by M. J. O'Shea
He was usually tempted to do that, grab a snack and sit out on his porch to correct his papers and chitchat with his neighbors, but he was still weirded out, so he stayed inside with his work. Avery settled into his living room with a beer, some dinner, and a pile of papers to grade. He put on the TV in the background, nothing particular, since he couldn’t manage to concentrate on a show he really liked and finish his work at the same time.
Avery relaxed as he worked, happy to be in his own space. He hoped by the time he went to bed he’d have the day out of his system and he’d be able to sleep. No dreams allowed.
TYSON always felt like the morning came as a relief after a long stretch of darkness, even if he sometimes thought he wouldn’t mind dying. A fuzzy, downy gloom covered everything in warm drippy fog, and the light grew slowly. It was a day for people like him, for shades who lived on the outside of society. It wasn’t for friends and laughter and sipping wine in the sun. Tyson didn’t know the last time he’d done something like that. He didn’t know the last time he even wanted to. He stared out the window onto the misty street and wondered what the normal people were doing with their morning—getting up for work, eating toast, kissing their loved ones goodbye. It was all so foreign to him.
He sat up in his chair in the library, the one he’d been in all night. He couldn’t bother making his way up to sleep in his actual bed. He didn’t sleep well anyway, most of the time. It had gotten boring over the years, probably. Seemed like such a chore. The bakery down the street was baking—he smelled buttery croissants and frying beignets easily through the window he’d cracked just to listen to the night. It smelled like everything he wanted. Sometimes Tyson dreamed of shoving entire platefuls of pastries into his mouth, but he knew he couldn’t, as much as he might want to. At least… well, he shouldn’t. Not if he wanted to—
“Morning, dear.” Mrs. Peggs came bustling in. “Do you want your tea?”
“Please, Mrs. Peggs.”
“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Gemma?” she asked.
Hundreds, he assumed. Since she’d already told him countless times over the ninety-odd years she’d been with him. Tyson often wondered if she was sick of his company yet. It had been just the two of them for so, so long. It was a hell of a lot better than being alone. Or watching people he’d come to care about grow old and die. He’d tried both of those over his considerable lifetime, and he didn’t care to try either of them again. Luckily Mrs. Peggs had been on her own with no family since she’d been young, and she didn’t mind sticking around to dust his house and bring him his awful but necessary tea, and most importantly be a friend. Family. The only constant in his life.
Sometimes she jokingly chided him for not finding her before she had wrinkles on her face. But then she shrugged and said there were worse fates than being eternally middle-aged. Tyson always laughed.
“Maybe someday you’ll finally listen.”
“Doubtful.”
He loved Mrs. Peggs more than he’d ever loved anyone in his long, long life. He smiled tiredly up at her and noticed how the wan, misty light shone off her glossy brown ponytail, and how the smile lines she’d had back when he first met her hadn’t changed much, even if her hair had gone from chin length and tightly curled to a chipper ponytail, and her clothes resembled a suburban soccer mom far more than the head housekeeper for a fading aristocratic British family that she’d been when they first met. Her face was familiar. Comforting. Even then, sometimes he wished she had more hobbies that didn’t involve talking so cheerfully to him so early in the morning.
“There’s a love,” she said when she brought him the foul-smelling brew. She had a cup for herself, and she sat in the armchair across from him. It had become something of a ritual for the two of them, to bring in the day with their tea together.
Tyson took a deep breath and contemplated not drinking it, thought about what would happen if he aged just one extra day that year. But then he sighed and sucked his first sip down. It tasted much better than it smelled, a little licorice-y with that dank metallic aftertaste of the life-altering minerals they used to brew it. Mrs. Peggs smiled and sipped at her tea as well.
“It’s not too far from Thanksgiving,” she said. They both smiled.
It was their one day. The day they didn’t drink the tea that kept them the same, the day they cooked and ate like normal people. Tyson had always liked Thanksgiving, although it was a bit barbaric if he thought about its origins. Maybe that was why he liked it. What was a holiday without a bit of a grim past?
“Are we going to have beignets for breakfast on Thanksgiving?” he asked. If he inhaled, he could still smell them frying down the street. Could probably taste them if he thought about it hard enough.
“Yes, and sausages and mashed potatoes and pie.” She sighed. “And garlic bread. I’ve been craving it lately.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Peggs,” he murmured. He thanked her every day. For staying with him, for choosing his life. He didn’t know quite why he still felt the need after so long. But he did, and she did the same thing every day as well. She tutted and kissed his forehead and treated him like the son she never had.
“I’m worried about you, love,” she said that morning. It wasn’t the usual. Tyson looked up from his final sip of the tea. “You seem out of sorts.”
That wasn’t news. He didn’t know the last time he’d been in sorts. He was bored. Stuck. But he didn’t know a way to make himself interested in life again without doing something… terrifying. Something that involved far more than being a shade on the edge of the world he used to take part in.
“I guess I am out of sorts.” He shrugged. “Might go and sign up for some classes at the university again. I haven’t gotten a new degree in a while.” Everyone had their hobbies. College was Tyson’s.
“What was the last one?” she asked.
“Archaeology. That was back in the ’90s.”
Mrs. Peggs smiled. “I liked the ’90s. That Kurt Cobain. Poor boy.”
Tyson sighed the sigh of the profoundly bored and let his cup clatter onto the tray Mrs. Peggs had brought it out on. The same tray they’d been using for at least the last twenty years. It might be time to do some upgrading.
“How would you feel about a little redecorating?” he asked.
Mrs. Peggs looked at him slowly. “Is that what you want to do?”
He only wished he knew. He felt restless, a roving itch under his skin that was always around in the background but rarely so unbearable.
Tyson sighed a long, gusty sigh. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Darling, why don’t you go learn some things. That was a good idea. School always makes you happy.”
He would’ve thought after so many decades—six centuries of them—that there wasn’t much else to learn. But he would always be a student, and Mrs. Peggs was right. More than anything, it did make him happy.
“Maybe I will. But we probably do need to update the kitchen too. Maybe in January. After the holidays. Can you find a new contractor this time?”
It wouldn’t do to have someone around who recognized him. After all, it had been a good fifteen years since they’d last had the work done. His house was memorable, and someone would be sure to notice he looked the same. Tyson supposed he was lucky New Orleans was fairly big. Easier to avoid questions that way.
“Of course, dear.”
Tyson went about looking on his computer for classes. He’d take them online, but there was something about the thrill of a full lecture hall, the way lecturers made him fall in love with their enthusiasm. At least he looked like he belonged on a university campus. His one day of aging a year hadn’t put him much past twenty. He’d visit campus on Monday. See if he could start after the holidays. It was a plan, and somehow it made him feel a little bit better. Sort of.
Chapter Two
“CAN you believe how long this week was?”
Avery looked up from where he was finalizing his notes for the nex
t week’s lectures to see his friend Macy standing at the door. She was a few years older than him and a professor of art history. She was also one of the first friends he made when he moved to town. He and Macy were… well, he wasn’t sure he would’ve made it through his first year of teaching without her.
“I know. What are you doing? You can’t stay. I’ve gotta finish these notes.”
She came to visit his office fairly regularly from her own in another building across campus, but he hadn’t been expecting to see her so early in the afternoon. Macy was her usual self, a bit too stylish to be a professor, a little too exciting for the art department. Her general art history classes were popular with the students too, and she often had a rather large lecture hall more than halfway filled with very adoring male students. Avery wasn’t surprised by that. She had on a snug V-neck sweater and a pencil skirt and heels. Her hair was meticulously curled and fell down her back in perfect buttery waves. She really was beautiful. At least in an objective way. He’d never seen her as anything other than a sister.
“I think we need a drink,” she told him matter-of-factly.
“Oh, Mace, it’s been such a long week. I’m not sure I can make our drinks night this time.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She gave him an unimpressed look. “It’s been a long week for all of us. I got to break up a political debate in the middle of my European masters lecture that almost turned into a smackdown. Not sure how Renoir turned into Republicans versus Democrats, but Jesus. I would’ve canceled class if I’d known it would end up that way.”
“Yikes.” She’d texted him “longest day ever” earlier with a crying emoji, but he hadn’t gotten the details.
“Yeah. Yikes is the exact word for it. Which is why I really think I’m going to need a drink, and I’m also going to need my best friend to get a drink with me, unless he’d like to start the application process for finding a new best friend. You’ve ditched me far too many times already this quarter.” She was joking. But also annoyed. Avery knew her annoyed face better than just about anything else.
“Can I at least get a nap first?” He was resigned to the fact that he’d be out at least until midnight. Probably longer. He hadn’t protested that much. Probably because he needed to let loose a little bit too.
“You can. As long as it’s over by eight. We’re meeting at Darlene’s.”
“Of course.” Darlene’s was the unofficial hangout for their little group of colleagues—him, Macy, Karen, who taught biology, and Vaughn, who was a research scientist who worked in the lab with Karen. They’d gotten close over the past year when Macy dragged the other two in. Standing cocktail dates were pretty much a thing. He didn’t know why he even protested.
“Darlene’s,” Avery repeated. “Eight o’clock.”
“And none of this ‘I’ll stay for a drink and go home by nine’ junk. You pulled that last week, and I wasn’t impressed.”
“Two-drink minimum?” he asked with a snort. When Macy needed to go on a student-stress-related rant, there was little chance he’d be getting out of there for at least three drinks. He owed her one, though. She was there to listen to him moan and groan far more often than not.
“I’d bet on three.”
Avery sighed to himself. They knew each other so well it was almost scary.
“WHAT are you doing, dear?” Mrs. Peggs must’ve been surprised by Tyson’s button-up shirt and shoes that weren’t meant for lounging around the house.
“I thought I’d go see Dan, Brooke, and Donovan. It’s time to catch up.” It had been a few years since he’d been out socially.
Mrs. Peggs grinned. “Oh, darling, that’s a wonderful idea.”
He elbowed her. “You want to come?” Tyson had never been able to resist giving her a hard time.
“I would, but….” She gestured up to her suite at the top of the stairs. “Jamie Fraser beckons. I’m three episodes behind.”
“Of course.” Tyson chuckled.
“But tell Daniel hello. And that he can visit anytime he wants.”
“I will.”
Daniel was Dan, a bartender and sometime friend of Tyson—when Tyson was in the mood for dealing with friendship, that was. They’d known each other nearly as long as Tyson had been in New Orleans. Dan hadn’t changed any more than Tyson had, but he had his own… methods. Quite a few of them did.
TYSON wasn’t shocked to see Dan behind the bar in the club tucked away in the middle of the French Quarter. The place didn’t really have a name. It didn’t need one. It had been generations since someone came in who wasn’t expressly invited, and even after a few years away, it felt familiar. Comforting, he supposed.
Dan came around the bar and gave Tyson a long hug. “How have you been, man?”
“Okay.” He didn’t want to get into it. He’d never given reasons for his prolonged absences before. He wasn’t about to start. “Donovan here?”
“Not yet. He’ll get here in a little while, I think. That’s what he said twenty minutes ago, at least. There’s some chick he’s talking to in a human bar.” He shrugged. “Guess he’s into this one.”
“For tonight.”
“Yeah, man. Who knows.”
Dan and Tyson had spent more than one conversation discussing their confusion over Donovan’s taste for hanging out at human bars. He’d always said it gave him perspective. Whatever that meant.
Dan shot to the other side of the bar and back in seconds. He had a glass of water—knew that was all Tyson ever drank—no lemon, light ice. “Here ya go.”
“Looks like some things never change.”
Dan grinned ruefully. “We got new glasses. And Brooke dyed her hair blonde.” Tyson was right, though. There were things that never changed, and he liked that Donovan’s bar was one of them.
“I stand corrected.” Tyson cheered the air.
“It’s good to see you, T. Been too long.”
Tyson nodded and took a sip of his water. Then he gestured over to the other side of the bar, where a new customer was waiting. “You have someone to tend to.”
Dan tapped his forehead. “Yeah. I know.”
He winked and took off to take care of his customer.
THAT night they met at Darlene’s like always, and sat in their darkened corner booth, also like always. There wasn’t anything special about the bar, Avery supposed—other than the fact that it was far enough away from campus and typical early-twenties haunts that they never ran into any students. For Macy and Avery, that was enough to recommend it.
Darlene brought over their usual opening drinks. She’d gotten to know them well over the past few months, and at least drinkwise, the four of them were quite predictable. Avery took a long inhale of his mojito and sighed happily. It had been a good idea to come out after all. The pressure from the day seeped out slowly over the first couple of drinks and laughs with people who understood the best—well, except for Vaughn. He spent most of the time in his quiet lab doing research instead of tackling heated political arguments and inane questions. They still loved him, even if he never quite got what the rest of them were dealing with.
Avery was content. He and Macy chatted—well, vented—about their days and listened to Vaughn and Karen talk biology. About an hour into the night, Avery excused himself to go to the restroom. When he came back, he found Vaughn and Karen at the table, still talking in a language Avery barely understood about some experiment they were running on bread mold, but Macy was nowhere to be seen. Great. He didn’t want to just take off, but he knew his best friend. She got carried away sometimes when she needed to blow off steam, and he wasn’t in the mood to babysit an adult making very teenaged decisions.
“Where’d Mace go?” he asked.
Karen rolled her eyes fondly and pointed to the corner of the bar. Macy, with her curves and blonde waves, rarely left a room without a bit of male attention, and it seemed like that night wasn’t going to be much different. Avery planned to give her a few more minutes of flirtation before he went
over there to see if she wanted to be escorted back to their table. It didn’t take that long, though. Macy came bounding over right as he was thinking that, with this absolutely… lust drunk look on her face. Avery had never seen anything like it. Usually she had guys, and a few women, playing her game. He didn’t know what to do with a Macy who was lusting after someone herself.
“Hey, Donovan wants to take me to this other club.”
Donovan. The lithe, dark, and gorgeous-as-hell guy brooding near the front door and who’d been taking up all her attention, Avery assumed. He wasn’t Macy’s usual type, but Avery couldn’t fault her. With his heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and shaggy dark hair, the guy looked like he should have been a pirate from some romance novel cover. Macy’s eyes sparkled, and she was a little breathless. She fluffed her hair and licked her lips. Uh-oh.
“Macy.” Avery gave her a long look.
“I want to go. I really like this one, babe. I think he’ll be a lot of fun.” She winked. “At least for a few days.”
Avery gave a long sigh and looked at Vaughn. Karen nodded and stood. “Well, I’ve got to get home to Charles. You three going to be fine?” Karen liked to come out for a few drinks, but she was married and had two teenagers. She rarely stayed out very late. The other three were okay with that and regularly continued on without her.
“We’re fine,” Vaughn said.
He and Avery stood as well. “Where is this club?” he asked.
“Donovan said it’s right in the Quarter. Not too far from Avery’s place.”
“You told him where I live?” Avery was uneasy all of a sudden. Macy was usually way savvier than that. She couldn’t possibly be so into this guy that she dropped all her city girl defenses.
“No. Of course not. He told me where the bar was, and I figured out it was close to your house. I didn’t tell him that, just you.” She gave him a light eye roll and gestured at Captain Jack smoldering at the door like he was about to plunder her in his chambers. “So, I’m going to go, okay?” she told them.