Fallen Eden (15 page)

BLACK HOLE

I’d taken the motorcycle tonight. For a couple of reasons. Mainly because William’s scent clung to the SUV in such a way he could have been curled up in the back waiting for me, but also because I wanted—I
needed
—to feel careless. To feel free and alive and to feel my age. To give myself over to being twenty and doing something reckless for no other reason than,
Why not?

The road snaked around the terrain outside of Munich like the roads had been laid down for no other reason than cruising them at a hundred miles per hour. The air cut my face—yes, careless included wearing no helmet—and whistled through my ears and that instinct that was fast becoming addictive took over. It was only in these moments where my Immortal body was on autopilot that I was able to forget about him, forget about everything but the task at hand. It was a piece of heaven I hadn’t expected to find in this new phase of life, but I’d take it, no questions asked.

I screeched the bike to a stop at the pub Patrick had told me to meet him
.
When he’d appeared smack in the middle of the trail while I was out running yesterday, my first instinct was to throw my arms around him. After the other day, I never thought I’d see him again. I’d held back the hug when he crossed his arms tighter, basically ordering me to meet him here tonight because we needed to talk. His mouth closing around the last word, he disappeared, leaving me alone and reeling. I’d come up with a myriad of logical reasons we could be meeting tonight, but from experience, logical was something Patrick was not. I had no idea what I’d find waiting for me.

 
I could hear the music playing within, mixed with the roar of conversations that were more laughter than talk, streaming from the Bavarian style pub. The beveled windows threw the yellow light glowing within like prisms. It was inviting in the friendliest of ways. I would have gone inside if I’d been walking by, even if it wasn’t where I was supposed to meet someone.

I pocketed the keys to the bike and jogged across the street, dodging a couple of dwarf-sized cars by mere inches in the process. I was already throwing open the door when their horns blew. The noise that a couple of licensed clown cars were able to generate was unexpected. The screaming duo of horns roared through the open door, announcing my arrival to every diner in the pub. Not a single exception.

I froze mid-stride. “Guten tag?” I said, waving my hand unsurely.

To my relief, everyone went right back to sipping from their beer steins or tearing off pieces of their salted pretzels.  Germany was my kind of country; best friend to wallflowers around the world.

Only two sets of eyes stayed on me, although I’d only expected to be meeting one tonight. They’d selected the table in the back corner, away from the noise and masses. How inconspicuous.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Patrick said, whistling through his teeth. “And if I might say, you make holey jeans and a bomber jacket look good.”

I rolled my eyes and slid into the booth. “Hector,” I said formally, “nice to see you.” He made a motion with his head. “Patrick,” I said, more sneer than welcome, “always a pleasure.”

He crossed his arms, chuckling. “You’ll have to excuse us, Hector. Bryn and I have what one would call a love-hate relationship. Although as of late, it’s been tipped to the latter.”

Hector exhaled. “I believe that goes without saying.” He looked over at me, his face telling that he wasn’t going to put up with Patrick and me bantering the night away. “Excuse me for getting right to the heart of the matter, but with a gift such as yours, we don’t have the luxury of time.”

I scanned the room, ascertaining there was no one within eavesdropping distance. Even if someone would have been close enough to hear us, I doubted if there was anything but the pilsner and polka-esque music that could detour the patron’s attention.

Patrick cleared his throat. “I asked Hector to come tonight so we could come up with the best course of training to take with you. I’m not an experienced talent trainer and even those that are have never had the . . .
privilege
”—his jaw clenched around the word—“of working with an Immortal with a gift such as yours.”

“So I’m an Immortal abnormality is what you’re saying?” I asked, sounding more sad that confrontational.

Hector broke in before Patrick could unleash his response. “We’re in unchartered territory is what we’re saying. That’s all. You were given this gift for a reason, nothing is by accident, so along with that, I’m certain there is a way to train it. A way to harness it,” Hector continued, more to himself.

“You think there’s a way for me to control . . . it?” I asked, leaning towards him. It didn’t seem possible given I didn’t have the first clue about how it worked.

Hector paused, long enough for my shoulders to slump. “I do, it’s just complicated. It’s going to be difficult. Extremely difficult,” he said, his brows furrowing together. “Both you and Patrick will likely face death to get a full handle on it, but I have faith the two of you are up to the task. If anyone’s chomping at the bit to punch death in the face, it’s Patrick Hayward.”

Patrick motioned to his empty glass at the waitress that looked like she’d been the inspiration for the Bavarian barmaid depiction. “On that note, I think another root beer is in order.” He glanced over at me appraising his empty pint glass. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not the irresponsible, wild Hayward brother you think I am.”

“Prove it,” I mumbled, crossing my arms.

“That’s enough. Both of you,” Hector said, his voice booming. “You’ve both got an unfathomable task before you and it’s going to be over before the word go if you can’t figure out a way to set William aside and get over it.”

I felt something inside me twist when he said William’s name.

“You’re both going to wind up dead if you don’t work together.” Hector took a long drink of his water—probably in an attempt to cool down. When it ran empty, he set it down and looked pointedly at Patrick, and then me. “I don’t like to pull rank, but given I see no other solution with you two, I have no choice. As a member of your Council, I command you two to get along and let bygones by bygones. You’re on the same side, fighting the same fight. Don’t forget it.”

The waitress dropped Patrick’s frothy rootbeer in front of him, giving him a smile that needed no translation, before moving onto the next table. “Thanks for the pep talk, Hector,” Patrick jested. “I feel inspired to go for the gold, now. Thanks, coach.”

“Don’t force me to command you to keep your mouth shut, too,” Hector said, his eyes taunting him. “Because I will in a snap. Promise.”

“This thing inside me is dangerous,” I said, anxious that something terrible could happen just by talking about it. “It’s already killed someone. I can’t risk it doing the same to anyone else.” I threw a look Patrick’s way because, despite him being a serious pain in my butt lately, I couldn’t live with myself if I killed him. “This is something I need to figure out on my own.”

Patrick looked at me as if I was as dangerous as a kitten. “No offense, but I can handle myself. And did you miss the fact you could also die in the process?”

I concentrated on the soccer game playing on the old school television behind the bar. “Well, that would take care of all our problems.”

“That is not a solution,” Hector said, resting his hand over mind. “That is a tragedy.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the martyr type, Bryn,” Patrick said, staring through me. “You know, given what I know of your history and always putting others above yourself.” His eyes managed to hold more accusation in them than his tone.

“So help me, Patrick . . . ” Hector growled.

Patrick raised his hands. “Alright, alright. What is it with Immortals having no sense of humor? I must have overlooked that in the job description.”

Hector looked up at the ceiling, or maybe he was looking up for God—praying for patience. “I’ve had over two centuries of your sense of humor and I’m taking a vacation from it at present. An
extended
vacation,” he added, before twisting in his seat to face me.

“Miss Dawson, I can’t emphasize enough that, given we know so very little about your gift, there is an absolute chance you could die in the process of training it. Are you sure you don’t want to give it some thought before you agree to this?”

“I’m certain,” I said, looking Hector square in the eye. “But I’m not alright with Patrick assisting. I can’t risk his life in the process.”

“Patrick has already accepted this task and he is fully aware of the risks involved.” He glanced over at Patrick. “However, we believe you face the most risk. Possessing the kind of energy you must for such a gift to reside within you, we can’t overlook the possibility that you could just as easily kill yourself as you could someone else.”

“Hold up,” I said, raising my hands. “Are you saying I could kill myself without really knowing how? What, I’ll just explode or implode or . . .  something-plode?”

“I’m not sure of anything, but I have a theory, and please forgive the comparison,”—Hector shifted in his seat—“but your gift could very much turn you into a kind of black hole.”

“An empty, vast hole sucking the light and life out of everything that comes within a thousand mile proximity . . .” Patrick said, rubbing his chin. “That doesn’t sound like Bryn at all.”

Keeping my face expressionless and my upper half frozen, I reached my leg under the table, smashing down on his foot. The smile was wiped off his face faster than he could look to Hector for some support.

“Thank you, Bryn,” Hector said, winking one so subtle I wasn’t sure it was one. “I owe you for that.”

“It’s nice to see you two have become such good friends,” Patrick said, inspecting his foot. “The third wheel will leave you two B.F.F.’s alone.” He moved to stand up, stopped by Hector’s hand pushing his shoulder back down into his seat.

“You stay,” he instructed, rising from his seat. “I’ll go. My part in this is done. The rest is up to you two.” He gripped Patrick’s shoulder in passing. “I have faith in you.”

“Completely misplaced,” Patrick grunted. “Where are you going?” he called out to Hector as he weaved his way towards the exit.

“Seeing about that vacation,” he called back, before ducking through the door.

“
Seeing about that vacation,
” Patrick mimicked, making a face. “Now he decides to have a sense of humor.”

I sighed. Hector gone, I had no one to distract myself from Patrick with. There was nothing comfortable about sitting across from a man that straight out hated your guts because you’d torn out his brother’s . . . heart first. With Hector demanding Patrick and I behave, I wasn’t sure if this would make things harder or easier.

As the silence dragged on—something that had never occurred when I’d been in Patrick’s presence—and his plastered on smile aimed at me continued, I knew it would only make things worse. I’d take a verbal pistol-whip from Patrick any day over this grinning male version of a Stepford Wife in front of me.

“So, now what?” I asked, shifting in my seat.

Patrick shrugged, the smile falling. “We see what we’re made of. If we’re up to the task.”

“O-kay,” I said, “so in non-philosophical terms, what’s our plan?”

“We’re going to be busting our butts everyday for most of the day,” he said, leaning forward. The overhead light illuminated his eyes, making me focus on nothing but them and suddenly, it was William staring back at me.

I couldn’t look away fast enough.

“That means no more snow-bumming it with cowboy until the job’s done. Besides, last time I saw him, he wasn’t looking so good. You need to let that boy rest from time to time, Bryn. He isn’t Immortal, you know. He can’t play footsie with you twenty-four-seven.”

A proverbial light bulb went off and I had an urge—that I thankfully repressed—to kiss Patrick square on the lips. I felt as if I’d just had a miracle fed-exed to me.

“He’s dying.” I swallowed, trying not to sound like I was begging. “He doesn’t have much longer. He tries to disguise it, but he could go any day.” I stuck my tongue into my cheek, trying to keep my eyes from welling.

“There’s this great twentieth century invention called a hospital,” Patrick said, annunciating every word. “Take him to one.”

I shook my head. “He won’t go. Besides, there’s nothing they can do but delay the inevitable.”

Patrick took a long drink, wiping his mouth as he set the glass down. “And this concerns me how?”

I couldn’t believe I was going to say it, not thinking of the repercussions, but I couldn’t overlook the miracle that had been given to me. “Would you petition the Council to change him?” I asked, gulping. “Ask them to make him an Immortal.”

Patrick spewed root beer from his mouth. “You’ve got some serious balls asking me for that. Me of all people!” he shouted, his eye blazing. “Him dying would serve you both right. Neither of you deserve anything better. Not after making a fool of a good man.”

“I know I’ve done horrible things,” I said, playing origami with the napkin in front of me, ignoring the eyes turned our way from Patrick’s verbal explosion. “To so many people. I’m not asking this for me, I’m asking it for Paul. He’s a good man too, Patrick. He doesn’t deserve this.” I knew I was begging, but I didn’t care. “Please, Patrick. Please.”