Page 41 of We Were Eternal Once

But they’ve moved on and left you reeling on our bench. To them you must look bored, but I see the cracks. I see your need to leave this room, to return to the solace of our grave. Something about this confession unmoored you.

“I would like to hear more about the structure of the Elders,” Essemteu says as we leave. He hangs back, his pale gaze pointedly on you. I want to usher you into the night and back to our home where we can fall into each other’s arms and I can make you forget whatever you ran from. But you allow too much familiarity with Essemteu.

“What of it?” you ask, eyeing him warily.

“Lamia gathering as we do is rare, but it shouldn’t be. Your story proves our origin is in groups. Perhaps a little structure would bind us closer and prevent unnecessary…” He waves his hand as he thinks of the word. “Drama.”

“I am not looking to repeat my previous role…” you start.

Essemteu shakes his head. “No, no, of course not. Ardashir is more fit for that role, I would think.”

“The sword should be held by someone who knows how heavy it is, not someone who enjoys swinging it,” you scold.

Essemteu snaps, pointing at you. “See, that is just it. Your insight into these roles within a group is what we need. Guidance is what I ask.”

“I will consider it,” you say, and push beyond him into the night.

I catch up with you several streets later. You’ve slowed your relentless march to our home. When I am close, you thread your arm through mine, an uncharacteristic public display of ownership. I bite back a smile and lean into you.

“I think they see it at last,” I say.

“Hmm?” you ask, distracted.

“That you are the one to learn from, not the dead humans in their books.”

You don’t speak again until we are home, your fingers sliding into mine once inside the courtyard.

“Does your love fade for me, knowing that I was justice?” you ask.

“I don’t know what that means,” I admit. I have an idea, but I want to hear you say it. I want you to admit what brand of justice you delivered.

“I destroyed her errant creations,” you say. Your gaze travels over my face, reading every muscle that moves.

“You killed others like us,” I clarify.

“Yes,” you admit.

Oh, how I wanted to comfort you then. I wished to be like the poets in the streets, to find the right words to soothe. What could I say in that moment? That I would love you until the end of time? That I would kill every person that crosses you, human or otherwise?

“It changes nothing for me,” I say, because I cannot yet put voice to my feelings.

At the time I thought it was a failing of mine, a lack of the creative mind. It was the right thing to say, but how clumsy it sounded. I adored you, I was begging for your love, and here you were—worrying over mine.

“Elder or not, justice or not, you are always mine,” I add, because I think it is what you want to hear.

(“Not always, it seems.”)

Your mouth flickers, and for a moment I think I have erred. Then you kiss me, soft and slow, your body melting into mine. We fall into our grave and make love until the call of the sun is too strong to resist.

Crescendo

Essemteu is in our garden.

This was the danger of accepting his invitation, it rewarded his poor behavior. He thinks he can come and go as he pleases, that he is welcomed here.

I ball my fist. I don’t know much about violence, I’ve never needed it. I compel my human prey, they are no threat to me. I suppose I am stronger than them, but if it came down to a fight, I am woefully unprepared. I do not know how to strike, but his weaknesses are mine.

Perhaps I will start with words of anger? No, that is not like me. I may be older and made by an Elder, but I am a temple mouse here. Your shadow protects me from harm, but it makes me an extension of you. Normally I would not mind, but in this case I do.