora better. But it had been difficult anyway, even with their history. They had just started acting civilly, even patiently with each other, when Mel found out.

  Now to know that Mel felt pain over Michael’s recent brush with death….Michael wasn’t sure what to feel. Relief?

  “He got you the guitar,” Nora whispered, and Michael looked at her, shocked.

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because he cares about you, Michael,” she said gently. “I mean, he couldn’t tell me why exactly, but you’d have to be an idiot not to realize. He’s just….not handling his emotions right. You know the history between you two….and then he was mad at you about Patrizio--I think he felt betrayed. But he cares about you, too--very much. And I think he really struggles with all those feelings.”