A week passed with days of monotony and nights of extreme sensory agony. A stack of books were piled on the table to my left. I had spent the day working and was about a third through a manuscript my boss had sent me a week before. Gods, Angels, and Witches: Battles of the Supernatural by Sally Ross. It seemed the universe did, in fact, have an ironic sense of humour. The margins were littered with notes to myself for possible translation choices and areas I needed to research further— for both personal and professional reasons.

I'd finished a chapter on the worship of the Egyptian goddess Isis across a vast number of civilizations. It discussed Isis and her sister Nephthys' iconic depictions with wings, a prototype to future angels, as well as their seductions of their brothers. Isis fused with the Greek goddesses Aphrodite and Demeter until her eventual evolution into the early Christian Madonna. Oh, I bet the Catholic Church just loved that.

My days were better than the nights. During the day, I was able to keep myself distracted with work. Distractions were my reprieve when they weren't torturing me. Earlier that morning, I had spent half my time trying desperately not to attack a barista in a small café. The smell of fresh coffee beans wafted around me when she started the grinder. The scent was heavenly, and my shoulders twitched, forcing me to grip my chair and lay my head on the table to keep myself from knocking her over and shoving my entire face in the bag. The mind-numbing frequency of these sudden impulses was debilitating.

By the time the sun had set, I was curled on the floor of my apartment, slowly going insane. At night there was nothing I could do to stop it. The impulses would have their way, and by nighttime, I couldn't keep them repressed any longer.

I wanted to build a fire, but I didn't have a fireplace, which was probably a blessing. I couldn't be trusted. Instead, I curled myself into a ball, sucking on ice with all the windows wide open. A serrated knife was lying next to my head. I had set it there an hour before, watching it, waiting.

How do we know when we are losing our minds? How can we know for sure? The notion that the insane never know that they are losing their minds is too easy. They know. Of course, they know.

Immortality, it had to be a fantasy. Was it a fantasy? Eyeing the knife, I wondered if I would heal? I pressed the sharpened edge with the pad of my thumb and stopped. The tip of the blade was easing into my forearm but hadn't pierced the skin.

I wouldn't heal. I knew I wouldn't. They told me I wouldn't, not yet. How long would it take before I'd know for sure? I needed proof, but I couldn't have it. What a sad twist of fate, being given immortality but only on the most basic level. I slid the knife across the floor away from me. I wasn't stupid or reckless enough to test my own mortality.

Someone was playing music nearby; it pounded through the walls like a thrumming salsa, the beat echoing under my skin. I groaned and rested my face on the cold hardwood floor. There was nothing more I could do. I wanted to touch everything, feel everything, taste everything all at once.

It was too much, dozens of desires attacking me at the same time. The cold floor felt sensational, but a breeze kept brushing across my back was making me shiver. Moaning, I pulled a blanket over my head, blocking out everything but the feel of my skin pressed against the hardwood.

"No, her name was Gretchen, I think," Ása said as she raised a glass to her lips, inhaling the scent deeply. She was sitting on the floor with her back resting against a deep green velvet sofa. She could detect the musty smell of the earth, permeating the wine followed by the odour of blackberry and truffles.

"The dairymaid?" Ezra asked with a scowl.

"Yes, the one who lived near the mill. She was one of the few fresh-faced girls in the town, besides me." Ezra nodded as he brought up the memory of a small waif-like girl. "Leif never had the least bit of sense."

"Neither did the girl," Ezra replied. "Few people ever do."

Ása smirked. "Does that include you?"

Her question hung in the air between them without an answer. Ása smiled mischievously and then shrugged. "Well, he certainly had it coming to him. I'm only surprised all the girls in the town hadn't tried to poison him."

"Maybe they did. You've poisoned a man or two in your years as well, I would guess."

Ása smiled sweetly at the thick red liquid swirling in her glass. "One or two, perhaps, when I had to. But never for seducing and then discarding me. I'm not that easily misled."

Ezra smiled. Ása would want a more critical approach in revenge. She believed the method of punishment should balance the crime. Ezra never had much patience for poison. It was too slow and uncertain. If he was going to kill someone, he wanted it done quickly and efficiently. Poison was a woman's weapon.

He leaned back against the edge of the coffee table and crossed his ankles in front of him. "Leif should have let me kill her."

Ása hadn't known Ezra wanted to kill the girl or that Leif had stopped him.

She shrugged. "She was a woman."

Ezra huffed loudly. "And that makes a difference? Courtesy, I understand, but treating a woman with deference because of the neverending societal declaration that they're weak and fragile..." He snorted and let the sentence hang, unfinished. "Women are just as dangerous as men... more so, even." He looked up at Ása. "You ladies like to play with your prey before you kill it."

Ása said nothing but slowly raised her glass to her lips and sipped leisurely.

"She tried to kill him and failed. Her life was forfeit," Ezra replied matter-of-factly. "He's always been sentimental." Ezra was never able to understand Leif's wistfully maudlin nature; it was one of the things he loved most about his friend, despite his grumbles and protestations.

Ezra reached for the wine bottle, and Ása held out her glass. Ezra topped it off and then emptied the remaining wine into his own. Ása considered Ezra. "Would you have been so eager to kill her if she had poisoned the baker or the bootblack?"

"I didn't care about the baker or the bootblack."

Of course, he wouldn't. Ezra was pragmatic in his approach to life and death. He never spared much thought to the millions of mortals who passed by him every day. Ása was beginning to notice them less and less as well.

She took another sip and inhaled again as the rich flavour to glided across her tongue. She turned her eyes to the piles of books around them and sighed. "You know, this would be much easier if you would just tell me what you're looking for." She picked up the text that was open on the floor next to her and settled it on her lap.

"I don't know what I'm looking for."

"Well," Ása began. She was getting tired, and her shoulders ached. "This one is tenth century Swedish. It's about a King who killed his youngest daughter by throwing her to a sea dragon for giving away her maidenhood. I guess that means he drowned her for losing her virginity."

"Ridiculous. Why do men care about such things? What use is a virgin to anyone?" Ása didn't answer. For most of her life, that was all men seemed to care about.

Ezra stared blankly at the wall of books before him, his eyes just beginning to blur. He tossed a volume aside and stretched his back on the floor behind him. He'd been reading through books and ancient manuscripts for days, and already he knew everything Ása had about the Avati as well as anything that had an obscure description of immortals beings.

They had found a couple texts in Latin that briefly mentioned the Occulta Antiquioribus, hidden Immortals who could steal men's memories and weave through time. Most of it sounded like rubbish. There was a Celtic story about immortal children who hid themselves from the dead, as well as a bad translation from Sumerian into Greek. It mentioned a god of gods who had become trapped by the Lord of the Shadows. Reading a lousy rendition of poetry was as tortuous as walking a minefield. He was exhausted. If only he had the original Sumerian text, it might have been easier to sort through.

Ása drained her glass and stretched her back. "Well, my friend, I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. Then you're on your own."

Ezra nodded back at her. He'd sojourned in Germany for nearly two weeks and longed to go back to Portland. Frankfurt had revealed all it was going to.

Only one thing had become clear over the past few weeks. Some Avati remained undetectable to other immortals for a time. What was unclear was why.

Immense clouds had formed a deep purple and grey mass, swirling and tumbling threateningly. Freezing shards of raindrops, sharp as icicles, collected in swift currents along the pavement.

I pushed my way outside through the door with my coffee in hand, and my bag slung over my shoulder. I lifted my umbrella with my left hand as the onslaught of rain poured over me. I'd had several days of relative calm. The impulses were still there and still debilitating, but now I had a new definition of restraint.

As I reached the corner, my phone rang. I scanned the surrounding area for somewhere to rest my coffee. There was nothing. I pulled a couple fingers free from around the cup and gripped the stem of the umbrella with them, pressing it precariously against the coffee. With my free hand, I yanked my glove off with my teeth and reached into my pocket to pull out my phone. I swiped to answer the call.

"Hey, Shauna," I breathed quickly into the phone.

"Hey, Girl. I just saw..." A gust of wind swooped the umbrella up in my hand. My arm jerked with it as I tried to balance my coffee and keep from spilling the steaming liquid all over myself. I snatched at the umbrella with my phone hand. The wind pulled at it again and flipped it inside out.

Crap! I tried to secure the handle between my elbow and side as I attempted to snap the top of the umbrella back into place. The rain pummeled me from above in the process.

I brought the phone back to my ear. "Sorry, I can't talk now. I'll have to call you back." I tapped the phone closed just as I heard her start to answer and slid it back into my pocket.

I set my coffee on the sidewalk, watching dense raindrops drum on the lid before dripping over the side. I tried to pull the hood of the umbrella down toward me again. It flew backwards at the slightest touch of wind now. Well, fine, that umbrella was finished. I tossed it into a garbage can and tightened my scarf around my neck then bent down to retrieve my coffee. As I stood up, the top popped off and creamy brown liquid spilt across the pavement. I stayed hunched for a moment watching the coffee puddle spread.

To my right women were laughing loudly, and I turned toward the sound. They had clearly been watching my little scene and were now elbowing each other and laughing obnoxiously.

I straightened up, allowing the rain to drench the top of my head and slide down my face, looking directly at them, my expression pointed but blank. They stopped laughing and shot surprised glances at each other. I stood in the rain, ignoring the thrilling sensation of the water dripping down my face and stare them down. They returned shy, nervous expressions before quickly turning and walking away.

I looked back at the expanding puddle of coffee at my feet. Damn, it looked delicious too. I bent down to retrieve the cup, but a long arm reached out and grabbed it first. I started and looked over to see deep chocolate eyes.

"Medusa wants her withering glare back," Ezra quipped. Drops of rain were clinging to the tips of his hair, and his skin glistened. I started to tremble slightly and forced myself to take a small step back. There was something strangely exciting about being near him. He was watching me, expecting some kind of answer.

"They were rude. I wasn't in the mood to put up with their schadenfreude shit."

"You can always count on people to be entertained by turmoil, or lacking that, to create it." I regarded him quietly for a few seconds.

Tiny fingers of electricity crackled, blossoming across my skin, touching my cheeks, dotting my neck, and sweeping down over my breasts and arms. The acrid scent of burning metal filled my nose.

"It's like a calling card." I looked up at him, confused. "The static electricity you're feeling. Think of it as the Avati greeting."

"What do you mean?" He stepped closer to me, shielding me from the rain with his umbrella.

"How about I replace your coffee? I know a place a couple of blocks away. Maybe get you a little dry."

"That would be great," I replied.

He steered me across the street, his hand near the small of my back. "How was Germany?" I asked.

He turned toward me quickly and paused for a beat. "Cold," he answered. "How did you know I was in Germany?"

"Leif told me."

He eyed me for a couple seconds then nodded. "I returned last night. I like to stop by my house there every few months."

He has a house in Germany. Naturally. He probably helped the Visigoths fight the Roman soldiers. He probably was a Roman soldier too, for that matter. "Where's your house?" I asked.

"Outside Frankfurt, near Hochtaunus." I'd heard of the district but had never been there. "Have you been to Germany?" he asked.

"Yes. I spent nearly two years studying in Hungary. I travelled a lot at the time. I have friends in Leipzig and Frankfurt," I answered. "But I've never been to Hochtaunus."

"That is a shame. It is beautiful. You would enjoy it." His hand reached for the small of my back again as he steered me toward a doorway. Electricity webbed across my stomach, this time down to my legs past my knees.

He held the door open for me as I stepped through into a rustic café with wood panelling and brick walls. The tables were solid wood and well worn. It looked to be a family-owned business, but it was warm and comforting. There was a fire burning in a fireplace against the wall and soft rock playing in the background.

I sighed. Yes, I could work very well here. My skin prickled again.

"What do you mean by a calling card?" I asked as he pointed to an empty table.

"It's a way we have of identifying each other." Silence reigned supreme. "It's a type of static electricity."

A waitress approached the table, and he ordered a black coffee for himself and a latte for me. I raised my eyebrows; he already knew my drink order.

"How?"

"What?" he asked.

"How do we use static electricity as a calling card?" I continued.

"Hmmm," he sighed as he thought to himself. "All humans... all animals actually, use electricity throughout their bodies to send messages from one part to another."

"Impulses. Yes, I know."

"Electric impulses, yes. Good. The brain, the heart, and all the cells communicate using electricity. So do ours. But the impulses in our bodies are far more pronounced."

The waitress returned and set our drinks on the table. She turned a friendly smile on us as she left. We each paused to take a sip of our coffees. My taste buds wept in happiness as the liquid spread over my tongue.

"Is that what helps us heal?" I asked as I set my coffee down.

"Yes, I believe so. Partly anyway."

"You believe so? How do you know this?"

"We've been studying ourselves for nearly as long as we have existed. There are many Avati who have become experts in biological science. We have always longed to know what we are and how we came to be."

He paused as he watched me wring out my hair and tie it back away from my face. It will take longer to dry this way, but the dripping was beginning to bother me.

"Most of what we have learned has been in the last two hundred years." He leaned back and gazed into the fire. "The advancement of science in the last few centuries has been astounding." He looked back at me to see me watching him. He smiled quickly and continued.

"The electrical impulses surging through our cells are far stronger than a regular human's. And when another Avati is nearby, their electricity reacts and binds to yours. It manifests as static electricity in the air around us. We call it binding. You can feel it on your skin and smell it in the air."

"The burning ozone." It was not a question. He nodded.

He leaned forward, cupping his hands around his coffee. "Don't go for a walk through a field during a thunderstorm. If lightning is going to strike, it will go straight for you." Yikes, I thought. "You can't imagine the pain. Even at my age, it would knock me out for hours."

"No quick strolls during lightning storms. Got it."

"Good. It would take you days to wake up, and your apartment is much too small for me to hang around keep watch over you."

"You would do that?" I asked as I took another sip of coffee.

"Well, I couldn't have a mortal stumble across you and think you were dead, now can I? Breaking you out of the morgue or digging up your grave is much more complicated." My mind conjured up an image of Ezra secretly digging up my grave in the middle of the night, Leif stood holding the flashlight and commenting on the process in the background. "Besides, it takes time to set up a new identity. It's much easier if you plan these things ahead."

Electricity spread over my hands and up my arms as I reached for my cup again. As I watched, goosebumps rose and stretched across the skin.

"This is ridiculous. It keeps happening every few minutes."

He nodded, "Yes. It should happen less often as you get used to certain people."

He folded his arms on the table in front of him. "We can sense any Avati, even those who haven't changed yet." He looked down at my fingers, curled around the mug in front of me. "At least we used to be able to."

"What do you mean?"

"You were a surprise." I waited for him to continue, but he sat silent, watching my hands and thinking to himself.

"What kind of a surprise?" I finally asked.

"A troubling one." He had a dark scowl that made the hair on my arms stand up and ripple. "At some point," he continued, "you should have passed by another Avati, even if it was just on the street and they would have noticed you. When we discover someone new, we keep tabs. So we can find them after they've crossed over."

"How do you discover someone new?"

He didn't understand and shook his head confused.

"How do you know someone is like you if they haven't... crossed over?" I asked again, trying to understand myself what I was asking.

He paused. "I can't tell you." I scowled.

"Because there isn't a simple answer," he continued. "It's different for everyone. Some people just sense it. For others, there's a kind of hum, or a smell, or an electrical charge."

"How do you tell?"

"I feel a certain kind of binding. It's different from regular bindings. But for you, it could be something completely different. Over time you'll learn."

As he explained, his voice lost some of the playfulness it had before. "Even if you had never crossed paths with another immortal before you moved to Portland we should have noticed you here in the last few months. Leif and I have been here for years. We all would have come into contact at some point, somewhere. We were less than a block from you when you were attacked. But neither of us sensed a thing."

I held my breath. Was something wrong with me?

"There are rules. I was touching you, holding your hand while you died," he continued. "There was no sense at all that you were Avati."

A memory of his face bending over me floated like fog in my mind. I could remember how warm his hand felt in mine.

"What does that mean?" I was almost breathless.

"I don't know," he answered and closed his eyes briefly. "That's what I've been trying to find out. I've never encountered anything like you before. All I was able to discover was some vague descriptions of young Immortals who remain hidden from the rest for a while."

"Why would I be hiding? What from?"

"That's the mystery. The binding I feel when you're near is stronger than any I've ever felt." He looked as if he was about to say something else but changed his mind. "I just don't know what it all means yet."

A binding swept across my ankles and down to the soles of my feet.

Gregor answered the phone on the first ring. "Did you see her?" a woman's voice questioned. Her voice sounded almost musical as it came through the phone. Her words always had a melodic quality.

"Yes," he answered quickly.

"And? How does she look?"

"Young."

The voice chuckled. "They always do."

Gregor sighed. The appearance of youth was the strongest shield and most deadly weapon of his people. He knew many Avati who looked far younger than this new one did. Nothing lies better than youth.

"She's binding," he breathed regrettably into the phone.

"What? Already? Is that even possible?"

"Of course, it's possible. It's always been possible. Just incredibly improbable."

Events were moving so much faster than he could have predicted. He knew from the moment the girl was born this day would come, but he had anticipated many more centuries of waiting.

"But who?"

Gregor had been wondering the same thing for days. "The girl lives in the New World... Er, In Oregon."

"Oh, hell!"

He heard her make a soft noise and sigh quietly into the phone.

"Do you think she's been approached yet?"

"That's hard to tell. If she hasn't, it won't be long now."

I don't know how long I tried to sleep, but it must have been hours. It was full dark outside, and the rain was streaming down the window glass in tiny rivers when I pulled back the blankets and sat up. My stomach was beginning to rumble, but I couldn't decide what I wanted to do because my mind kept hopping from one tantalizing option to the next. I stared at an empty cup of tea on my nightstand, and I fantasized about ice cream, pancakes, and chicken vindaloo. My thoughts skipped again as I realized I hadn't picked up my mail that day. I grabbed my keys and ran down the stairs, barefoot. The idea of shoes felt very confining.

I sprinted down the steps two at a time and practically galloped across the first floor to the row of mailboxes. Pain jabbed sharply at my ribs every time I moved, but it was getting easier to ignore. The smooth cold tile felt exciting and delicious as it connected to the warm skin of my feet. A soft lemon scent swirled around me. I don't know how long I stood standing in front of the mailboxes swathed in a lemon aroma before I pulled myself free and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I finally managed to pull out my key and insert it into the mailbox then stopped. A gust of wind hit a window to my right spraying rain horizontally across the pane. Just as quickly, the wind disappeared, and the water slowly meandered down the glass again.

Before I knew it, I was out the door. My bare feet splashed onto the sidewalk as I enjoyed the rough feel of the pavement with the icy, slippery rainwater. I moved to the small patch of grass and crinkled my toes into the earth. Everything felt new. The ordinary was exciting and intoxicating. I laughed and spun in the rain as it pelted against my skin, soaking my clothing to my body. Joy, pure exhilarating joy.

I eased myself onto the grass. I relaxed, and I spread out face up on the ground. The pain burned and pulsed around the knife wound. As I relaxed, the pain spread wider across my ribs. I breathed deep and waited for the pain to ease, bit by bit. The pain was oddly intense and thrilling.

Raindrops bounced off of my face and pooled into my eye sockets. It was as if my body was experiencing rain for the first time. Or maybe this was the first time I truly appreciated it. The hairs on my neck stood up. Sharp electric stings sprouted along my forearms and thighs. From somewhere nearby came the burning metal scent I was beginning to recognize.

Footsteps were approaching, and I opened my eyes. Ezra's dark frame soared above me, surrounded by a halo of the streetlight. His shirt clung to his body.

"Hi," I said, gazing up at him.

He didn't speak but watched me. I sat up in alarm, sharp pain ripping across my ribs again.

"What happened?" I asked.

I could sense something sharp and vaguely dangerous around him but strangely comforting as well. I felt calm and at ease with him. Strange since I had just been brutally attacked. I still couldn't remember what had happened, but I also didn't care. Why didn't I care? I stood up and waited for him to say something. Another second passed.

Without warning, he reached out his hand and cupped it against the side of my head, wrapping his fingers through my hair and brought his face to mine. His lips felt full and warm, crushing mine with an intensity that was just shy of painful. I could feel the coolness of the rainwater against his skin. He pushed me back, and we both stepped across the grass as his other hand, hardened and steel-like, slid around my side to my back. My heart thundered wildly in response. He moved his hand up and wrapped it firmly around the back of my neck.

I pressed myself against him, and my hands drifted up over his shoulders. His kiss slowed and deepened at the same time his hands glided gradually down my back before pulling me tightly against him and locking around my waist. I moulded my body with his, the rainwater slick against my fingers. His skin felt hot under my hands.

He slowly pulled away from me and stood with his breath beating against my skin. We had moved across the lawn, and I was pinned against the exterior wall of the building. When had that happened?

He stepped back, leaving both hands pressed against the wall on either side of me and looked down at the ground. We both breathed deeply, slowly, for several seconds then he looked up at me. Gradually he lowered his arms and backed up a step before turning. He nodded once to himself and walked into the darkness.

Things are happening.

TEASER:

I forced myself to focus. "What do you think they are about?"

"You," he replied.

Wonder whats going on there.