“Charlie.”
It was barely more than a whisper, but I heard it. I stepped up to the side of her bed. Esmer blinked at me, groggy and slow. Her breaths came in short gasps. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must be just to breathe.
She grimaced. “Ow.”
I let out a short laugh. “That’s an understatement.”
“You were there,” she said through swollen lips. “You knew where to find me. How?”
“I’m stalking you,” I deadpanned.
A rattling cough had her turning away from me for a second. Her hand came up to her chest. One of her fingers was in a little splint. Her face twisted in pain. Then she settled back against the pillows.
“Don’t…make me…laugh,” she panted. “It hurts…too much.”
I sighed. “You’d never believe the truth. Why don’t we just stick with the stalking story?”
“Because I’ve…never lied…to you.” Esmer closed her eyes. Breathed some more. Peeked up at me again. “Because we’re…friends.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek.
Esmer said she didn’t scare easily, but I was sure she’d never heard anything like Jasmine’s and my story before. There was a chance it would freak her out. Or worse: the truth could make her feel sorry for me. Then she’d try to still be my friend even if she was secretly terrified of or repulsed by me. Just like Penny did.
I wasn’t ready to lose those honest conversations and the smiles that came so effortlessly and the way she stole glances at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
“I have to talk to Jasmine first,” I finally said. “If she says it’s okay, I’ll tell you everything. Deal?”
Esmer smiled in response. Then she fell back to sleep.
December 2nd, 1949
The thought plagued me all week. We were moving through Alaska when we were snowed in. We stayed huddled in our tent for three weeks, unable to force our horses to move through the snow any farther. We really had no desire to walk through the storm, so we just slept and talked, wrapped in each other’s arms the whole time. There was nothing different about our situation. We always slept together, always talked. The only good thing about our curse is that we are allowed to share such intimacy for our whole existence. However, the second week of our entrapment, I couldn’t get the thought of children out of my head.
We can’t have children; a detail of our curse. But even before the curse, Dymeka and I had been married five years and we were unable to bear children. Fadele and Nij had two. Segil and Izz bore one baby that was already dead and one that lived.
I was barren: a curse in and of itself in our tribe. We were scorned. There must have been something wrong with us because all six of us married so old. I was about eighteen when Dymeka came to my tribe to find a wife. And he didn’t marry me for another year. Nij and Segil are younger than me but they were married at seventeen. We were all scandalous. Old maids, for our time. But the three of us were saved by the most wonderful men. That was why we became such close friends. Our age, our matrimonies; all unceremonious. The fact I was barren only added to our oddity.
But they had children. Not for long, of course—they were killed by our tribe. Once they saw how we did not age but our children did—they burned the offspring and tried to kill us as well. We escaped only to run and continue running for eternity. The death of their children haunted our brethren for so many years but after several centuries, the four of them forgot, or so they say. I have a vague suspicion their loss was in some way a catalyst for their behavior and thinking later in life.
I always envied them; the fact they ever had children at all. Dymeka says I’m the only person he needs to be happy and I feel the same about him, but there are moments I miss the children we never had. Being trapped in our tent made me think how differently our lives would have been if we had children with us the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gone so wrong. But the other immortals had children and that didn’t seem to stop them from surrendering their lives to Death.
Chapter 15
Jasmine
When I woke up, I could still hear the echoes of Death’s groaning. She felt as if her time had been wasted, as if she’d come to the land of the living for nothing. I didn’t see what the big deal was; it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. Still, I felt her frustration as if it was my own. But mostly, I felt icky.
Charlie sat by my bed. That frown he wore made him look old and miserable. He wasn’t wearing his contacts. That meant he hadn’t gone outside in a while. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him with the same eggplant-colored eyes I saw whenever I looked in the mirror. His hair was getting long; we’d look more alike now if we stood side by side.
He stared down at my comforter, deep in thought while twirling a soldering iron between his fingers. When I glanced at my bedside table, I saw that I had a new knick-knack; a tiny owl made out of copper and steel wires as thick as pencils. It could’ve fit in the palm of my hand. I smiled sleepily. I hated to see him upset, but he made the prettiest toys when he was.
“She’s adorable,” I said. “I think I’ll call her Buffy the Tuff Owl.”
My brother smiled a little. He set the soldering iron aside and leaned forward. “How’re you feeling?”
“About the same as Esmer, I expect.” I sat up slowly. Pressure against the sides of
