Page 24 of Mortal Things

But he doesn’t answer me.

After a breath, he says, “Mortals have so much heart, yet no time to use it. Immortals have all the time in the world, yet no heart to savor it. We are always circling each other, yearning for what we cannot have.”

There is a deep, haunting heartbreak in his words, and I find myself pitying him in this moment, wondering if Raven is looking forward to giving up his mantle someday, of handing the responsibilities of death over to his understudy.

To me.

It means that only one of us can ever exist as an immortal. If I take his place, it means he has died. And the thought of that fills me with a sense of terror, of being more alone than ever.

His gaze lingers on me a second longer before he looks away.

“Guard your mortality, Rose,” he says. “I’ve already lost one Regent. I don’t want to lose another.”

A YEAR BEFORE their friendship ended, the girls were seated cross-legged opposite each other on a patch of shaded grass in Central Park, sharing cake and pie and a pint of caramel ice cream between them. It was a brutally hot August day in New York, and across the city, everyone seemed to be holding their breath—on the streets, in the subways—waiting for fall to come.

Walking past them, you were momentarily jealous of their picnic of sweets. Today was Laine’s birthday. She didn’t care for large parties, so instead, they always did this—induge in an afternoon dinner comprised strictly of desserts, and gossip until their throats went hoarse.

Laine was talking, her hands animated before her. “—James, the guy from archery practice? Well, remember I told you how he wanted to take me to that horrible tourist trap café in Hell’s Kitchen and I suggested we try this new Indian place instead, except the rain was going sideways by the time we stepped out, so we ended up ducking into an old pub right at the last minute, and it turned out to be the best meal of my life. We must’ve been there for hours, closed the place down.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Rose said as she licked her spoon. Her eyes went briefly to the long-sleeve shirt Laine was wearing. No matter how hot the day was, Laine always wore long sleeves.

“Wanted to take you there, too,” Laine went on. “You’d love it. James said maybe tomorrow night? I think he wants to get your approval.”

“My approval can be bought with a chocolate croissant,” Rose said, and Laine laughed. “When does he leave for Berkeley?”

“In two weeks.” At Rose’s knowing look, she put up a hand. “I know, Doc, I know. Don’t let myself get too hung up on him. College changes people. But he’s nice, and so gorgeous, and such a dork.”

“And he’s a good kisser?” Rose teased.

Laine wrinkled her nose. “If you start telling me the science of a good kiss—”

“Well, it has to do with oxytocin—”

Laine shoved her hard, and they both burst into a fit of giggles. “But seriously, Rose, I like him. I like him a lot.”

“You like everyone.”

“I don’t like everyone. I just, I dunno. Have low expectations.”

Rose smiled. “It’s because you’re a good person.”

At that, Laine looked down, and an uncharacteristic stillness came over her features. Before Rose could puzzle over it, though, she made a face and waved a hand. “No,” Laine said, “the key is going into every interaction assuming that the other person is an ax murderer, so that way you’re always pleasantly surprised when it’s otherwise.” She squints. “Nearly always.”

At the thought of goofy, grinning James as an ax murderer, Rose choked on her mouthful of ice cream so hard that it went up her nose. “God!” she blurted out, eyes tearing up at the stinging, icy coldness in her sinuses, and Laine threw her head back for one of her loud laughs that made passersby startle, the kind that only made Rose laugh harder.

When they finally calmed down again, Rose stared into the pint of ice cream and felt a sudden fear seize her. College changes people. They would scatter someday, too, and what would happen then? Around Laine, the lonely girl Rose once was had blossomed into someone happy and bold. She didn’t want to bear the thought of this changing, of going back to that.

“Oh!” she suddenly said, digging into her pocket. “Here.”

“Hmm?” Laine asked as she pressed a spoonful of ice cream upside down on her tongue.

Rose pulled out a necklace from her pocket and carefully put it in her open palm. It had a beautiful, dark blue stone as a pendant, deep and translucent like the ocean.

“I found it at the farmer’s market,” she said. “It made me think of you.” She offered it to Laine. “Happy birthday, girl.”

Laine stared at the pendant, then put her spoon down and took the necklace gingerly in her hands. She dangled it before her eyes, letting it turn this way and that so it could catch the light.

“Doc,” she murmured, smiling fondly at it. “You spoil a girl. Thank you.”