I awoke the next morning to the sound of impatient knocking. Without waiting for an answer, the goddess from yesterday’s awakenings opened the door and leaned her head in. “Are you awake yet?”
I didn’t think my open eyes and elevated position in bed required a verbal answer.
“Your first class begins in thirty minutes. Make sure you’re ready,” Stella instructed, raising her eyebrows. Her initial impressions of seeing me as some inconvenience had clearly not changed from yesterday. “Professor Winters will be waiting for you in the library.”
My heart performed aerobatics at the mention of his name, and from the knowledge I’d get to see him soon. I felt light, as bright as the morning sun, rising on my face.
His warning suddenly rang in my ear—reminding me about the importance of keeping our relationship hidden—so I drew in a deep breathe, hoping it would settle my heart and recompose my face.
It worked . . . at least fractionally.
“I’ll be back to show you to the library when you’re ready.” Before I had a chance to reply, she tucked her head out through the door and shut it behind her.
I rushed out of bed, throwing the sheets off me in a white flurry, and ran to another door I hoped would prove to be a closet. I got lucky—it was, and it was fully stocked with clothes and shoes that were all my size.
Unease clutched at me as I threw on a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved cotton top. I tried not to think about the implications behind why a closet full of attire had been prepared for me, because I was going to see the man I would spend my eternity with soon. I trotted to the door, sliding on a pair of sandals in the process.
Not more than a few minutes had passed since Stella’s “friendly” wake-up call, so when I threw open the door, I was elated to find the person I’d spent the entire night dreaming about, leaning up against the railing in front of my door.
It was like seeing him all over again for the first time; I couldn’t find my breath, my heart raced with more speed than a cheetah, and there was no hope of working my vocal chords.
I took several rapid steps towards him. He stiffened—nodding his head behind him to where several people stood in the foyer below. I caught his hint and stopped in my tracks. I froze and tried to look casual and uninterested; I was sure I looked neither, though. My body whined its protest from not being able to wrap itself around him. He shook his head while laughing silently, before an affectionate smile covered his mouth that he could allow since his back was to the individuals below.
“Good to see you too,” he mouthed.
In my halted state, my eyes took him in. He was far more formally dressed than I was. He wore charcoal grey slacks and a white oxford dress shirt—the top couple buttons of which he’d left casually undone, and I was sure he’d done it intentionally to make this day more torturous than necessary.
When I lifted my eyes from the exposed skin that screamed its presence at me, his knowing expression confirmed my assumption. I rolled my eyes and looked to the side, irked his temptation had worked so quickly and effectively.
William’s eyes flashed to a door down the hall. Mine followed, just before John walked out.
“William, Bryn” He marched towards us, dressed in slacks and a tweed jacket. What was the deal with everyone dressing like they were going to a shareholder’s meeting? “Nice to see you both so eager to get started with the day.” He glanced down at his wristwatch, obviously hinting we were early for my first day of class. “I suppose it’s for the best with everything you’ve got to cover in such a short timeframe.”
“Why do you say short timeframe? I wasn’t aware of any need for an expedited training schedule, and there are two more that will be in class with her.” William challenged John, pushing off the railing into a straightened position. “Has something changed?”
I looked to John as William was, waiting for an answer, although I didn’t have a clue as to what they were talking about.
“Oh yes, I neglected to inform you of the change with Bryn’s schedule. I’ll need you to consolidate the first phase of training into two weeks—”
“Two weeks!” The edge of outrage in William’s voice pierced through me like a million hypodermic needles.
John glared at William with two raised brows. I doubted if anyone ever challenged John, but William didn’t look the least bit intimidated by him.
“No one’s ever been accelerated through the first phase in two weeks. It’s impossible, and you know it. Establishing the proper fundamentals is paramount. There’s no way I will approve this.” William’s words flew with passion.
I had to look away from the enraged man in front of me—the strength of his emotions was overwhelming at times . . . this being one of them. I distracted myself by gazing up and down the hallway, which was drenched in white marble and so many exotic potted plants I could have been smack in the center of the Amazon.
Unmoved by William’s heated rhetoric, John replied, “There’s no need for you to worry about Bryn’s final stages of training. I only need you to get her through the initial phase . . . in two weeks. I will take over her training after that.”
John’s eyes fell upon me, and a smile formed on the edge of his lips, and despite the blue of his eyes, there was a blackness that burned within their depths. He chuckled, probably in reaction to my growing discomfort apparent from my fidgeting, and glided towards the stairs.
I glanced over at William, where his narrowed eyes and curled lip confirmed he’d also picked up on the undercurrent of John’s insidious look at me.
He took two steps forward, putting himself between me and John. “This would not be approved by the High Council.”
John turned his head over his shoulder, still continuing down the winding stairs. “It’s been approved by our Alliance’s Council . . . you know how little stock we put in the High Council. You are our Professor here Mr. Winters, and you had a very principal undertaking in her creation, so you are charged with starting her training, but they’ve allowed an exception for me to continue it from where you leave off—after two weeks.”
John stopped on the last step and placed his hand on the large mahogany end post that was carved in the shape of a tree; he turned to look at William, victory gleaming from his face. “Of course, if you’re not up to the initial two weeks, I’m sure I could get them to make another exception . . .”
William’s rigid silence was all the answer he needed to give.
“Good, it’s settled then. Two weeks. You’d better get started—you’ve got a lot to cover.” John’s chuckle echoed through the foyer as he walked to the party in the foyer.
I'd remained frozen throughout the entire conversation, not trusting the words that would come out of my mouth. William was stone still in front of me, the tension ripping through him evident in every muscle. He turned to me, frustratingly slow for the speed I knew he possessed.
He'd recomposed himself; his expression relaxed, an unconvincing smile on his lips, and his hands had released their angry fists—but when his eyes met mine, they gave his faked composure away. They weren't right. They were anxious, and fury still screamed beneath the surface.
"William . . ." My voice wavered. I reached my hand out to him.
He looked at my hand purposefully, and then gave his head one quick shake.
Oh, yeah . . . darn it anyways. I was really going to get us in trouble if I didn't get my head in the game and keep my emotions in check.
My hand snapped back to my side.
"Sorry," I whispered, so quietly, I wasn't sure he'd heard me.
He ran his fingers through his hair and stepped towards me. "It's not your fault.” As he glided by me, his hand reached out and brushed softly over mine. I turned to follow him, electricity surging through my body from the forbidden touch of his skin. The absence from each other while we slept brought on an unexpected sensitivity.
"Come on." His smile was brighter now, and his eyes were almost right. "Time for I
mmortality 101."
We walked side-by-side down the hall, not saying anything else, but I couldn’t rid myself of the desire to reach over and touch him, to somehow be close to him. Even though I had enough clarity of mind to know we could not be together in this way in Townsend Manor; whatever punishment would be dealt out to us, I would have accepted without remorse . . . the desire was that strong.
As if reading my mind, he whispered through gritted teeth, “Will you calm yourself please? Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Not knowing how else to calm the fire, I slowed my pace and allowed him to lead by several strides. The increased distance from one another didn’t help as much as I hoped it would.
“Welcome to your classroom, Miss Dawson,” he said, opening a door at the end of the long hall. He bowed and swept one hand in front of him, beckoning me into the room.
This was like no other library I’d ever seen; not at all like the libraries I’d visited as a child for story hour, nor did it even compare with Stanford’s noteworthy one. It was like something from a dream—or at least a dream of mine given my obsession for books.
We were on the third floor of the Manor, but in similar fashion to the foyer, the library rose up all three floors. Except for the two circular walkways that curved around the rounded room on the second and third floor, and the stairways connecting each floor to the next, the gigantic round room’s walls were covered by nothing else but the wood bookshelf inserts that were filled to capacity with every color, size, and shape of book imaginable.
The first floor spread out like a rich tapestry below us. It was adorned with oriental carpets laid over the dark wood floors, and there were rows of rectangular tables bordered with high-back chairs.
This library looked like no other, and it smelled like no other as well. The typical smell of aged pages resting between weathered bindings was absent, and a welcoming scent of cigar—the sweet smelling, expensive ones my dad would celebrate with after winning a big case—mixed with pine, drifted through the entirety of this room.
“This is amazing,” I muttered, sounding awed. “I can’t imagine a better classroom”—my eyes shifted to him, and the library was instantly forgotten—“or a better teacher.”
“Kissing up to the professor on the first day—are you hoping it will earn you an A?” He took a step towards me, and I took a step back, not trusting myself to handle the closeness.
“Something like that,” I said with implication, before turning to descend the staircase. He fell in beside me, but I soon lagged behind as my neck craned from side-to-side, taking in the enormity of the room and the hundreds of thousands of books that lined every square inch of wall. The domed ceiling was breathtaking; it was stained-glass and depicted an intricate mural of a lush garden flowering with exotic flora. When my exploratory eyes ceased their conquest, they shifted to the center of the room, where two figures stood.
“Good morning, Annabelle and Chris,” William said, remaining beside me. “This is Bryn Dawson—she will be starting with us today as well.” William stepped forward and I followed behind, eyeing over my two classmates.
“Master William.” The male, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, extended his hand as William approached. He was taller than William, but was so slight he couldn’t have weighed any more than I did. He reminded me of a palm tree—his entire body was rail thin, but his rust-orange hair shot out in wild branches.
William reached for his freckled hand. “Good to see you again, Chris.”
Chris didn’t reply or look William in the eye, but when William stepped around to greet the female, Chris’s eyes grabbed me. They narrowed, and although the shade of blue was the same as the one’s I loved most in this world, there was something very troubled beneath their colored surface. “So you’re the new girl?” His voice matched what lied beneath the surface of his eyes—troubled.
“I guess you could say that,” I answered, unsure how to reply.
Chris snorted, then slumped over to a leather high-back chair and crashed into it. “I guess it’s not too hard to figure out why she’s receiving special treatment,” he said, as if under his breath, but clearly loud enough for us all to hear.
“Excuse me?” William’s voice burst with authority, his eyes challenging Chris.
“Oh please, doesn’t it bust your chops that you’ve had to work hard and do your time to earn the privileges you have to live here, and as soon as some new, drop-dead gorgeous toy arrives, John’s rolling out the red carpet?” Chris’ nose was wrinkled with his detest. “I may be new to this, but I’m not an idiot.”
William hackled at Chris’s speech and glared at him in a way that would have crippled me.
“Ignore him,” the young female shouted over to me. “He’s always this cranky.”
After her quick reassurance, she trotted to William. She curtsied at the same time she flashed her pearly whites, and made a show-stopping performance with the flick of her honey and caramel streaked hair. “Master William, it’s wonderful to see you again,” she gushed, reminding me of the wax enclosed syrupy candies I’d get as a child and how they would burst with overtly sweet liquid when you bit through the soft layer of transparent wax.
This time it was my turn to hackle when she lifted her hand to place it on the outside of his arm. “I’ve been so excited to get started. I can’t wait.” Was I imagining her fingers curving deeper into the flesh of his arm?
William smiled formally, before taking a deliberate step to the side, separating his arm from the eager hand with cotton-candy-pink painted fingernails. “Thank you, Annabelle,” he replied, walking around the end of the table to what would serve as the front of our classroom. “Since you’ve been so eager to get started, why don’t we?”
He shifted his eyes to me. “Will you be joining us, Miss Dawson?”
Chris rolled his eyes, while Annabelle selected the seat directly in line with William’s present line of sight; seeming to feint with his eyes as he watched me come forward.
“I wouldn’t miss it for all the midnight swims in the world,” I replied, fighting the smile that wanted to erupt. I took the remaining seat, which was unfortunately smashed in between the other two, and turned my attention on the most captivating teacher I’d ever had.
“Excuse me for just a moment.”
As William loped across the room to a free standing shelf in the center, Annabelle leaned in, raising her hand to her mouth. “Isn’t he drop-dead? I think I could get used to this Immortal thing,” she whispered.
Before I could respond, William was jogging back with a couple of books in hand. I gave a quick nod to appease the cute, pep-squad-type girl beside me, before I turned my head back to the front of the room, trying to stifle the jealousy swirling in my stomach. Not that I could disagree with her—drop-dead didn’t even begin to describe him—but I didn’t like the way it sounded being spewed from another woman’s mouth.
A couple of thick, weathered books thudded over the wooden table, as William returned—looking more like Superman saving the day, than a professor who’d just retrieved a couple books to get class rolling.
“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” William began, trying to shift his eyes equally between the three of us, although it seemed his eyes rested a bit longer when they fell on me. “Chris and Annabelle, since you’ve resided here on the estate for a couple of weeks now, you’ve already gleaned certain knowledge we’ll be covering today—regardless, we’ll be starting our course of study with the rudimentary makings of Immortality, and making our way into the more intricate details in later weeks.”
“How many weeks will we be in class with you Master William?” Annabelle asked.
“The first phase of training runs ten weeks. From there, you will go onto strength and talent training.”
Annabelle’s face ignited like a bug zapper that’d just attracted a June bug.
“I hear Bryn here”—Chris pointed his thumb at me—“get’
s out of purgatory after only two weeks, why do we have to stay for ten?”
William cleared his throat. “That’s correct. She’ll be with us only the first two weeks, but John will be continuing her training from there—”
“I’ll bet he’s going to continue her training,” Chris mumbled. “Will this training have anything to do with making a tiny adjustment in that lovely shade of pale—”
“That’s enough, Mr. Gustafson!” William interrupted, his voice fierce. “Unless you have something to say regarding Immortal history or theory, you will keep your mouth shut the remainder of our time today.”
I made a mental note to ask William what in the world Chris had been talking about, since the emotion it had invoked in our professor led me to the conclusion now was not the right time.
Chris didn’t challenge William any further, but he threw me a side-ways glance that made me squirm. I cringed away from him, shifting as far to the right in my chair as I could.
William strolled to the free-standing chalk-board behind him, snatching up a piece of chalk in one hand and sailing it into his other. “Who can tell me what the two Immortal Principias are?”
Annabelle raised her hand, flailing it about.
“Yes, Annabelle,” William said, his eyes not leaving the chalkboard; he was obviously aware of her enthusiasm. I wondered if he was aware of her enthusiasm for him as well.
She beamed, placing her hands in her lap. “The Inheritor and the Guardian Principia.”
Chris exhaled sharply, looking as if he was focusing every iota of his attention on the sharpened, number two pencil that twirled like a ballerina on speed between his fingers.
“That’s correct.” William wrote in his precise script the two names across the board; drawing a line below each one, before circling the Inheritor Principia. “And what are we?”
“I’ve been told I’m an Inheritor,” Chris sneered.
“That’s correct.” William rested the chalk on the wooden holder, and dusted the powdery chalk from his hands. “You have all been selected, and brought into the strongest Inheritor Alliance in the world. It’s a great honor.”
When I’d been in class and taking in a subject of interest in the past, I would scratch away pages of notes to later reference when my memory needed jogged, but yet another great Immortal wonder was a mind that recalled any and every piece of information that flowed into it. The sharpened pencil and notebook in front of me were unnecessary objects—although they would be welcome distractions when he became too much for me to continue gazing upon.
“Immortal history goes back as far as Mortal history. It’s just a little more . . . unusual.”
“I’ll say. We’re all a bunch of freaks,” Chris muttered under his breath.
William continued on, paying the surly Immortal no notice. “It is said there were two Immortal brothers created after the fall of Adam and Eve, and their exodus from Eden. The brothers disagreed vehemently on why they’d been created. One brother believed he'd been created, and given the gift of Immortality, to be Guardians over mankind—now that they'd been banished from Eden and subject to Mortal plagues. This brother knew it was his existence’s purpose to watch over, and protect these fragile, tortured beings.”
I was trying so hard to focus on the lesson, but it was next to impossible given the teacher that paced back and forth, his hands on his hips, talking with the rich honey voice that undid my best intentions of being an attentive student.
“The other brother disagreed wholeheartedly. He believed they'd been created and given Immortality to defend, and one day inherit, the now abandoned Eden from the fallen Mortals. He believed it to be his sole purpose in life to protect Eden from these Mortals. From the beginning of time, these two beliefs have been held to, causing much unrest in the Immortal community—though the majority of Immortals appreciate the need for the balance that is created by the opposing Principias.”
I raised my hand timidly, feeling odd doing it, but not wanting to interrupt him in the middle of his lecture.
I watched him fight his smile of amusement. “Yes, Bryn.”
“So . . . you’re saying that I, as an Inheritor, am expected to preserve Eden from Mortals?” I hadn’t meant for my voice to sound so dubious, but this—more than any other Immortal information I’d been given—was the most unbelievable.
“Eden isn’t just some obscure, secret garden long disappeared. You see, Inheritors believe that Earth, in its entirety, is Eden, and are therefore called to protect it from the abuse done by Mortals.” His voice never wavered from the knowledge pouring from it, but there was no depth of passion or belief in it.
“How do they protect . . . Eden”—I had a tough time saying the word, but to keep with the lesson plan, I used it—“from the six billion Mortals that inhabit the earth?”
Annabelle shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Chris gazed at me with mild respect. I must have been bordering on a few lines of taboo.
Our teacher looked perfectly at ease, though. “Inheritor’s are subtle, and extremely strategic in their offensives. Think of the headlines that capture reader’s attention—Natural Disaster, Economic Downturn, Cancer on the Rise, Genocide . . .” William’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally as his lesson continued with all three students eagerly attuned. “These impressive disasters generated in Mortal communities around the world can almost always be traced back to some Alliance, or Alliances, of Inheritors. As time has passed, their tactics have grown more sophisticated. They’ve needed to with population explosions and after the Industrial Revolution.”
“Alliances?” I questioned, this time not bothering to raise my hand. He’d mentioned this term last night, but I’d been too lost in our reunion to care of much other than just being with him. Chris sighed with the kind of exaggeration one would who thought another in their company to be ridiculously slow.
William’s patience didn’t waver. “Inheritors and Guardians alike, have separate Alliances, created to govern and guide smaller parties of the whole. Each Alliance is governed by a Council of seven Immortals selected for their seniority, wisdom, and commitment to their calling. A High Council, consisting of four Guardians and four Inheritors, was created thousands of years back in an attempt to create balance, although their influence in the Immortal world is no where close to what it once was.” He shrugged, looking through one of the stained-glass windows. “I suppose you could compare it to the royal family in England. They’re still an important piece of the country’s history, but have very little power governing it.” He glanced over at me, familiar enough with my inquisitive mind and the expressions that accompanied this. “What else, Bryn?”
“What about the . . . Guardians?” The word sounded strange coming from my mouth, like I was trying to fake knowledge for which I had very little. “What is their duty in this eternal life . . . if it’s not Mortal mayhem?”
William had to fight back another smile before he answered, “As a new Immortal, I’m sure your Mortal memories are quite fresh in your mind. Can you think of an instance where you would have called something a miracle, or perhaps you’ve heard the stories of people claiming something like an angel appeared, saving them from something or assisting them in some way—”
He continued, but I was too deep in thought to listen further. I had, as a Mortal, experienced both of these—miracle and an angel appearing—and both instances had involved him.
“By Mortal standards, Guardians are the good . . . the miracles, in their world, and Inheritors are the evil and the tragedies. In our world, either one can be good or evil, it just depends on your perspective,” he finished.
“Bryn?” his perfect voice drew me from my musings. “Have I answered your question?”
I paused before answering. “Yes, you have.”
“Good, let’s move on then,” he said, sounding more like a muse than a professor. “There are several universal codes all Immortals must follow, regardless of which Principia you adhe
re to.”
William flipped the chalkboard around, and on the other side, was a list written out in his handwriting; identifiable from the tail of his a’s sweeping into the next letter, and the way the words made me smile.
“Basic enough you can see—No interacting with Mortals,” he said, reading off number one of the Immortal code of conduct. “Of course, we must interact at times with Mortals in our missions, but the crux of this rule is that we cannot form bonds that would . . .”—he drug his voice out as his fist tapped number two on the list—“Do anything to threaten our anonymity. One way we can do this is by transferring every ten years or so. We can’t allow Mortals to become suspicious when the passage of time doesn’t change our physicality.”
“So you’re saying I’ll have to leave Townsend Manor in ten years?” Chris asked, dropping the pencil that had been in constant motion for the past thirty minutes.
“That’s correct,” William answered. “Although you may be assigned elsewhere after your training is complete, depending upon what Station you are tasked with.”
“Station?” Annabelle questioned, and I was happy it was her this time interrupting our professor instead of me.
“Every Immortal is commissioned with a certain Station, taking their individual gift into consideration. There is a degree of hierarchy involved, so, as young Immortals, you will likely be tasked with elementary stations, but as you mature, so will your Stations.”
William turned his attention on Chris, who was surveying the exquisite room around us, and guessed at what Chris was thinking. “Don’t worry. John’s got plenty more estates to keep everyone comfortable.”
My eyes skipped to the next code before he could read it. I already didn’t like it before he read it off. “No bonds of any kind can be forged between Immortals of the opposing gender.”
I scowled at the words, wishing I could make them disappear from Immortal folklore forever if I screamed at them with my eyes long enough.
“Just what are bonds of any kind considered?” Annabelle asked, her voice sounding the gravest I’d heard it.
I’d not seen William fidget before, but the piece of chalk in his hand was currently spinning in a frenzy. As a fidgeting fanatic, I could spot someone else’s nervous energy from twenty paces—one hundred paces now with my Immortal eyes.
“Bonds of any kind are defined as any kind of intimate ties or touch that are experienced without the consent of your Alliance’s Council.”
“Any kind of ties or touch?” Annabelle repeated, sounding as if someone had just told her she had one minute to live.
“That’s correct,” William said, his own gravity nearly surpassing Annabelle’s.
“Yikes,” Annabelle whispered to herself. I was screaming the same thing in my mind.
William interrupted both our shock, by pointing at the final code listed on the board. “Immortals must follow their commission with dedication and devotion.” He turned from the board and gazed at Chris and Annabelle, but could not meet my eyes. I guessed it was still due to number three on the board, and our obvious shunning of it. “This is why we are not allowed to form bonds of love that would compromise this code. We are called first and foremost to our duties as Immortals, putting our own wants and desires aside,” he finished, finally meeting my gaze. He smiled shyly, causing my heart to react not so shyly.
This whole Immortal thing was noble enough, and I had to admit I liked the power and—new as I was to it—the sense of belonging I felt in this new world. I felt more at home here than I’d ever felt in my Mortal life. Yet despite all this, if I couldn’t be with William, I’d take all my putrid Mortality back if it meant being with him for a limited number of years, as opposed to an infinite number without him.
“Can anyone tell us why Immortals are created?” he asked, changing the subject from the strict codes that made me angry just by thinking about them.
“To save the world,” Chris sneered, flashing his hands from side to side.
“That is the basic principle both Principias hold to. Of course, you’re saving inherently opposing entities depending on which side of the Immortal line you stand.”
I knew whichever side he stood on is where I would as well, but I was happy he stood on the one he did. Maybe it was because I’d so recently relinquished my own Mortality, but the idea of upsetting the lives of the remaining billions was wrong on so many levels.
“Which brings us to our next topic—how Immortals are created.”
“I believe you’ve got some new information on this topic,” Chris said, sounding smug. He turned his alabaster face, dotted with auburn freckles to me, and smiled the most disingenuous one I’d ever seen.
William shot him a look before continuing, not addressing whatever Chris had implied. “I take it you’ve all felt a foreign energy running through your bodies since Immortalization?”
“Ohhh yeah,” Annabelle emphasized, jacking her eyebrows for extra effect.
“Kind of hard to miss,” Chris muttered, focusing his attention on the ceiling.
“Mortals have their own kind of energy, although it’s infinitely different than what dwells within us. The energy that flows within an Immortal is what we use to change a dying Mortal—”
“Dying?” I interrupted the godlike professor, whose signature scent was wafting into my senses and creating a state of hypnosis. I shook my head, trying to clear it.
He watched my bewildered expression, and from his smile that looked too knowing for his own good, I guessed he knew what had created my stupor. “As different as Mortal’s energy is from ours, it is still strong. However, when one is dying, this energy is leaving their body in steady, tangible streams—leaving empty spaces for a superior substance to enter and eternally change them.”
He pushed back from the table and took a few steps back. “Vital organs are preserved, senses are heightened, muscles are melded into a steel-like substance, blood is turned into a fluid that is its own kind of fountain of youth. All these changes preparing the body for an eternity of service and, depending upon which creed you hold to, a service to the protection of mankind or the protection of Eden.”
“So any Immortal can create another Immortal?” I questioned, wondering if they would ever run out.
Chris rolled his eyes with such force I could hear his eyeballs rotating in his sockets. “And I thought I was uninformed.”
“Be nice. She just woke up yesterday, Chris,” Annabelle chided him. “And she hasn’t been around the endless gossip stream back where we’re staying.” She smiled one of acceptance at me before turning her fixed gaze back on our professor, who was watching me very carefully.
William’s eyes narrowed in concentration. When he answered, his words were careful. “No, only an experienced Immortal who has enough focus to be able to generate and compact their energy can be a part of the team that makes the transformation.”
I didn’t think before asking, growing more anxious with each wary word from his mouth. “There’s a team that is responsible for the transformations?”
This had been the question William wished I wouldn’t have asked. His distressed expression told me that.
“That’s how it used to be before boy wonder”—Chris interrupted, nodding his head at William—“decided to put that tradition to the test. I sure don’t see why,” Chris said, glancing over me, “doesn’t look like there’s any substance beneath that pretty exterior packaging—”
“Chris! That’s quite enough,” William interrupted, his whole body as rigid as a marble pillar.
“Oh, please. I’ve heard the rumors, and judging from your reaction . . .”—Chris looked pointedly at William and raised an eyebrow—“they’re true.”
I was drowning in the tension pouring from the two males at heads with one another, so when the library door shouted open, I jumped in my seat.
“I need to speak with you Mr. Winters,” a familiar voice said with implicit authority.
Willia
m pointed to us with his eyes, hinting to our new guest, but I knew it wasn’t only because he didn’t want to be interrupted in the middle of our class—he wasn’t eager to leave me behind with the topic of rumor circling the room.
“It’s urgent,” John added, sounding less than thrilled he needed to make this condition.
Two sets of eyes settled on me—one pair anxious, the other domineering. I melted under one set, and wriggled in my chair from the other. William excused himself, and he and John exited the library, taking both their emotion-filled stares with them.