Page 136 of White Lights
“Through the Veil,” Rafe says, “we can reach the dying swiftly.”
He beats his wings, and they enter the cool mist of the Veil. Dez sees a blinding flash of light as they dive down an incredible depth at an incredible speed.
Then they’re in a small dark bedroom facing a man Dez has never met but would know anywhere. Odin Day. Rafe sets her down near a window facing the woods. Odin and his wife, Penelope, whose love story Dez traced like a great novel’s plot, lie sleeping side by side under a red woven quilt. Rafe presses a finger to his lips.
“Stay where you are,” he says, “and watch closely. But do not interfere with what you’re about to see. These people can’t perceive me, but if anyone wakes and finds you here, they will freak the fuck out. Understand?”
Dez nods as Rafe moves to Odin’s bedside. He bows at the waist as if he might kiss the man’s sleeping cheek. But no, Dez sees he’s whispering something she can’t hear.
Next, he unties the belt of his black trench coat and opens the left side, and Dez stares at what’s within. Sewn into the inner lining of his coat there must be hundreds of tiny syringes. He takes one out from the center of the collection, holds it up to the window. He flicks it, as a nurse would, with his middle finger.
It’s filled with nacreous smoke, which Rafe carefully injects into the base of Odin’s neck.
Dez stares as an iridescent shimmer rises off the man’s skin.
“His soul,” Rafe explains. “We can’t stay long.”
As Rafe lifts Dez in his arms again, she can’t wrest her eyes from the dying man receiving the Life Review she made for him.
She hopes it’s enough, those scenes she placed together. Working on it in the Vault, she could almost feel the softness of his newborn skin becoming worn and cancerous twenty-seven short years later. There were casting calls and understudy roles. Agonizing self-doubt. Arguments like geysers with Penelope, and laughter and long kisses in between. The serenity of a fishing rod in his hand. Bringing home the day’s catch to see her face light up when she opens the door.
Then it strikes Dez.
This is what it’s all for. The work she does at Acheron. The lives these people live. It’s the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking thing there’s ever been.
Mortal love.
RAFE’S WINGS BEAT THEM BACKin the cloud, back into the Veil. And then they’re touching down again on the mountaintop where they started, a world away from Odin Day.
“What did you think?” Rafe says.
“You made it seem so peaceful.”
“That’s because you made a perfect film,” he says.
“Where’s Odin going now?” she asks. “After the White Light, on the other side of the Veil?”
“Beyond.”
Dez squints at him. “You don’t know, do you?”
“And I don’t need to know,” Rafe says. “I have a job to do, and I do it to the best of my ability.”
But Dez still wants to know.
“You do this every day,” she says. “All those syringes.”
“One of us does,” Rafe says. “It used to be Sam’s domain, but now the rest of us trade off. The process moves more quickly when I don’t have passengers, but still, we can keep up.”
“Thank you for showing me.”
“You want to know the truth about the scenes that aren’t in the Vault?” Rafe asks.
“Yes,” Dez says quickly.
He takes a breath, seeming to choose his words carefully. “So, you know no mortal gets to live forever.”
“Of course,” Dez says.
