“Because either way, I’m headed for the Afterlife. Might as well try to find some happiness,” Zara answers simply but seems to get the picture that I’m not interested in talking to her. We sit in silence, waiting for the next name to be called. When it’s Zara’s, she pops up and strides to Sybil, and I swear I catch her hiking her skirt up just a little higher. I miss her as soon as she’s gone, because even though we’re regularly at odds, being in the presence of someone I know was comforting.
Eventually, I’m the only one left.I’ve sat here for hours, watching the girls leave one after the other, and I wish I had a book or something to distract me from seeing the minute hand make round after round after round until I get dizzy.
When Sybil walks in, they smile at me. “And then there was one. Follow me, Miss Hale.”
I stand up and smooth out my dress before following them down the hall that Essos first emerged from when we arrived. At the end, they open a door and gesture for me to enter. The room is large with a fireplace on one side and a desk opposite. Between these two points are a long leather couch and a large comfy chair. The smell of the burning fire combined with vanilla puts me at ease.
Essos is seated at the desk, pouring over paperwork. He glances up at me, glasses perched on his nose, and my pulse jumps. It’s like I’ve pulled away another layer of Essos. I could see myself taking his glasses off and distracting him while he works, taunting and teasing to see how long he can hold his focus while I use my feminine wiles on him. When our eyes meet, something between us tugs on my heart, drawing me to him. He signals to Sybil to close the door before looking back down. With eye contact broken, I’m able to get a better handle on my raging emotions. I’ve never had such a strong reaction to someone, a bone-deep need to be in their presence, and I don’t understand why it’s happening now. I study him from just inside the door, unsure what to do. Should I sit? Do I need to be invited to sit?
Essos doesn’t seem to notice me watching him, so I take advantage. His glasses are thick, dark frames, giving him a Clark Kent look. The glasses don’t distract from how ridiculously good-looking the man is. If anything, they accentuate it, making his eyes bluer and the strong line of his jaw more angular. He didn’t have them on yesterday, and I wonder if they’re only for reading.
“Please bear with me. I just received some unexpected paperwork. I know I’ve already made you wait several hours, and I would hate to make you wait too much longer,” Essos says finally, looking up at me. “Have a seat, please. I’ll be right with you.”
Instead of sitting down, I wander to the bookshelves and glance at the titles, unable to read any of them. They appear to be in a different language, a combination of the Greek alphabet and something older. I want to reach out and run my fingers over the spines, but they look old, like my fingertip might break down the precious material. I can’t imagine what is held in these tomes.
Although…the longer I look at some of the titles, the more clear they seem to become. I can make outAntigoneandThe Odysseyand more that were undecipherable, and I wonder if being in this world is changing my ability to read different languages.
On the floor beside the fireplace, Spot, Shadow, and Dave are resting, watchful eyes glancing from me to their master. Dave looks at me, his tail thumping furiously on his large bed. I walk over and rub his head, and I could swear he smiles at me.
“There we are. So sorry about that. You have my undivided attention.” Essos notices me sitting with the dogs. “Although it would seem that I will have your divided attention,” he continues with a smirk.
I stand and turn to face him. “No, undivided.”
Essos gestures for me to have a seat on the couch, and so I do as he sits in the chair beside me. Dave whines and crawls on the ground toward me before settling at my feet.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” Essos starts at the same time that I ask him what he does. He laughs a little and leans back in the chair. “All right. That is a fair question. I am a sort of ferryman and an overseer. I help people into their afterlife. Some people think that makes me a harbinger of death or the grim reaper, but I am not—I simply manage the Afterlife. It’s a lot more complicated than that, but those are the broad strokes. Now, tell me about you.”
“I’m not sure there’s a whole lot to say.” I look at the bookshelves. “Do you do a lot of reading in Ancient Greek or whatever language that is?”
“Deflection, nice. Yes, it’s the only way I will read theIliad. I find most translations not nearly as poetic. The other books are written in the language of the gods, my people. What was your plan for after college, what was your major?”
“Okay, here’s the CliffsNotes version—I was an English major. I wanted to be a florist, but my adoptive parents didn’t see it as a financially sound career choice. So, they wanted me to get an advanced degree as a fallback, but I didn’t know what was going to come next.” My words are rushed. Not wanting to see his expression, I look at the fire.
I can feel his total focus on me, and it draws my eyes back to him.
Essos cants his head, studying me, and I shift uncomfortably under the directness of his gaze.
“Clearly, you’re not a fan of talking about yourself. When did your parents pass?” Essos asks delicately, and my eyebrows lift in surprise at his tone. I have to wonder if Essos is just really good at guessing, or if he’s able to see the layers of loss someone has faced and all the ways death has touched their lives.
When I do look at him, I don't find what I expected. I find his expression inscrutable. His brow is furrowed slightly, but his face and hands are open, willing me to continue to talk about my life. Tentatively, he reaches a hand out to me, reaching first for my bare knee before he seems to think better of it, sliding his hand into mine with a reassuring squeeze. I expect the calming pressure he exerted the night before when people were in hysterics, but it doesn’t come.
“My parents, Ron and Linda, died when I was a baby. You would think that babies would be easy to place, but my cute years were squandered with my maternal grandparents, who died when I was five. I was an absolute terror after that, so even if a family had wanted to foster-to-adopt me, I made myself unlovable. I landed with a really great foster family eventually and they adopted me, but we never got close. I think that was mostly my fault, though. They had high expectations—Phil is a congressman and Melinda’s a lawyer. I think I regret that most—that I never got a chance to tell them how much I appreciated them loving me when I didn’t think I was worth it. Instead, Cat became my family. It was easier to start over than to admit my mistakes, and if I could do it over, I wouldn’t be so fucking stubborn.” I force a laugh, and Essos lifts one corner of his mouth. Something about how he’s holding my hand makes me want to open up to him and release all my secrets.
It would be easy to curl my feet under me and sit by the fireplace with a glass of wine and just tell him about my day until he put his work away to sit with me. I’m positive he’s a scotch man, and he would join me there, on the floor with his tie loosened until we made love in front of the flames.
“Catalina mentioned that you’re like a sister to her.”
I look away from him and pat Dave, who has, as stealthily as a pit bull can, climbed onto the couch. With his tail still smacking the leather, he rests his head on my lap. “So does being the King of the Underworld come with a uniform?” I deflect again, uncomfortable with how I’ve bared myself to him already. In my heart of hearts, I know that I’ll bare my soul to him if he keeps me talking.
“I beg your pardon?” He frowns, leaning toward me.
“You and Sybil both wear black all the time. I wasn’t sure if there was a reason for it.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, but you have to keep it to yourself. You think you can do that?” I hate that he says that to me like I’m a child, but I never get a chance to rebut. His question was rhetorical, as he is already unbuttoning his shirt. Something low in my stomach turns, and I realize that I want to be the one unbuttoning his shirt. My cheeks flush. His undershirt is a bright blue that matches his eyes. I lean toward him, my gaze catching on something around his neck. I reach out, my fingertips grazing the skin of his neck, and pull it from under his shirt. It’s a bold action, but I can’t help myself. His hand catches mine, and he holds it for a moment as I look at the pendant in my hand.There is a waning crescent moon wrapped in a vine with flowers on it. There are stars between the moon, and a sun completes the rest of the circle with what appears to be crushed petals in the resin. Gold metalwork binds it all together. It’s a delicate piece, and not something I would have expected him to wear.
“Someone I loved very much gave this to me.” His voice is unexpectedly gruff, and he clears his throat, pushing the emotion out of it. When he speaks, my fingers are close enough to his mouth that I can feel the brush of his lips against them.
I stare at it, hearing the sound of my laughter and almost seeing the glare of twinkling lights, but it seems far away. Our faces are close as I study the pendant, which has been worn smooth as if it was used as a sort of worry stone for centuries. There might have once been an engraving on the back of it, but it’s long gone.