Immortal

cafeteria and polish off the liquor supply. They fumigated the place four times and fired three sets of guards before someone figured out that the ugly Hellenic Adonis knockoff in the corner changed poses every day.

*  *  *

Nate and Gary threw another party on Thursday, which is evidently the start of the weekend when you’re in college. I certainly wasn’t about to complain, and Jerry didn’t mind at all. As crude and brazen as iffrits generally are, they all adhere to the basic survival imperative and avoid being seen—as themselves—as much as possible, so he appreciated a roomful of people he could come out and party with. And Jerry can party.

“He’s so cute,” exclaimed one buxom blonde gleefully as Jerry performed one stunt after another.

“I’ll show you cute, sweetie!” he exclaimed, grabbing himself again. This generated a raucous round of laughter.

“Hey,” I said to the blonde, “I’m immortal, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Oh look!” Jerry was giving himself a blow job. Again. How does a guy compete with that?

Frustrated at having been thoroughly upstaged by a talking kewpie doll, I grabbed Jerry off the mantle. “Okay, gang. Let him rest, he’ll be here all week.”

“C’mon, Adam!” Jerry complained loudly. I wended my way through the crowd and carried him into the bathroom, shutting the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “I was doin’ great!”

“You need a time-out,” I said. “Before one of those girls makes the mistake of assuming you’re harmless.”

“Jealous?”

“Very. Asshole.” Sometimes swearing at him is the only way to communicate. Iffrits are much like New Yorkers in that way.

“Fuck you. I think the blonde likes me.”

“Fine, but you’re cramping my style,” I pointed out.

“Chasing younger women again, Adam? You dog.”

“Only because I don’t know anyone my age. Now calm the hell down or I’ll flush you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

He plunked himself down on the bar of soap and sulked. I made a mental note not to use that soap in the morning.

“What are you doing in Boston, anyway?” I asked him. “Thought you were having too much fun in Cleveland.” Jerry had followed me from Pittsburgh to Cleveland which, I presume, was one of the reasons I left Cleveland for Boston.

“I didn’t tell you?” he asked, perking up.

“You might have. I don’t remember.” I can be something of a blackout drunk. Immortally speaking, it’s sort of convenient sometimes.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to flush me?”

I considered it. “Okay. But no funny stuff tonight. I plan to crash here for a while, and I don’t want you wrecking things.” By funny stuff I meant Jerry’s peculiar brand of seduction—get a girl drunk, wait for her to pass out, and then spend the rest of the night in her pants. I mean that literally. That blonde wasn’t going to think he was so cute after she found him curled up in a post-coital slumber in her panties.

“I saw her,” he said simply.

“Saw who?”

“Her. I saw her. Fuck, Adam, the one you keep talking about. I saw her.”

I stared at him. “You’re lying.”

“Bright red hair and pale skin, just like you said.”

“She’s dead,” I argued. “I told you that.”

“Didn’t look dead from where I was sitting. Creeped the fuck outta me. Swear to Baal, my scrotum got sucked right into my asshole when I looked at them blue eyes.”

I could have sworn I never told him what color her eyes were. My heart skipped several beats and threatened to stop altogether. Had he actually seen her? “Where was this?” I asked quickly.

“I was polishing off the JD supply at Sully’s, right? You remember, that little dive on the East side? Yeah, so I was up on the bar and showing myself a good time when I saw her face. In the window, I mean. Peeking in on me. Think she was looking for you.”

I grabbed him by the little shoulders. “Did she say anything? Did you talk to her?”

“Oww! Shit no. I just… you know, stared back. I told you, that chick freaked the fuck outta me. Anyway, I blinked, and she was gone.”

I let go of him. “All right,” I drained the last of my beer from the party cup. I thought she was dead. It didn’t seem possible. But why would he lie?

“Listen,” I said, “thanks for telling me. You didn’t have to come all the way here for that.”

“Hey, no prob. This place is a better bar town anyway. So, you wanna open the door now?”

I opened the door and let him scamper out to continue his Iffrit Unnatural Acts performance. He stopped at the doorway.

“Hey, what the hell is she, anyway?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think she’s human, bud. Seriously. Not that I give a shit about your ass, but I’d do everything I could to stay the fuck away from her.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

Not the first time I’d gotten that warning. Probably wouldn’t be the last. He couldn’t understand. Every other face I’ve ever known eventually aged, sagged, and died. Jerry’s would, too. But the first time I’d gazed at the red- haired woman with the haunting blue eyes was over ten thousand years ago. Human or not, she was the only other immortal I’d ever seen.

Chapter 3

The thing in the cell next to mine is definitely not human. It’s much too strong.

    I’ve been hearing this deep pounding noise every night since I got here. Kind of like the sound of distant artillery. Never knew what it was until this morning, when Ringo took me on my daily walk to the lab. We strayed a bit closer than usual to the second building, and whatever’s in there attacked the door. I swear, the door nearly buckled. Which is pretty amazing since just a cursory glance would tell you the whole structure is reinforced with steel.

More tellingly, Ringo flinched. It takes some kind of big ugly to make a thing as nasty as Ringo flinch.

They don’t let it out. At all. Or feed it. I think they’re just waiting for it to die of starvation.

I just might know what it is.

*  *  *

I was in America the last time I saw the red-haired woman.

It was 1922, and I’d ended up in Chicago at the height of Prohibition. (Why anyone in their right minds would want to ban alcohol is beyond me. What I was doing in a country that banned it… well, that’s a story for