Nathan thought he should answer the Cardinal and get out of that cemetery. But another thought blurted from his mouth. “You’re a Prime. You have no worries for survival. You’re not poor or hungry or in mortal danger in any way. Without any of those obstacles, do you know your purpose?”

  “I do.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “When I was a little worm, I sought to serve the Lord. When I learned I was an Immortal, I sought to rule. When I lived on as a Prime, I stopped seeking.”

  “That’s it? Your purpose is nothing?”

  “I’ve existed where no other exists. Not anymore. Until you.”

  “I’m not like you. I’m not a Prime.”

  “And yet.”

  Nathan inched back further. “Well, it’s been great seeing you again. You’ve given me something to think about. But I should be going.”

  Moving faster than Nathan’s brain could register, the Cardinal appeared behind him as if the world had a jump cut. One moment, this strange being stood in front of Nathan, the next his cold breath chilled Nathan’s neck.

  Whirling around, Nathan’s leg swung back into a fighting stance. A useless gesture, and they both knew it, but muscle memory had acted without thought — that was the point. Nathan lowered his fists and straightened with a roll of his shoulders.

  “You are reacting wrong,” the Cardinal said. “You need to grow legs, little worm.”

  “Maybe you could save us both a lot of time and simply tell me why you’re here bothering me.”

  “Mmmmmm.” He hunched in close, his mouth opening into a frightening grin. “I will change things and we shall see.”

  Before Nathan could ask what any of that meant, the Cardinal tapped Nathan’s forehead with his index finger. Everything changed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The bustle of the lunch crowd, the clatter of dishes, the rumble of New York City — Nathan observed the deli patrons with a calculating eye. There was a haggard woman holding a briefcase overflowing with papers, a stain on her blouse, and a cellphone on the table. Probably a low-level lawyer, probably new to the job, probably not going to last long. In the corner, a lone man sat ramrod straight in front of an open laptop and a half-eaten sandwich. Hands resting on the keyboard, slight tremble, ready to pounce on some information the moment it arrived. A woman and her daughter stepped up to the tall display counter to order food as a slender but athletic man headed for the restrooms.

  “You ready yet?” the voice — soft, sweet — floated from across the tiny, round table.

  Nathan turned his head. His heart stopped. Jennie. The woman he had intended to marry. The woman he had intended to grow old with and die with and be buried in a cemetery with. The woman that defined love.

  “How?” The word stumbled out.

  “I assumed we’d try going up to the counter and telling them what we want to eat. But if you’ve got another idea, I’m listening.” She smiled, and warmth flushed his veins.

  Had it all been a fantasy? Some weird fever dream, perhaps? It had to have been. The idea that he was an Immortal — not only that but he was a special Immortal, the only one that could walk with the Darkness like a Prime — that was ludicrous. This made more sense. That he sat here, now, with his love, and he could smell the flowers of her subtle perfume. She reached across the table and slid her fingers between his. Solid, real fingers. Their flesh rubbing against his. He felt the ring before he spotted it.

  — Oh, crap. Not this shit again.

  The voice bounced in Nathan’s head, but it didn’t belong to him. He shook it off as he tightened his grip on Jennie’s hand. She wore the engagement ring. He had never spent so much money in his life, and he could remember sitting in this deli, holding that little blue box, summoning the courage to ask for her hand. And now he held it.

  — No, moron, you’re delusional. None of this is real.

  “Mr. Flynn?” Jennie said in a playful tone. “No thinking about cases. The courts can wait. We have an anniversary to celebrate, and it all started here.”

  — She’s right about that. I’ve watched you relive one version or another of this stupid deli for what now? Half a year?

  Nathan tried to push the voice away, but it acted with its own will. It felt like he had a second mind inside his head.

  — Oh, you’ve really lost it now. It’s kind of funny. Ironic, y’know? For an Immortal like you, going crazy means not talking to the voices in your head. Figures your kind would have it all backwards.

  Go away, Nathan thought. You’re not real.

  — Buddy, pal, listen to me. Jennie’s the one that’s not real. None of this is.

  “Jennie is my wife.”

  “That’s right, hon. I’m proudly Mrs. Jennifer Flynn. One year down and a lifetime to go.” She leaned close to kiss him. “Let’s not waste it.”

  — Go ahead, fool. Get this over with. Try to kiss her. It ain’t going to happen. Never does. Whenever you try, she disappears.

  Jennie waited, her eyes glinting with joy as she puckered. He wanted to lock that head voice away. Banish it. Join his wife in a reaffirming kiss that would set reality in place. But the air in the deli shimmered.

  — Get it, yet? You’re not sitting in New York. In fact, if your weak mind has shown me anything, I’m pretty sure this moment never happened at all. Jennie was never here. You were, though. With a friend —

  Charlie? Nathan pictured his old law school buddy in Jennie’s place, chomping on a sandwich, trying to give advice on proposing marriage.

  — Yeah, I think that’s his name. And that other dude who went into the bathroom a moment ago, he’s an Immortal. Same one that’s going to kill you and swipe your soul. But you turn the tables, and in the end, you surprise him — me, too, ‘cause I can’t believe a chump like you could manage it — but in the end, you take over his body. Even changed your name a little.

  Nathan K?

  — Bingo.

  Nathan looked at Jennie once more, but her hand evaporated like steam. The rest of her soon followed. Except right as she vanished, a shadow stood next to her, arm around her shoulder, and though Nathan could not make out any clear features, he knew this was Charlie, too. A sliver of another memory pinged in his head — sitting in a car in New York City, watching Charlie and Jennie through a living room window, feeling rage. But he had no time to fixate on this as the deli slipped away, too. Pieces of it disintegrated like burning leaves.

  A sterile room took over. Seafoam-green tile, chrome counters and a sink glimmering under strong lights, an operating table in the center — upon which Nathan sat. The gentle hum of air conditioning chilled the room.

  — Nah, my idiot friend. This ain’t where you want to be. It’s worse here than the real world.

  This isn’t real, either?

  — Nope.

  Then where the hell am I?

  — We’ve been stuck in the personal prison of some piece of crap called Larkin.

  The name jolted through Nathan’s body.

  — Grim place. Real old-school dungeon feel. I’ve been here for at least six months, maybe longer. I got no idea how many years you’ve spent here. And you’ve been going a bit nuts lately.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’m talking with myself.”

  — I ain’t you. I’m your second soul — I was a cabbie that picked some lady up at La Guardia. On the drive, she went berserk, started fighting, and we crashed. Next thing I know, I’m wearing a hood on my head for a bunch of hours. Later, they bring me to you, and get this, they kill me. Shoot me in the noggin. But instead of going off to the Pearly Gates, I wake up in your head.

  “You said this place wasn’t real.”

  — I meant our jail cell. Not this PTSD delusion of what Doc Kempo does to you.

  Nathan’s stomach roiled at the thought of Dr. Kempo. He could see the woman’s stern face, her jaw always locked tight, her gray hair pulled back to the point of straining her skin. She clenched a tablet like a weapon and had the teeth of a vampire.

  — Stop thinking about her. She’s a monster and we don’t need to give her any of our time. She takes enough of it as it is.

  But seeing her malicious eyes hit Nathan in the gut. A moment flashed — strapped to that metal table, screaming as Dr. Kempo ordered more and more pain inflicted upon him. Torture without any questions asked.

  — Come on, Nathan, ol’ pal. I don’t want to go through that again. Wake up already.

  Nathan rubbed his eyes, his hands free to move, and reality — at least, he hoped it was reality — came into view. Then again, why would anyone hope for this to be reality? His second soul had been truthful. He sat in a medieval dungeon.

  — Not exactly. Best I can tell, this was an old wine cellar.

  He experienced the cell with clarity now — the wet stone walls, the cool temperature, the chains embedded in the floor, the torn blanket at his side, and the foul bucket in the corner. Slivers of amber light crept around a metal door. A dark stain on the stone floor marked where a wine bottle had been dropped ages ago. Or where somebody’s blood had been spilled.

  — Your pal, Larkin, said this part of the house was converted into a prison in the 17th century.

  Larkin. Once more that name rushed into him like a shot of adrenaline. The puzzle pieces connected, and the picture cleared up. After the fiasco in Australia, Nathan left in the custody of his former mentor, Octavia. They injected something into him to knock him out, but he recalled stumbling onto a private jet and banking over water. Not very helpful memories.

  Wherever this place was in the world, he had not seen daylight in months. Nor had he seen Larkin. No surprise there. Throughout the years since becoming an Immortal, Nathan had rarely seen Larkin. The man preferred operating from a distance. Maybe that allowed him to swallow the cruelty he inflicted on others. And that word — cruelty — did not begin to cover what Larkin had authorized for Nathan.

  When he had agreed to leave with Octavia, he knew Larkin wouldn’t have him killed permanently. That had been the intention years back — kill Nathan twice and let a new soul take control of the Immortal body. But then they saw what he could do. Only a Prime, an Immortal that had never lost its original soul, should be able to move so fast, so strong. But here was Nathan doing the impossible. Once Larkin learned about that, Nathan knew death would not be coming his way anytime soon. They had to understand how Nathan behaved like the Cardinal.

  The Cardinal?

  Nathan’s fuzzy memory flashed moments in an alleyway in New Orleans. And a different meeting with Larkin. A deal to protect somebody.

  But then Dr. Kempo came into the picture — her sadism meant to be the catalyst for discovering Nathan’s talents. Hurt him enough and he’ll be forced to use his abilities. The way Dr. Kempo’s eyes gleamed as she administered pain — he shuddered.

  The clang of a door snapped him free from the horrors his mind dared to remember. A repeating squeak followed — a wheel in need of oil. Along with shuffling feet, the sounds moved closer.

  — I’ll say this much for our jailers — they don’t skimp on the food. It’d be nice if the bastards fed us more often, but when they do, at least it’s good stuff.

  Indeed, Nathan smelled a fine steak. His mouth salivated as his stomach gurgled. The wheel continued to whine as it rolled closer, yet even while Nathan’s ravenous hunger clouded his brain, he noticed the sound never stopped. Not once. Was he the only prisoner here? Was his the only cell?

  — Don’t know the answer there, but we’ve never heard another person down here other than Anton, and that’s only when he serves the meals. Still, you can’t be the only one. Use your noggin a little. I mean, they kidnapped me, killed me, and stuck me inside you. So, I was prisoner here for a time, too.

  When the approaching wheel ceased, Nathan heard footsteps clump to the cell door. Despite there being a sliding access panel, the man — presumably Anton — unlocked and opened the door. He pushed the rolling tray in. A rusted, chipped version of elegance from an age long forgotten. On the tray, an equally rusted silver cover domed over the food.

  Anton wore jeans and a stained t-shirt. A keyring jangled at his hip. Not quite the butler image to go with the rest. More like a slumlord. Except rather than ownership of the jail, he moved like a beaten dog and never lifted his eyes from the floor. Lacking of any flare, he removed the cover, revealing a ribeye with a side of sauteed mushrooms and a baked potato. The steak and potato had been cut into bite-sized pieces. A spoon had been provided. No fork. No knife.

  Nathan looked over Anton carefully but saw no signs that he was an Immortal. Usually, a distinct aura shimmered along the edges of an Immortal. Imperceptible by regular people, other Immortals often used that dim shimmering as an identifier. But even if Anton were one of the few that could hide their aura, Nathan found it hard to believe that any Immortal would act so subservient. Too much arrogance came along with knowing Death held no power.

  As Anton backed out of the cell and locked the door, Nathan frowned. It would have been easy to blast right through Anton and straight to freedom. The guy wasn’t even armed. So, why hadn’t Nathan done it already? Every mealtime had to have presented the opportunity. What did they hold over him that stopped him from taking control of his situation?

  — Yeah, I know a little about that. I been askin’ you for weeks. Every time we get close to the full answer, you go all crazy on me, drift off into your little dreamland and when you get back, it’s this same old crap again. You ask me, I think Doc Kempo screwed with your head once too often. But I got this much out of you — you’re protecting someone. You’re worried if you do anything wrong here, they’ll hurt her.

  Dr. Kempo?

  — Why the hell would you care about them hurting Doc?

  Then another her?

  — I think so. But I ain’t saying any more. If I do, you’ll get all quiet and we’ll be back in that stupid deli. Besides, we should eat this steak. Whenever you go off into your head, you come back and the first meal we get kinda resets you. Helps you put everything back into place. Also, I’d like to taste that fine food before it goes cold.

  Unsure of anything, Nathan followed the advice from the voice in his head. If he was going insane, at least he could lose his mind on a full stomach. Not surprisingly, he had told himself the truth. Each spoonful of beef, mushrooms, and potato proved that, even in captivity, a fine steak satisfied like no other food.

  “Nathan.”

  Perking his head up, he paused with a half-chewed cube of meat in his mouth. He listened with his ears and his mind.

  — Wasn’t me, the voice in his mind answered.

  “Hello?” Nathan said, his voice crinkling like sun-dried paper. Had he not been speaking before? Maybe it all had truly been a hallucination.

  “In the potatoes,” the tinny voice said.

  Nathan glanced down at his plate. Great. Now his food was talking to him. At least, insanity would be amusing.

  “If you can hear me, check the potatoes. Then we can talk to each other. Unless that Anton fellow screwed me over and I’m talking to a trash can.”

  Using his spoon, Nathan pushed bits of baked potato one way, then the other. A second later, he uncovered a gray pebble. He leaned closer. Not a pebble. An ear-comm.

  “Come on, Nathan. I know they’ve done some horrible things to you, really screwed up your head,” the voice said, “but there’s no way you’ve forgotten me.”

  With a swell in his chest, he cleaned potato bits off the ear-comm. He knew. That voice — even as a tin can peep — well, she was right. He could never forget his dearest ally. His friend.

  Thrusting the ear-comm in place, the corners of his mouth dared to tremble. Thrilled that those muscles had not atrophied, he cleared his throat. “Robin? Tell me something so I know it’s really you and not my mind playing tricks. Tell me —”

  “Miracle of miracles, this might be the first time you’re actually requesting that I talk. And far be it from me to deny you such a gracious gift. After all, I have more than a few words to share with you — but you should expect some admonishment, too. Leaving me in Australia and allowing Larkin and Octavia to stick you down here. What were you thinking? Never mind. Don’t answer that. You can justify it all later. Right now, how about we get you out of there?”

  His heart quickened, and his eyes watered. Robin. Dearest, sweetest, rambling Robin.

  A full smile rose against his cheeks. “Sounds great.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The longer she talked — and she could talk a lot — the more Nathan’s sense of self returned. He recalled Octavia taking him to a private plane at an airstrip in the Australian desert. He recalled her men bagging his head. He recalled a long, nearly endless flight.

  He tried to engage her in conversation, but Octavia only provided short responses. That near-silence only caused his suspicions to strengthen — that Larkin intended to have Nathan turned into a lab rat until they understood what made him different. Then they would kick him out of his Immortal body and let another soul take over — one they expected to have real control over.

  But something else happened. He couldn’t quite reach it in his memory, but he knew Larkin had surprised him with a different proposal. He could see the man — a prim gentleman from another age garbed in a white suit and sporting a thin goatee. He could hear the man — gentle voice a soft timbre that still manage to imply threats no matter how kind the words. But it all floated in the dim recess of memory.

  Nathan had agreed to that other proposal. He knew that much. Yet whatever that deal, it must have gone wrong. Because for months now, Dr. Kempo had subjected him to one torment after another.

  It wasn’t punishment. Not entirely. More an effort to trigger his Prime-like abilities. But nothing had worked. It never would. Nathan refused to cooperate. He would sit and endure whatever malicious suffering Dr. Kempo devised, but he would never do what they wanted. And without his participation, they would never succeed.

 

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