Page 61 of We Were Eternal Once

“Melinoë,” I say, and he takes my hand in the way the Parisians greet.

“I do not know that name,” he admits.

“We have not met, how would you?” I ask.

“Forgive me, I am still learning the concepts of this language. What is the origin of your name? I am of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.”

“Greek, of Delphi,” I say. It is the most anyone has asked of me, other than you. You don’t have to ask anymore, though. You’ve been there for everything important in my life.

“Delphi!” Tomasz says, loud enough for the two nearest tables to turn. I scowl at him, sinking deeper into my chair.

“Ah, not here, daughter of the oracle. Palais is a place to hide, yes, but not from yourself. But forgive me for assuming, surely you are not of that age.”

“Of the oracle?” I ask. I squint to remember. I’ve heard stories of her, and by all accounts I should remember her. Perhaps that is the goddess I recall, when the acolytes were so adamant that it was Apollo I served. Once more, my memories of that time are sluggish, disorienting. There is blood and singing and…crying? No, not crying. That can’t be right.

“I pry, it is my nature,” Tomasz says, watching my face for every reaction. He reads what I do not say, that it hurts to drag through the swamp of my memories. “I suppose anyone that old would forget a thing or two. Only so much space in here.” He taps the side of his head, at his temple.

“You study the pamphlets,” I say, turning our conversation to the papers before him. There are many, spread out before him, scrawled on with charcoal.

“I do,” he admits gleefully.

“You care for the affairs of humans?”

“Yes and no. Yes, because it reminds me of my humanity. No, because it reminds me of how I lost it. I follow ideas. They are as destructive as armies, you see. I want to be here when it happens.”

“When what happens?”

“The destruction.” His grin is all teeth, a cat that caught his prey. I do not feel like the prey in this, I feel as another cat, already full to the brim, watching their companion kill.

“So this is what brought you to this cafe? To watch?”

“To watch you, yes. I noted you a fortnight ago. Forgive me for not approaching you right away, I wanted to know you a bit first.”

How unsettling that his eyes might trace me, and I was none the wiser.

“Know me?” I ask, my hackles up.

“Yes. You hunt humans in quiet, never leaving a mess. You are a close follower of the rules, I see.” He lifts his glass to toast and my stomach turns over.

“The rules?” I ask. My voice is not as strong as I’d hoped, it shakes and tumbles.

“There I go again, speaking ahead of myself. There is a small group of us here in Paris, we are all of a like mind. Five in total.” My skin crawls.

Is this another cycle I am to live through? Instead of it being the rise and fall of the humans, it is the reincarnation of your cult. I almost stand and leave, but my anxiety roots me to the chair.

“We developed a set of rules, loose things to remain clandestine. One,”—he raises one finger to emphasize—“do not make a mess. This means personal affairs, as well as physical bodies. Two,”—another finger joins the first—“do not bring a human to our meetings.” He shrugs, lowering his hand.

“Two rules?” I ask. Had I a beating heart, it would be racing.

“I know it is taxing, but we needed some structure. It gives a reason to dismiss someone, though it doesn’t mitigate the drama attached. I have been given the clear from the group to invite you.”

“A group?” All I’ve done is ask a series of useless questions, but my dread is not so easily hidden.

“Small. We are all solitary creatures, but I assure you, we do fine together as well. It is very informal. There’s a salon we’ve claimed as our own, hired a strapping young lad to guard it. You need only say the password to enter.” Tomasz misunderstands my reservations and I allow him to.

“And if I were to bring another?” I ask, thinking of you. Always you.

But then I pause.