It was a strange feeling having my life story read off in the few breaths it took to read the solitary paragraph that held the nineteen years of my life.
“It appears you had a string of medical misfortunes,” Draco said, pulling me from my morose memories of my Mortality. He pulled several sheets out and read from them. “You’ve been in and out of hospitals since you were barely a toddler. Age four—admitted for second-degree burns on chest and stomach.” Draco looked up at me, expecting a response.
I played through my reply in my mind before I answered, willing it to sound even and unemotional. “That’s right. I burnt myself with a boiling pot of water when I was making dinner.”
“You were making dinner when you were four?” Draco’s dubious tone was familiar—it was the same tone the nurses had used with me when I was admitted that night for my burns.
Like every other night of my childhood, Dad was working late, Mom was away on a business trip, my nanny Lucy was chatting on the phone with her boyfriend . . . and it was dinner time. Thankfully, the scars had healed, Mom gave her two week notice and became a stay-at-home-mom, and I stuck to microwave dinners after that.
“That’s right,” I answered, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as I had sixteen years ago in the hospital.
“Three years later”—Draco flipped to the next page—“admitted for smoke inhalation. More run-in’s making dinner?” He looked up at me, and I heard several muffled chuckles.
“Not, exactly,” I replied, having to work to make sure my eyes didn’t narrow. “Our neighbor’s house was on fire and her cat was still inside.” I shrugged. I’d saved Mrs. Maddox’s cat from being burned alive and only suffered a couple days in the hospital and a few scratches on my face—a small price to pay by my calculations, even though the cat died three weeks later of apparent “old age”.
“Cracked pelvis at the age of eleven.” Before Draco’s eyes had a chance to look up to me for my response, I broke into it, familiar with the pattern.
“My little cousin ran into the street at the same time a car came around the corner. They didn’t see him—it was dark—so I pushed him out of the way, and the car hit me instead.” Again, the outcomes of my best intentions never turned out as planned. Ethan suffered a concussion and had to get twenty-two stitches when his head slammed into the curb after I’d pushed him out of the way. In comparison, I’d practically gotten off easy—a run-in with a minivan and one cracked hip.
Draco’s expression changed, as if he was surprised by the stories behind the medical records. To someone who didn’t know the less than ideal outcomes from these events, I might have sounded like some do-gooder . . . but I wasn’t that. No matter what I’d done in my Mortal life, it felt like I never belonged. The world never seemed to want or welcome me. I was an alien in a foreign land. I hoped with all my Immortal strength this vex would not have crossed over into Immortality with me.
“And most recently, a hospitalization for a near-fatal bullet wound.” Draco was no longer reading off the white pages of my dark history, but looking hard into my eyes. “Although we’re aware of the events leading up to this, as well as the outcome.”
Despite being Immortal, my scars somehow managed to throb with pain.
“Your Mortal life was not good to you, was it?”
I was near tears, but I couldn’t let them fall. I couldn’t let these men be a part of my pain. “Not, exactly,” I whispered, breaking Draco’s stare.
Ezra burst in next; huge in stature, complemented by hands that looked like they could crush through steel. “After all these bleeding-heart stories of trying to save Mortals . . . or their pets,”—Ezra smiled at John; his teeth looking as if they would give steel a crunching as well—“are you sure she’s an Inheritor? She’s got the makings of a Guardian written all over her Mortal file.” He finished, tapping my folder with his first.
John, who’d remained silent throughout Draco’s inquisition, turned to me. “Why don’t we ask her? What are you Bryn?”
I answered immediately, the lie easy to speak when I knew the reason I told it—to keep him safe, “An Inheritor, of course.” The strength in my voice had returned since we were no longer discussing the painful pieces of my past.
“How do you know?” John pressed, licking his lips and leaning forward in his seat.
“Because it was an Inheritor that freed me from the Mortal life I never belonged in. I belong here,” I said with conviction, because it was true. I belonged wherever the one who’d saved me was, and if he departed to the molten core of the earth, I’d follow him there too.
“Very good, most introspective,” Draco complimented, before turning to John and exchanging a look that made me uncomfortable. If John was the would-be buyer in purchasing me, Draco was the seller. I definitely felt like I was standing on the auction block.
“Mr. Winters is your professor, isn’t that right?” Simon, similar is his appearance to John; tall, handsome, copper-brown hair, and while the color of his eyes was the same as John’s, they did not register the emotion that made me cringe whenever John’s fell upon me.
“That’s correct,” I replied, regulating my heartbeat so the increase couldn’t be detected when I talked about him.
Lucius broke in. “John tells us that Professor Winters and you spent some time together while you were still a Mortal and before he Immortalized you—”
“Immortalized her on his own,” Simon muttered under his breathe, sounding both furious and jealous.
Lucius continued, “Do you know why he would go to such extreme measures to save you?”
This was one of the questions I was dreading. Painful as it was, I could sit and respond to the pitiful pieces of my former life all day, but I didn’t want to talk about him. I didn’t trust that my physical or mental constraints could keep him protected. I took in a long breath of the unnecessary air, determined I would say or show nothing that would compromise him.
“He’s selfless,” I answered simply, having to work hard to keep my two word response unemotional.
“More like stupid,” Ezra sneered under his breath.
“Isn’t selflessness part of the Immortal way?” I shot back, my rebuff intended for Ezra, but it was Draco that responded.
“There’s a fine lie between selflessness and self-preservation, Bryn. Professor Winter’s crossed that line.” Then Draco’s somber expression flattened, and a smile curled up one side of his mouth. “But there’s no need to cry over spilled Mortality . . . Professor Winter’s gift is quite exceptional and will come in handy again, I’m sure.”
“I think we’ve ascertained the selflessness of Professor Winters,” John said, sounding bored. “I’d like to know how you’d explain his obvious intensity towards you. Whenever I come around you two, I can feel the anger rolling from him,” John finished, revealing that William’s strong emotions had not only been felt by me.
How could I answer this? It wouldn’t be wise to deny William’s behavior; John was already convinced. It would be even less wise to admit the reason why he wanted to tear John’s head off. My mind raced over the past couple days . . . searching for something . . . some kind of innocent explanation—and then I recalled Patrick’s comments regarding William’s reputation.
I watched a few sets of eyebrows raise at my continued silence, so I went with the only thing I had. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware that Master William has a tendency towards . . . crankiness at times.” The lie felt like a sacrilege, but if it kept him safe, it was worth it. “Especially if someone distracts his student from their studies.”
John’s smile and roaring laughter came instantly, as if I’d just said the funniest thing he’d heard in years. The Council attempted to hide the smirks on their faces; they were also familiar with William’s austere reputation. For the first time since I’d met Patrick, I felt grateful we’d been introduced.
“You’re an observant one, aren’t you? It generally takes a few weeks before our young Immortals pick up on the quirks of our Alliance’s most distinguished professor,” John spoke in between his continued laughter. “I certainly hope he hasn’t embittered your time here too much.”
If only John knew. Everything besides William had embittered my stay here. William had been the best part of these past couple days—the best part of my life.
Lourdes cut in for the first time. He had a quality to his face, making it both so equally handsome and pretty, it would have inspired the great renaissance artists. “Going back to your studies, Miss Dawson . . . has anyone gone over the reason we are reborn into Immortality with pale blue eyes?”
Gulp. This conversation had taken yet another uncomfortable turn.
“Yes, John discussed that with me last night.”
Lourdes nodded his head, not appearing pleased or displeased. “Then you understand the importance . . . the requirement, we Immortals hold purity to.” Lourdes’s conviction resonated through every inch of the room. “Our ability to set aside our own desires for the interest of the greater good is what makes us superior. That is why the Councils were created centuries ago—to decide what is best for our kind.”
The men around him nodded their heads in agreement as he continued, “It is very difficult for a young Immortal to understand the stringency of our ways—the Mortal desires don’t die off right away. It is essential, though, that you immediately adhere to our ways, hard as they may be.” Lourdes’ face was lined with wrinkles of fervency. “Do you understand the consequences for breaking the rules of our kind?” He didn’t wait for my response, though I’m sure I knew the answer.
“Death,” he said, as the word vibrated through my body, spreading it’s blackness through every nerve, muscle and vein. “Not just Immortal death—to go on completing life as a Mortal—but end of existence death . . . wiped off the face of the planet.”
The blackness tearing through me, intensified. I focused my attention on the top button of Lourdes’s jacket, not allowing my eyes to look directly into his, because I knew they would betray me. They would betray everything my mind circled around now, and the fear. Extreme fear—not for me, but for William.
“Enough of the severe dogma for one day, my friend,” Julius said to Lourdes, lightening the mood with about as much effect as the devil turning the temperature down a degree or two in hell. “No need to completely terrify the girl.” He motioned with his hand to me. “Besides, she’s already well informed and has been an exemplary Immortal from John’s report.” Julius looked to John to confirm, and John nodded his head in agreement.
“Absolutely exemplary,” he answered, sounding as if his response was filled with a hidden meaning.
“The Council is satisfied. We have no further questions for her, John. We will deliberate and give you the Council’s decision soon,” Draco said.