Young Writers Society

To whom it may concern,

Hello there!~ Before you comment on it, yes, I know that my handwriting is terrible right now. You have absolutely no idea how hard it is to write a letter like this. I must have gone through an entire stack of paper and envelopes!

Let's keep this simple, okay? I know the truth about you. I know that you've probably been through...well, for me, it's been about fifty different identities, but I'm not really sure how things work for you. What I do know for certain is that you can't die. I've done my research on you, and dug up everything I could find on any alias that might have been yours. It was quite hard. You've made a perfect little life for yourself, with a job and everything! (I'm not very good at keeping jobs these days, so props to you for that!) All in all, you're pretty good at what you do. So good, in fact, that I'm only just coming up with this brilliant plan of mine.

You see, you're not the only one like you. There's a lot of other immortals running around the world, and chances are that you're just as clueless as the rest of them. The only way anyone is ever going to figure this out is if we all get together and have a nice long conversation. I'd follow the cliché and give a specific meeting time, but that's not really my style.

See that little charm that I slipped in the envelope? All you have to do is grab it and think about appearing somewhere else, and it should bring you right to where we're all meeting up.

I'm going to bother the heck out of you if you don't show up in...hm...let's say a week, shall we? That's a perfectly good amount of time for something like this. You can get everything straightened in that amount of time, and probably less than that, if you're used to skipping town like I am.

So. There you go. Follow my instructions, and you're well on your way to figuring out what made you immortal! See you soon~



A quick explanation: All of the characters in this storybook have several things in common – they've been around since Ancient Rome, and they can't die. Every single one first awoke as an adult, and their experiences have consisted of everything after that point.

What they have yet to realize is that they're the gods of Ancient Rome. For now, all you have to do to participate in this storybook is claim a god in the DT. Once we have a good size for our cast, I'll start giving more information on the story, the lore and what you should include in your character profiles.

The first thing he saw when he returned home from work was an envelope propped up against the salt shaker on his kitchen table. It wasn't an extraordinary envelope – just a regular-sized, white one, with his name written in a simple print on the front. The only odd features present on the envelope itself were the lack of both a return address and a stamp. He stood there in his kitchen doorway and stared at the envelope for a good minute before spinning around and staring at his front door instead.

His door had been locked. No matter how many times he recalled the memory of entering his house only seconds before, he was certain that he had needed to use his key. He didn't have another key, so no one could have entered, placed the letter and then locked the door on the way out. A break-in was possible, but none of his front windows were open and even if the back ones were, it still wouldn't explain the presence of the letter. It was too perfectly placed to have fallen out of someone's pocket, and it even had his name on it.

He hesitantly approached the table. It was then that his mind started jumping to conclusions that simply couldn't be true. He had been careful here. He hadn't stood out at the boutique, and he had made sure that any accident that could have resulted in a fatal injury was carefully hidden before any bystander could notice. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then reached a hand out to grab onto the envelope. It felt warm to the touch, almost like it had just come off of a copy machine.

He flipped the envelope over. He was always horrible at opening them, but he took as much time as he possibly could to open this particular envelope. He eventually pulled out what appeared to be a folded up letter, and he skimmed it in the hopes that it would give him an easy answer to his queries. But his skim-reading didn't; all that his eyes focused on was the name signed in a very whimsical font at the bottom of the letter. “Oz,” he softly read aloud. The combination of the name and the mysterious appearance of the letter sent a chill running up and down his spine, and he was almost ready to throw the letter back into the envelope and forget this ever happened when he saw a single sentence among many.

I know the truth about you.

For the first second, all he could do was just stare down at the letter. His hands began to shake. He took a couple deep breaths and fingered Margaret's necklace, but the actions did little to comfort him. He was terrified and horrified and everything that he was supposed to feel in a situation like this. No one had ever known.

(Maximus had almost known. He tried not to think of him. Tried not to think of Salvia, too, and the time that he had been someone other than Matthew Willard. Tried not to think of the way he had left. How he'd never be able to apologize. How he'd been so stupid and how even Margaret had some closure when he had staged his death all those years ago-)

But then he began to read.

And as he read, the shaking ceased. He stopped getting the chills. He even began to give some semblance of a smile – a small, poor excuse for one, but a smile all the same. Someone knew. Someone else was like him, and there was others. Wasn't that what he had always secretly hoped, but had never let himself believe? He knew the moment that he finished reading through it that going to the location was the only option he had. He didn't need a week to come to a decision; he was tired of being alone. The thought did cross his mind that it could all be a ploy to lure him in, but he was desperate. He'd take his chances.

He dug through the envelope with his free hand. After only a handful of seconds, he found the charm mentioned by the mysterious Oz. It wasn't anything especially special. It was just one of those little hourglasses, the types he had seen the kids in that daycare he had worked at back in Illinois use when playing board games.

And then he thought about the place.

There was a burst of warmth from the direction of the hourglass, and suddenly he found himself standing in a room that was certainly not his kitchen. If anything, it looked like a warehouse, though whoever had designed it – he assumed it was Oz – had done a decent job of fixing it up. Lights were strung across the ceiling, and circular tables were set up throughout the room. There were even displays of food on long, rectangular tables boarding the walls.

And standing in the middle of it all, looking somewhat nervous, was a man. He wasn't going to lie to himself; the man was perhaps one of the most peculiar people he had ever seen before. His hair, which was a bright bubblegum pink, was thrown up into a relatively neat ponytail. The blue eyes that focused on him twinkled despite the nervousness flickering across the man's face. Everything about him could be described as eccentric: the bright purple coat, the dark blue boots and even the silver teddy bear charm hanging around his neck. Bizarrely enough, despite the clashing colors, the outfit itself was fairly stylish.

The man quickly bridged the distance between the two of them.

“Hello! I'm surprised you came so quickly,” he eagerly said, giving a cheerful little wave before thrusting his hand out in Matt's direction. He had a British accent, though he could hear just a little bit of American. He wasn't a tourist. He must have lived in the UK for a time, but was now living here in the United States.

(He had always been good at telling accents, and tended to have a decent idea of if someone wasn't native to an area. He could never really explain it, but, then again, there were a lot of things he couldn't explain.)

Matt looked down at the hand, then back up at its owner.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself!” the man exclaimed. He stuck his hand out a little farther. “I'm Oz~ It's short for Oswald Abbott, but please don't call me Oswald. It's a horrible first name. You must be...hmm...Matthew Willard, right? You're the one who got the injury in the pool, and bled out so bad that they were sure you died. Which you probably did, since you changed your name to Matthew Willard right after that.”

He stared. “How did you even know about that-”

“Magic, obviously,” Oz interrupted with a big grin. He turned, looked around and then pointed to an empty chair at the nearest table. “Want to sit down? Something tells me some of the others are going to take a bit longer to come here, and I really don't want to be a bad host. Not that I've, uh, hosted in awhile.”

Matt managed a nod. Oz was...energetic, to say the least. For someone who was apparently an immortal just like him, the man was surprisingly childish. Still, it didn't appear that Oz was trying to trick him, so he did as asked and sat down in the chair closest to him. Oz joined him in the sit beside his a second later.

“So,” he said, somehow grinning even more, “what do you want to drink? Tea? Milk? Milkshake? Gatorade? Soda? Wine? Beer? I really like tea myself, but I'm a bit of a walking stereotype when it comes to stuff like that.”

He finally found his voice. “...Do you have water?”

Oz blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Of course I do. Just give me a second, and let me recite the right spell for it.” His words suddenly shifted to what sounded suspiciously like Latin – a language he rarely heard people speak these days – and the glass in front of him filled up with sparkling clear water. “There you go, Matt! I can call you Matt, right?”

Another unsteady nod. With shaking fingers, he grabbed onto the glass and took a sip of the water. It didn't taste odd, but it still felt strange to drink it knowing that it had been created by magic. “When will we start talking about...” he trailed off, not quite sure how to describe it.

Oz thought for a moment.

“I'm not really sure,” he admitted. His expression grew surprisingly serious, and the twinkle in his eyes dimmed. “I'd like to say that everyone else will be arriving soon, and that we can start discussing then, but I have no way of knowing if they'll even show up or not.”

His smile returned.

“Which means we'll just have to play the waiting game and get to know each other in the meantime!”

The boutique always closed at two in the afternoon on Sundays, which gave Kate the chance to get caught up on Dear Rose e-mails, because it took a long time to sift through hundreds of submissions a day and find two to respond to each week. She'd waved goodbye to Matt after they'd closed up the shop. He was quiet, kept to himself, but he was a good employee and a good asset. Earlier that day, he'd been in charge of opening and thus chosen the music. Kate walked in later that day to Edith Piaf, which left her in a somber mood as she drove home. She couldn't think of that music without thinking about Cliff, and hearing La Vie En Rose for the first time with him after he'd been discharged from the hospital.

Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose....

It had been long ago, but she thought of him still. Sweet Cliff. He hadn't deserved what he got.

Luckily, it wasn't a far drive from Beverly Hills to Brentwood, but it still seemed to take forever because of traffic. Once she drifted away from thoughts of Cliff, she started thinking about an especially bizarre e-mail she'd received the night before for Dear Rose. Stuff about wine being the foundation of the soul and not wanting any serious commitment after the death of his wife. It was awfully familiar, phrased the exact ways only one person she'd ever known had phrased them before. But she told herself it had to just be a coincidence. Still, she'd flagged it and told herself she'd take another look.

When she arrived home, Mark was sitting on the couch, watching a game of football and drinking a Guinness. It was exactly how she'd expected to find him. He wasn't normally the type of guy she'd be attracted too, with a thick, bushy beard and big scar over his eye that left it swelled, and a stocky frame. But there was something about them that clicked. Not love, exactly, but comfort. And even though they were very different, in a way, they complimented each other perfectly. Normally, he would ignore her, but he seemed especially tense today. Beside him was an open letter.

"Hi," Kate said.

"You got a letter," he said, before handing her a second envelope from his hand. Simply marked "Kathryn". No return address. No stamp.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Read it," Mark commanded.

She took the envelope and opened it. Before she read it, she gestured towards the open one at his side. "You got one too?" She asked.

He nodded vaguely. Kate felt herself begin to shake as she read the letter. What I know for certain is that you can't die...

She looked back at Mark, pale faced, trying to think of whatever half-baked lie she could tell him to get out of this. But he'd gotten exactly the same letter. Could it be...?

"We're alike, Kathryn," Mark said. "I think."

"Where did these come from?" Kate asked.

"I notice them sitting on the table."

Her heart was racing faster than it ever had before. "Are we really alike?" She asked him.

"I don't know," Mark said. "I guess we'll find out." They each noticed something else in their envelopes. Hourglasses. At the same time, they touched them.

The next thing she knew, Kate and Mark were in a warehouse type building with a strange looking man with a pink ponytail and...Matt? They locked eyes, and he was clearly just as confused as she was.

"Matt?" she asked.

"Hi, Kate," he said, barely audibly. He was holding a glass of water, which he drank greedily. Then, the strange looking man turned to both of them.

"Kathryn, Marcus, glad you could join us. I'm Oz. We're still waiting for the rest to arrive, but in the meantime, would you like anything to drink?"

"Guinness, if you got it," Mark said.

"Uh, just tea. Chamomile," Kate said quickly.

Oz made the drinks appear, frowning as he handed them over. "There's no reason to be so tense," he said. "We're are alike here. No reason to keep secrets."

"If you know about us," Mark said. "Then prove it."

Oz stared Mark down. "I know about the eruption in Pompeii. I know you didn't mean it. But I know it's stayed with you ever since."

Mark went cold. Then, he turned to Kate.

"And you. I know about the "accident" on the train from Lincoln to Chicago. And I know you had a child 150 years ago. What if I told you he was still alive?"

Her child. She hadn't thought about him in a long time. Not since she'd met the adoptive parents at the hospital. They'd given her a smile, signed the paperwork, and left with the baby.

"How do you know?" Kate said.

"Because I've been around as long as you."

Lincoln Byrne

Apollo

Lately, Lincoln had been pouring himself into his job and kids. Or, rather, teaching. Besides the music class he taught at the local elementary school, he had started an after-school choir, seeing that the school was lacking one. So days like these were common: teaching a full day and then turning around to wrangle thirty kids into keeping their hands to themselves long enough to follow the music.

"Alright, one more time. Remember, tall mouths and tummy-breaths! One, two, three..." he shouted over the piano as he played the accompaniment for "Dona Nobis Pacem", hoping that it would silenence the giggles that he had been hearing from the middle row.

As he played, Lincoln scanned his students, who for the most part were standing tall and singing earnestly, giving the piece their all. He couldn't help beaming with pride. Even his quietest students had improved significantly since he had started the class at the beginning of the year- as individuals, yes, but more importantly as a group.

The piece ended, and he unfolded himself from the piano bench to stand and address the class.

"Alright, wonderful job today, everyone! Remind your parents to drop you off here tomorrow at six, okay? And don't forget your black shirts- Thomas, that means you!"

The children broke into chatter and laughter almost before he had finished, drowning out his parting words, and he focused on gathering his things as they left the auditorium. He had more or less adequately stuffed his pile of papers into his briefcase and turned to lock up the room when a voice came from behind him. He jumped.

"Mr. Byrne?" Maria Davis, one of the few third-grade teachers at the school, was standing behind him, and had been for who knew how long.

"Oh! Ms. Davis. I didn't see you there." he aimed a smile her way and set down his briefcase.

Lincoln had seen Maria Davis around the school before, and had chatted politely with her a few times in the staff room. She was was sweet, if not a little bold, and he found both her conversations and her large brown eyes refreshing.

"Please," she returned his smile, "school isn't in session. Call me Maria."

"Alright, Maria. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate what you do for these kids. Steven Harley is in my home room class, and he's had a much better time making friends lately. I blame it on your choir."

"Steven is a nice boy. We've been working on the shy thing." he winked confidentially at Maria, and felt a glow of satisfication as he spotted the blush that rose to her cheeks. "Are you coming to the concert tomorrow evening?"

"Oh, yes. I'll be there, if only to show school spirit."

Lincoln picked up his breifcase casually, sensing that Maria was working up the resolve to add something else and trying to give her the motivation to do it.

"Listen, what're you doing for dinner tonight?" she started, her eyes glittering resolutely, "I'd love to talk with you more."

With Maria not-so-subtlety asking him on a date, Lincoln felt his thrill from their short flirting exchange dissipate. As recently as a year ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity for a good distraction, or a bit of fun. Lately, however, he had put aside even one night stands to focus on himself and his career.

Surprisingly, he found it very rewarding. With the romantic lull in his life, he had been finding himself with more energy than usual.

"I'm sorry, I've got plans tonight." he murmered, attempting to stay friendly. Maria's face fell, regaurdless. "Maybe another time."

"Of course. I won't keep you any longer, then."

"Have a good evening! See you at the concert tomorrow." with one last smile, he finished locking up and made his way out to his car.

On the drive home, Lincoln found himself wound tight with tension. He kept one hand on the steering wheel as he fiddled with the radio with the other. In front of him, a blue Prius turned sharply into the lane, and he brought both hands back to the wheel as he slammed his breaks.

"Whoa, buddy, slow down!" he yelled aloud.

Shaking his head, he lifted his foot off the break and listened to the station he had inadvertently stopped at. Paul McCartney's voice filled his car in stereo.

...I'm only half the man I used to be, there's a shadow hanging over me...

Pulling a face, Lincoln went back to surfing through radio stations. Even though he had inspired McCartney to write the lyrics for "Yesterday", it wasn't often that he could stomach listening through the whole song. It took him back to days that he revisited too often as it was.

He settled on a classic rock station and drummed along on the steering wheel absently.

On his way home, Lincoln had picked up a gallon of milk and a bottle of hard lemonade, which he balanced with his briefcase as he unlocked the door to the studio apartment he lived in.

The smell of dust hit him, like it always did, and it- along with the sight of the piles of sheet music sprawled across his table- caused him to mentally remind himself to give his apartment a proper cleaning. Of course, he knew that he wasn't ever going to end up cleaning anything unless he had company.

Taking a swig of his lemonade, Lincoln ordered takeout and put the milk in the fridge. Letting out a comfortable sigh, he loosened his tie and eased himself onto his small loveseat. As soon as he sat down, however, he felt something crinkle underneath him and dig into his back.

He pulled out a simple, slightly lumpy envelope. His name was penned on the front, but curiously, there was no stamp or return address. Sitting up a little straighter, he tried to carefully slide his finger across to break the seal, which only resulted in earning him a paper cut.

After a couple of curses and a fair amount of sucking on the cut, he managed to tear the envelope open and wasted no time in reading the folded letter that was inside. He was only a few sentences in when what he read caused his lemonade to fall to the rug.

I know the truth about you... you can't die.

His heart faltered at this, and he re-read the paragraph, not bothering to sop up the ever-growing puddle of lemonade on his rug. There were other people like him. Whoever this Oz was, he was like him. For the first time in his many lives, maybe he would have someone to talk to about everything he had gone through. That, to him, was amazing- and possibly too good to be true.

Peeking into the envelope, he spotted the charm and eyed it wearily. He didn't want to take it out, in case it happened to send him somewhere else with no warning. As much as he would have liked to drop everything and go to where ever this charm would take him, the letter had mentioned a week's time limit to gather everyone. If he went now, he would miss the choir concert the next day, and that was strictly unforgivable.

It was decided. Lincoln would use this charm to meet with the writer of the letter when he got home from the concert, and not a moment sooner.

After taking a shower and browsing Netflix for awhile, Lincoln crawled into his queen-sized bed and switched out the light. As tired as he was, he was expecting to fall asleep quickly, but this proved to be much harder than he thought.

Scenarios chased themselves around and around in his head. How exactly had this Oz done research on him, and how long must it have taken? What, exactly, did he know about his life?

After a little more then an hour of restless thoughts, he switched his lamplight back on and grabbed blindly for the envelope, which he had set on the bedside table. He would just look at the charm- to satisfy his curiosity.

Lincoln shook the miniature hourglass into his hand and frowned at it, turning it over and over again in his fingers. He wondered where, exactly, it was supposed to take him. This thought had barely left his head when a warm feeling enveloped him, and he found himself blinking back the bright lights of a warehouse.

His gaze quickly darted to the other people present, and then down at himself. Great. Not only had his curiosity earned him missing the concert, but he was also wearing his pajamas: a white undershirt, plaid pants, and bare feet that were picking up on just how cold the floor was.

Now looking back to the present company, he tried not to appear as awkward as he felt. The first person that his eyes jumped to seemed to be one whose appearance demanded attention: pink hair and very strange clothes, to say the least. This seemed to be the right one to appraise, because no sooner did Lincoln look over at him then he was making his way over, with what seemed to be the most authority of the group.

"Welcome! I see that you perhaps didn't get a chance to, ah... prepare properly. Sorry about that." The pink-haired man came to a stop in front of him and held out a hand, which he shook apprehensively.

"I'm Oswald Abbot. Call me Oz. And you must be..." the man's clear gaze seem to breifly search him before coming to a consensus. "Lincoln Byrne! I must say, I'm a big fan of your music. 1906 was a big year for your inspiration- my favorite songs of yours are from then, of course. Though you don't seem to be writing much now, do you?"

Lincoln opened his mouth to retort to these comments, when his eye caught one of the other people over Oz's shoulder. More specifically, the only woman present. He felt his face go pale. That face- it couldn't be. The was no possible way...

"Amelia.." he mouthed the name of his dead lover, the name that belonged to the face of the woman currently standing a few feet away. The face that he had called to mind so frequently over the years that he would have been able to mold it blindfolded.

Without accord, he found himself backing away slowly. The backs of his knees hit a stool, and he sat abruptly. The room seemed to spin in front for him.

"This can't... I'm dreaming." he was finally able to choke out. "You've been dead for decades."

Blearily, he looked up at the face of the woman he knew to be Amelia, in shock and rendered once again mute. He saw the recognition slowly dawning on her face- recognition that took longer than he would have liked to occur.

"..Richard?" she whispered imploringly in the voice that he had listened to countless other whispers in.

He distantly registered the bearded man beside her mumbling to her privately.

"How do you know this guy, babe?"

Just as distantly, he heard Oz speak again. "Uh... I guess I'll start you off with some water, then."

A cool glass was pressed into his hand, and Lincoln absently brought it up to his lips, not taking his eyes off of Amelia. He was afraid that if he looked away, she would be gone and this would turn out to be a dream after all.

Finally, with another dull shock to his system, he realized something.

Ignoring the fact that she was supposed to have died, if Amelia was here as well, it meant that she had also received a letter.

Amelia was immortal, just like he was.

Matteo Davis
Pluto

Matteo frowned as he hung up the call. So much for having hopes of a settled business, a permanent identity. Even though he had a not-explained unlimited source of precious stones, he lacked good jewellery designers, now more than ever.

What had started as a high profit earning business ten years was now just dragging along. Most of his employees quit, because of… him. He couldn’t help his odd abilities or his creepy nature, he just had to live with them for all of eternity.

He kept his phone aside and started driving, but his thoughts didn’t drift away from the fall in business. After a couple of minutes, he reached his apartment, a newly built building without a lot of neighbours, just how he liked it.

After unlocking the door and switching the light on, he sat down on his couch, head in his hands. He hadn’t been home for two days, his mug still on the counter, filled with the coffee he didn’t have the time to drink.

His thoughts drifted to how all this had begun, to… her. She had helped him set it up, had seen to its success. But now, it was ending, and she wasn’t here, not there to help him out of this mess, or just comfort him about it.

Matt rubbed his eyes as he got up, and headed to the kitchen to cook something, but stopped short when he saw an envelope on the kitchen table. He was sure he had read all the mail in the morning, and remembered throwing all the unimportant ones in the bin. He picked up the envelope and turned it in his hands, one side had his name written in pen, but had no address or stamp whatsoever. He wondered how exactly the letter got here, and who it was from as he opened the envelope and started reading it.

After reading it till the end, he just stared at the paper as is wishing it would disappear. There were others like him. He couldn’t deny the fact that that idea hadn’t crossed his mind, but every time it did, he managed to push it out.
He read it again, and weighed his options. He didn’t like the idea of going to an unknown place, it might as well be a trap. But he still felt his instincts telling him to go. Not because the writer, Oz, had threatened him, but because this was his first chance to get answers, even if it was a trap. Even though he did not spend every second of every day wondering about his immortality like before, it still bothered him.

He was about to reach for the charm when his stomach grumbled, and he remembered why he had come to the kitchen in the first place. He cooked some pasta while listening to Cut to the feeling, and a just a little while later, he was done with eating and fished for the charm in the envelope. He looked at the clock, it was way past midnight; he had reached home only after 11. He pulled out the little hourglass and thought about this place.

After a sudden warmth, he blinked as he found himself standing in a room with many circular tables, and rectangular ones with food set up. His attention was quickly drawn to a man standing not very far from him. He wore colors that kind of demanded attention, and had bright pink hair tied up in a ponytail. He walked over and greeted him with a big grin.

“I’m Oswald Abbott, call me Oz, and you must be,” he looked me up and down, and I felt uncomfortable, “Matteo Davis,” he finally said.

“Yeah, but how did you-“

“We’ll get to that later, first, what would you like?”

“Ummmmmm,”

“Anything, really, magic satisfies all needs.”

“A double espresso I guess?”

“Sure thing,” he said and then said something in… Latin? Matt had never been fluent at it during ancient Rome, even after speaking it for many hundred years.

An empty cup on the table nearby filled with hot espresso, and Oz handed it to Matt.

“Meet the rest,” he said and gestured towards a couple of people sitting on the other side of the room, somehow, he had failed to notice. Oz walked over to them and Matt followed, and they sat down.

Oz introduced them as Matthew, Kathryn, Mark and Lincoln, and he shook hands with them all. As Matt sipped his espresso, Oz attempted small talk with the others, and Matt could already feel how uncomfortable they felt. There was this awkward silence hanging over them, one Oz didn’t seem to notice, but if he did, showed no sign of it.
“So Matteo, how’s your jewellery store coming along?” Oz asked him after his failed attempt at creating small talk.

Great, just great.

The day Jack received the letter started like many others, being shaken awake in a room with several strangers in various states of undress.

"Hey bro, we should get out of here before the girls wake up," his buddy Jason whispered. He liked this guy. Hot, down for almost anything, and didn't ask too many questions.

They got dressed quickly and quietly and headed back to their room, where a letter was taped to the door addressed to "John". He tossed it in his suitcase and scrambled to get ready to check out. It was only once they made it to the airport that he remembered the note and decided to read it while drinking his "water" at the gate.

He read it over first, but none of it made any sense. Maybe he needed something stronger. He quickly switched from wine to the purest Russian vodka and took a long swig. His head clearer, he read over the letter again.

You see, you're not the only one like you.

Not the only one? So there were others who had to watch the world age while they never did? Others who drank because otherwise they'd remember too much? Others who saw the ghost of their dead loves still walking the streets commenting on how the Coliseum was too overrun with tourists these days? What would it mean, not being alone? Having friends who wouldn't grow old and die on him?

He saw the hourglass in the envelope, but took care not to touch it yet. He didn't want to show up looking like this.

"Hey, Jason, it looks like I have to change my tour plans. Family emergency."

"But...you've never mentioned a family..."

"Sure I did. You just don't remember. Anyway, yeah, my mom's really sick, so I'll be gone a while. I think I'm going to catch the next flight to Cali."

"Sure thing. Hope everything works out okay with your mom."

I hope everything works out okay, too, Jack thought.

Once he made it to the vineyard, John went through his wardrobe, trying to decide what one should wear when meeting fellow immortals. Probably not the ratty T-shirt and jeans he had been wearing, but a suit seemed like trying way too hard.

"Mr. Danielsson, you're back early." Manuel, his right-hand man, showed up at the bedroom door. Like most of his right-hand men, Manuel knew he led two very different lives and held down the fort admirably while he was out as Jack. It was a shame he'd have to let him go soon, before he noticed that he looked remarkably young for his supposed age. He wondered if the love advice columnist he'd emailed would approve of his plan to set him up with Maria. She'd probably forget all about him once this charmer had his way with her. But that plan would have to wait until all this was over.

"Yes, Manuel. An...unusual situation transpired that requires my immediate attention. And a slightly nicer travelling wardrobe."

"I see. So you will be gone a while yet?"

"I'm not sure." John replied, the most honest thing he'd said in a while. "But I trust you will handle everything in my absence, as you always do. Let's go down to the wine cellar. I think I'd like to pack something special for this trip." He had his magic chalices, of course, but he should probably bring a gift for the mysterious Oz and the other immortals. He packed a few of his finest vintages, changed his party clothes out for something more respectable, then grabbed the hourglass.

John found himself in a fixed-up warehouse, being greeted by an eccentric-looking man with pink hair.

"Hm...and you must be John. Oz here. So glad you could make it. And it appears you brought me a gift! Thank you!" He set the wine bottle down on one of the long food tables. "I'm surprised you got here so early. You strike me as the fashionably late type. You know, I actually thought your son would make it here first!"

"Ah, well I try to find that sweet spot between first in the door and so late people think you bailed on them...wait a minute, what did you say? My son?" This man must be as insane as he looks, John thought. He'd spent many nights with lovely women over the centuries, but had never had any children. He figured it was just a perk of being immortal.

"Yes. Our son, Robert." A beautiful dark-haired woman stood before him. Robert. Now there's a name he hadn't heard in a while. He remembered too well the atrocious mustache he had back then, but didn't remember anything about a son. He looked at the woman, trying to connect her to a memory, a name. There had been many names, perhaps too many names, but that face was definitely familiar. He remembered seeing it on stage and being absolutely captivated, but the name attached to that face escaped him.

"Ah, yes, I remember you. You liked champagne, and you were an actress...Rachel, right?"

"Really, Robert? I spent how long mourning you and you can't even get my name right?"

"I'm sorry, but it has been over a century, and I don't recall you telling me about a son..."

"Because I thought you died, you idiot! Besides, it's not like you were going to win any Father of the Year awards. So I gave him up for adoption."

"Oh, I forgot you two didn't know. I think since you're both immortal, your son is immortal as well - and that makes him the youngest of us. At least it'll be a family reunion when he arrives?" Well, that was a relief at least. John didn't want to contemplate the possiblity of having numerous immortal children running about. "In the meantime, perhaps I should introduce you to the others." The champagne-drinker's current boyfriend, a burly man with a beard, was drinking a Guinness. The cute blond guy in his pajamas was sipping water and seemed fixated on the woman. At the other end of the table, the skinny guy with the espresso looked like a Hot Topic ad.

And then there was the one Oz introduced as Matt. He was tall and devastatingly handsome, yes, but why on Earth did he look so familiar? After a moment, he realized what it was. If you stripped away the modern clothes and the sullen expression, he would look just like a ghost he had searched for but never found...but that couldn't be right. He couldn't be here, alive, now. Could he?

"Hey, uh, Matt, I'm going to go check out the snacks over there. Care to join me?" A casual invitation seemed like the best way to approach this. That way, if he was wrong, at least he'd make a new friend and get some food.

The man's eyes widened and he went pale. He followed John in silence until they made it to the farthest table from the rest of the group.

"Oh man, this is quite a spread. We're probably going to need two plates each, don't you think?"

"I'm...I'm not hungry right now, Maximus." Even if he hadn't used his old name, John would have recognized that voice anywhere. He still heard it sometimes in his dreams.

"So it is you, Caius. And you're alive." John grabbed his hand, just to see if he could. It felt solid and warm, so unlike Salvia's cold phantom hands.

Matt hesitantly nodded and pulled his hand away. "I...I can't believe this. I always wished I had the chance to apologize for the way I left. You've-You've probably been mad at me all these years."

"I was for a long time. I mean, I do the leaving more often these days, but at least I say goodbye." John remembered waking up in the morning to find Caius gone, getting a first taste of heartbreak to pair with his grief.

"I know. I was young and scared of you finding out about me, so I panicked and left...I-I could say that I was sorry, but I don't think that would ever make up for it."

"It's okay, Caius...er, Matt. I forgive you. Eventually, I realized that staying mad at a ghost was like letting a good wine go bad. Speaking of wine, I named one of my favorites after you. Want to try it?" John pulled out two plastic cups and a water bottle. As he poured, the liquid turned red and the cups became wine glasses.

Matt took a glass, sniffed the wine, and wrinkled his nose. "I thought you said you weren't mad at me anymore."

"Ah, yes, the bouquet of the 1995 Caius Cabernet is slightly bitter, but you'll find that the smoky cherry essence flirts with the walnut and mineral undertones to produce a complex profile and a long smooth finish."

"So...you're not mad at me?" Matt had gone from distressed to puzzled.

"Ah, so you're not a wine snob. Let me explain: Behind all the verbiage, there are three types of wine. The first type has little value beyond its alcohol content. The second type is easy--generally received well at parties, drinkable, and pleasant...but forgettable. The third type is the hard wines, the ones where every sip is a journey. They might be acquired tastes, but those who have acquired that taste find that the easy wines pale in comparison." John swirled his glass and took a sip, letting the bitterness evolve into a more pleasant aftertaste. "I couldn't make you an easy wine, Caius. You deserved something more, and unfortunately I don't make sonnets or sculptures."

Matt hesitantly took a sip of the wine. "Hm...that is interesting. It does taste better after a minute."

"It sure does. And the best part is that the glass stays half full as long as you're with me. I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm going to need a few refills to get through this shindig." He put his arm around Caius, still in disbelief that he could feel that familiar warmth for the first time in over two thousand years.

He looked back at the others, where apparently someone else had arrived. His mind shifted back to the angry woman and the son he never knew was a possibility. He reluctantly let go of Caius and grabbed some snacks before heading in to what was sure to be the strangest night of his long life.

The Santa Monica pier crowded and somewhat dirty, but there was something charming about it. The cheesy gift shops, the fast food stands, the outdated rides. It was a perfect sunny day, making the ocean sparkle, and the sound of seagulls, idle chatter, and top forty hits permeated the air.

Chad and Tricia sat on a bench, watching it all go by. He smiled at her as they ate their ice cream cones; him with mint chip, her with cookie dough. She smiled back at him. She was so beautiful, and if he had to wait one hundred and fifty years for her, maybe that was all right. Still, they had been together a month, and he couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten on for so long without her. He understood it now. Why everyone was so obsessed with this idea of love and romantic relationships.

“Where have you been all my life?” He asked her.

Tricia laughed. “Working at the Coffee Bean.” She hated the job, but it was necessary. She had a year of undergrad at UCLA before starting veterinary school. She’d explained it to him on their first date. She wanted to be in a career field where she could make a difference, and she tended to like animals better than people. They sat and continued to eat their ice cream. “I want a dog,” Tricia said. “I think I’m ready, after Mittens.” Mittens was her family’s dog that she’d had growing up and they had to put down a year ago.

Chad filed it away. Her birthday was in two months. Maybe he could get her one. He’d have to research places to go. He looked at her, and smiled. “Want to head back?” She nodded. They stood up, and he took her hand.

They got to their car and it took them an hour and twenty minutes to drive back to Burbank. Traffic was never this bad anywhere else in the world, and Chad hated it. He hated driving and cars in general. “I miss carriages,” he said, realizing the mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

“What are you talking about?” Tricia asked.

“Carriages, you know. Before cars.”

“Okay.” When Chad didn’t say anything, Tricia laughed nervously. Luckily, she changed the subject.

They arrived at his place. When they got in, Chad saw a envelope sitting on his counter, his name simply printed on it. His roommate, Steve, didn’t seem to be home. But still, maybe he’d brought it in before he’d left. Chad opened the letter.

I know the truth about you.

Chad was visibly shaking as got to the end of the letter and saw the hourglass.

“What is it?” Tricia asked.

“Uh, babe,” he said. “Can we do a movie another night?”

“Okay…”

“I’m sorry.”

Tricia hesitated, clearly wanting more of an explanation and frustrated that she wasn’t getting one. “Is it your mom?” She finally asked after a long silence.

Chad didn’t respond.

“Okay.” She still lingered at the door. “I love you.”

It was the first time either of them had said it. “I love you too,” he said.

Tricia smiled sadly as she left. He’d have to figure out what was going on before he explained this all to her later. Because he did love her, and he didn’t want to lose her.

There were a few others there. One, with curly blonde hair, looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place. He was staring at a beautiful, dark haired woman, who pretended not to notice. He looked familiar. Then there was a dark haired man who also looked familiar and seemed to be above it all. Then he placed them. Woodstock. The annoying songwriter who wouldn’t shut up about his lost love. Chad, calling himself Alan then, had set him up with another girl. He wondered how that had turned out. And the dark haired man… Chad had found him lying in field, uttering nonsense, with clearly too much to drink. But that would mean… no. It wasn’t possible.

“I see you’ve made it,” a pink haired man said.

“Hi,” Chad responded.

“I’m Oz. Allow me to introduce you to the others,” he said. “Lincoln, Mark, Matteo, Matt, and I believe you know Kathryn and John.”

Both looked at him instantly, and Chad felt uncomfortable. “What do you mean?” He asked.

“Your mother gave you up for adoption, didn’t she?”

Chad locked eyes with Kathryn and suddenly it clicked. Beautiful. Dark haired. Actress. “Molly?”

Kathryn didn’t respond.

“They said your name was Molly.”

It took Kathryn a moment to react. Then, tears in her eyes, she got up from her chair and hugged Chad tightly. He was too flustered to realize his father was there too, staring at both, unsure of what to say or do.

Volturnus and Minerva (Christ and mary)

Mary-
The slightly bitter taste of the wine hit me, my blue dress seemed to hum in response to the drink. A scientist next to me just burped loudly, I chuckled under my breath and glanced around. The entire bar,C2H5OH, was populated by populated and run by scientist. The nickname given to the place was the scientist heaven. I glanced around the lights making my dress look like the night sky, the sky form a day long ago. I smiled, drank and danced, lettin the night bring me the fun I needed: However, I was not the only one who needed fun and he refused to leave his work for a second. The fact I didn't even know what his work frustrated me, the fact I couldn't steal anything to figure it out frustrated me more.
A sigh left my month to which earned a questioning glance from a fellow scientist, I just shrugged. I glanced at the clock, it was already time for me to go, to which I expressed my displeasure and opened the back door. The chilly wind hit my head brushing the hair from my face. I rushed home, to perhaps the biggest home in the city, a measure of how much interest can do when you start collecting money from the very start of the creation of that money. When I opened the door, the wood smooth against my touch. The door opened to reveal two envelopes one with my name, one with no name. I glanced around my home, at the letters for a name, any information and found nothing. My mind leaped to potential dangers, could it be a new form of mail bomb? Well in order to do that you would either need poison or an explosion both of which would be near impossible to have a fatal result form this. I took my phone out of pocket, Drove my car and drove down to the hospital, the marked one in my hands. I parked thinking about how silly the probabilities of any real damage happening but then opened the letter. At first I read over it and stopped half way down thought I had misread, I did not, they knew the truth about me, that I was immortal. I re-read it form the top to halfway once again and indeed they did know. I continued and he made a sly comment your friend is very troublesome, I had to write a personal for you, because I know he would not get it. I chuckled lightly and wrote next to the mysterious writer's handwriting that he is.
There are other like me, the fact settled in me like a stone falling. This is great, I can't wait and I need to talk, how many are their? do they have anything special about them maybe they will have powers like that boy from long ago. Ugh I still can't figure out he did it, well whatever I guess I need to go tell him, it's about twelve that means nearly three hours before he goes to sleep. With that thought I let the night sky become my dress as I headed to the sea, to his laboterty, that only I and he can get in whenever we wish. I walked up to the shack that lead down to his underground laboratory, that he somehow with his limited money kept the moist level as he wished, which was too high for me. The smell of rust hit my nostrils before I even was close to the shack.


***



Chris-
The dripping of water filled my ears, the smell of salt water overpowered everything else. I continued to write in my notebook, my eyes having slight dark circles undeath them. I moved my eyes from my notes, to the well of water in the corner of the room. I lifted the water into the air before forming, a spear and speared a dummy, I repeated the process this time increasing the amount of water in the spear, despite looking the same to the untrained eye. I watched as the water speared a different dummy, watched the splitters fly. I wrote again in my notes water density spear test number 52. Like the last test the higher density water seemed to have more force and impact than the one with the base line density, in essence it acts almost like a gun...
My note taking was interrupted as the door to my laboratory opened. Mary Olivo, only she dares interrupt my work at this time of day. I turned to my notes again. As I turned back to my notes I felt a light smack on the back of my head, and something slip into the back of my shirt. I reached back and picked up what felt like a envelope I didn't even bother to look at it as I put it aside.
"Mary, what is it? I am working right now." I asked a steady calm undertaking my voice.
"Read that, right now." She said her voice a bit higher and more urgent than usual
"Why is that." I asked, my calm lingerling .
"Just do it." She said.
Only then did I turn around to see her face flushed, something rare for her. I nodded to her, before turning to the envelope. The envelope was bland, a bit wet and had a few stains of what looked to be a steak sauce on it. I gave her a glance, to which she only ignored me. I looked for a return address, found none, looked for a seal, a habits form long ago and found none. In fact now that I thought of it there was no stamp meaning it must have been hand delivered. I opened it not caring if I damage anything within, other than the writing it self.
After I had finished reading it, my laugh echoed throughout the room, . To which Mary only glared, not amused apparently.
"I always knew you could grew a sense of humor." I said, my laughter still lingering.
I felt my powers activate making a water shield in front of my face, as a hand went straight for my face, and I felt the hand cleave the water out of the air, which landed on me making my hair rather wet. I simply removed the water form it as she stared at me. She shook her hair, her shock gone, as though she had expected something like my powers but the fact I had these exact powers . I stared her down, the truth of the letter, of her now laid open me.
"So you too then?" I said, my claim leaping into my voice, the laughter now distance.
"I am indeed immortal, you dummy " She said in her normal teasing and friendly.
"Powers?"
"Nothing but a very large brain." She said, with grin and slight cuckle
"Well it doesn't matter, I am not going. They can't threaten us if they know we're immortal what they offer us? what can they take away?"
"It's not about what we can go or lose. It's about the fact there are others, and you are going." She said her friendly tone almost turning motherly.
"I respect you, you know this. But this, this entire thing is bizarre and I have no need for it." I shrugged
"Your water disagrees." She said a larger grin across her face. Only after she pointed did I notice that the water I had summoned to block her slap was now nodding as though it had a will of its own, as though I was controlling it. To answer my dumb strike look, she pulled a device that looked like a glove but with wires and other unknown devices scatter throughout. It was then I knew, that this did concern me.
"Very well, I shall go," Was all i said "Now leave me."
"No I won't I must make you look less like a doofus. These will be first impressions these people keep forever."
I simply nodded as she headed toward a closet.
"you really do have no nice clothes do you?" She said
"There are at my apartment" I said now looking at my notes
"Is this not your house?" she asked
"No" I said, now adding the note, potential loss of control needs looking into and more information on other powers needed.
"Now shall we go?" I said, making sure to lock and set traps at the door, something I have not done in a long time.

Fawna

I tighten the loosening tie holding my braid. Looking in the mirror, i use a pin to hold down a loose fly away, and look at the old fashioned envelope, sealed by wax, taunting me from my bed. Thankfully my parents haven't seen it, or else they wouldn't be too happy. My parents completely shun the modern world, but thankfully for me, that's exactly what I need to stay out of the spotlight. I still curse my father for making me take a family picture for the local newspaper, about the 'Family who lives completely off the grid'. I say newspaper but it's on the Internet as well.
I sigh and pull the covers up over my letter, and rush out the door.
"Fawna honey, where you off to?" My mother asks. She's not related to me, but in this life she adopted me, along with her husband.
"Hunting, mother. I'll be back before lunch!"
"Wait, you haven't even had-" I shut the door cutting her off mid sentence. It's not even that I need to hunt, but I need to take my mind off that damn letter. I don't know who, but I know it doesn't feel good. I grab my bow from the stand, and my leather arrow holder.
After wandering through the all familiar forest, I see a small rabbit, not a baby, yet not yet fully grown.
"Hello sweetheart, are you lost?" I say to the rabbit.
*No miss Fawna, I heard you coming so I came to visit.*
"Aww, well I'm happy to see you" I crouch down and the rabbit hops over to me. I scratch her on the ears, and feel her soft fur, not yet tainted by the cycle of life.
*Mother has been sad, one of my siblings got caught*
I gasp and let the rabbit hop up into my arms. Petting her and soothing her.
Even when I should be comforting the small rabbit, my mind can't help but flutter to the letter. It's seal something unlike what I've seen in all my time.
I don't want to upset the life I've been enjoying so much, I love Annabelle and Frank. They've been so kind to me, even if their regard for the feelings of the animals sometimes bypasses them. I understand though, they can't understand them like I can, and they just want to survive as they always have.
*Miss Fawna is something the matter?* the soft chattering of the rabbit pulls me away from my thoughts as I realize my hand stilled.
"No you don't need to worry darling, it's just something at home."
She goes back to her calm self as I put all my focus on her, petting and smoothing her fur, pulling out the occasional twig or some grass.
~~
Back at home I see mom hasn't touched my bed, so my letter must still be there safely tucked into its resting place. My heart still can't will myself into opening it.
After pulling my covers down, letting the letter see the shine of the oil lamps illuminating my room. I slide the lock over my door, gently, hoping my parents don't hear. I believe mom is out in the garden, and father out hunting, but I can't be to sure.
I sit at my wooden desk, the letter sitting, taunting me and my cowardness. I set it straight on the desk, the wax seal directly in my line of sight. I examine it carefully. There is nothing about this letter that should make me feel this... Uneasy.
Swearing myself into action I tenderly tear open the letter. I unfold the soft paper, seeing the ink marks, but not yet taking in the words.
Closing my eyes I let out the breath I've subconsciously holding in.
Only one single sentence jumps out at me, sending a shiver down my spine, and a cold fire burning through me.
"I know the truth about you." Those 6 words send me over the edge. How? I've been so careful? I've been so cautious? How could someone know about me?
Shakily I hold the letter up, reading it softly to myself out loud.
"You're not the only one." The frost nipping at me instantly melts, instead I'm filled with a new sort of feeling. I'm not alone. This isn't someone going to take me away and experiment on me. They are like me. They understand.
I pick up the charm like it could burn me at any moment. Before I can use this, I need to tell them.
"Mom? Dad?" I yell out the door.
"Is everything okay Fawna?" Dad says, I see the small beads of sweat on his brow. He was cleaning a kill for supper.
"Can I talk to you both?"
~~~
At supper the 3 of us sit at the table, both their eyes can't help but draw to me.
"Okay, I need to say something..." My breath hitches. Annabelle and Frank have always wanted a child of their own, but they couldn't conceive, then they found me orphaned in the forest. They took me in and immediately treated me like their own. Now I'm going to rip this peace apart and leave them alone again.
"I'm not 17, I'm thousands of years old. My name is not Fawna, I don't know what it is, but all I remember is waking up one day in ancient Rome. I wandered, entranced by nature. An older man found me, he lived like us. He taught me everything he knew. I then lived there until life started catching up and I realize that I don't age. I've explored the world, learned all the knowledge of space I could, but always keeping myself out of the spotlight. I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you before this, and the only reason I am now is because I got a letter. This letter,"I pull it out and slide it towards them. "There's people like me. Immortal people, they've been through the same things I have and they understand. I need to go mom, dad. "
"Oh Fawna honey, we always knew you were special. " Mom jumps from her chair, hugging me tight. "You will always be welcomed back here with open arms." She kisses my forehead, and I hug dad.
Mom rushes out of the room and I'm afraid I hurt her, but dad keeps me here. She comes in with my bow and arrows that dad made me.
"Make sure you stay safe Fawna."
I can't help but tear up when she gives me this.
"I'll always remember both of you, thank you so much for everything."
I run up the stairs to my room, grabbing a backpack, and shoving necessities in there. Finally when I can't think of anything else I need, I take the small painting that mom made me, and carefully put wrap it in some clothes and put it in my bag. I grab the charm and think about meeting these people like me. People like me. I never thought I'd be able to ever feel like this.
~~
The chill of the room immediately hits me, in contrast to the warmth that was my wood stove heated room. My eyes are immediately drawn to the pink haired man in the center of the room.
"Fawna, correct?" He says.
I'm quickly taken aback by him knowing just who I am.
"Yes, I am Fawna." My eyes scroll across the room and instantly a heat fills me. Familiarity, and hatred.
"Jeannine, of course you'd be here. I wouldn't doubt you'd already seduced every man in the room.
"And you seem to be as prudish as normal." I can feel the venom in her voice, as I'm sure she can with mine.
"At least I don't give my body out to whomever wants it if they look nice."
"Ladies please, stop." The pink haired man says and I whip my head around, ready to grab my bow and snap at him as well. Seeing his face rationalizes me, and I take a deep breath.
"Fine, but don't expect me to apologize to such a lady of the night" I say.
"Well, okay, now lets talk about something to keep us distracted from this, tension." I nod, still fuming inside.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

She stood before the gates of the palace for quite some time before entering—it may have been an eternity since she first saw them, but they were just as impressive now as they were years ago. A beautiful collage of magic and human labor, standing tall and proud as they flitted about in its shadow. She let her gaze wander to the town a short distance away. A few children dared to step outside the bounds of the town, and watched her from afar; their eyes were alight with wonder at the young woman. She gave them a tip of her hat as her hair smoothly transitioned from a soft pink to the same color as the false sky above.

“I didn't know you were visiting today,” a voice said.

She turned.

“I have some news for him,” she said, readjusting the collar of her dress. The man before her studied her for a moment, and then gave a small nod. She followed him in through long, stretching hallways of dark obsidian, and tried to pay little mind to the skeletons. Even she struggled to deal with the sight of them. But she couldn't argue. He was quite fond of them, and it would be foolish to ask him to change his ways after so many years.

They stopped before a dark door.

“You haven't said much,” he quietly observed.

She straightened the brim of her hat. “What I need to talk to him about is on my mind,” she said. She wouldn't dare to admit that she was frightened by her discovery; that would do little to help her. The dark stare from the man beside her only made her feel more concerned. “He had a meeting with him today, didn't he?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Splendid.” She sighed. “Did he storm in?”

A nod.

She squared her shoulders and looked to the door. “I should have expected that—when he doesn't he?” She took a deep breath, placing a hand on the doorknob and giving it a tight squeeze. “I hate seeing him when its like this. But I'm sure you hate it more, Thana, so I guess I can't complain.”

She glanced at him one last time.

“Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” he whispered.

She took another deep breath, then opened the door.

The man sitting behind the desk in the back of the room raised his head when he heard her enter. Even though he had a vast array of documents spread across every available inch of the surface, he didn't appear to be paying attention to any of them. She wasn't surprised. He could never quite focus after his meetings, as he was always too enraged by what occurred during them. She could see it now in the way a fire silently burned in his dark eyes, and the way his hands gripped the ballpoint pen he was methodically clicking.

“Hi,” she said.

He gave her a nod in acknowledgment.

“I'll go out on a limb and say your meeting went horribly.”

Another nod, accompanied by a click of his pen. “He shouldn't lead,” he said. Now it was her turn to nod. She could object to the statement on the basis of tradition, but she had never been fond of tradition to begin with. “You were supposed to come tomorrow, weren't you?”

“I was,” she confirmed.

His expression grew more somber. “What have you noticed?”

She conjured a display with the utterance of a single spell. The map—a rather basic, somewhat holographic one of the United States—floated about his desk. “Several hours ago, there was a burst of magic across the world,” she said. She closed her eyes and imagined the sudden, warm sensation, and several locations sprung to life on the map in the form of throbbing dots. Her eyes shot back open, and she conjured a final, larger one. “The magic then traveled from those locations to this spot. It has to be some kind of teleportation spell, but I haven't seen one this large in years...”

He straightened in his seat; the pen clicked once more. “Have you reported it to the Council?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I wouldn't dare.” She hesitated, glancing between the map and the man before her. “I...I don't think this is normal. The magic was too strong to be a mortal's—it would require years of expertise to build such a strong reserve of magic. But it wasn't sudden enough to be a new generation's birth.”

He mulled over the information for several minutes. She anxiously waited before him, hoping that he would know what they were supposed to do. The Council was out of the question—they needed to get their hands on the source of the magic first.

“I'll call the others,” he said. Click. “In the meantime, do you have any plans for the next few hours?”

She gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “None. Were you going to ask me to go?”

“If you're free.” Click. “You are our expert on magic, after all.”

“I'd love to,” she lied.

He got to his feet, emerging from behind his desk to reveal that he was still wearing his suit from the meeting—it really did bring out the darkness of eyes. “I'll tell them to meet you there.”

“It's been awhile since we were all together,” she commented. He easily towered over her, but she didn't bother to change her height as she looked up at him with mismatched eyes. “That should be fun, at least. Will you be joining us?”

His gaze traveled over to his desk.

“Yeah, I was kind of thinking that,” she agreed. She hesitated, glancing over at the framed picture of a white-haired woman on display. “Whatever you do, don't ask your niece for help. I know she has heart in the right place, but sometimes she can go a bit...overboard.”

He gave a small smile. “Don't worry—I know the risks. I taught her everything she knows.”

“Good.”

She started to head towards the door. He said nothing as she approached it; it was only when her hand was resting on the doorknob that he spoke again.

“Hecate?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“This probably goes without saying, but don't go overboard yourself. We don't know what we're dealing with yet.”

She gave him a smile of her own.

“I wouldn't dream of it, Hades.”


The screen's dim light illuminated the dark room, casting shadows on the desk of its sole occupant. The soft jazz playing in the background was frequently interrupted by the frantic pressing of keys. The man, hunched over his keyboard, remained focused on only the screen before. The readings were astronomically high; if they were true, then they could be considered a miracle.

But it was far too soon to make that assumption.

Tests had to be run, and data had to be studied. He couldn't give her a report that could potentially be an anomaly. It would be a waste of resources and time, and they had put too much effort into this to lose something like that. He ran a few diagnostics on the systems. He studied the bursts recorded by the sensors scattered across the globe. They all led to the same consensus: several hours ago, there had been a burst of magic in multiple locations, and these bursts had all led to the same abandoned warehouse when their paths were traced. This had been preceded by a smaller burst several hours prior, but that burst could be explained as simply be the teleportation of several small objects. And while it was possible to teleport large groups of people, the data suggested that the magic had been completed by one individual.

He sent a message.

There were no further bursts. Whoever had caused it—and whoever had been moved by the magic—were remaining stationary. If they wanted the opportunity to intercept them, they would have to move quickly.

The door opened, flooding the room with light as the silhouette of a woman appeared in the doorway. She swiftly strode inside and shut the door behind it. Neither one said anything as she studied the screen. The hand that rested on the back of his chair shook with an excitement he hadn't seen in quite some time; their research had seemed quite futile in the past few years. The technology was a genius decision on her part.

“There has to be at least ten of them,” she finally said, eyes lingering on the dot where all the magical lines intercepted. “We need to send someone to retrieve them. Do you want the honors, Allen?”

He shook his head. To do so was too risky; he could risk damaging their one opportunity. It was something he couldn't afford to put on the line, even though a childish sense of pride began to swell within him at the thought of being given such a task. “I don't want a battlefield.”

She glanced over at him. “Fair point. Would Caleb be a wiser choice?”

He thought through the other options, then gave a nod. Most of them were out on other assignments and experiments. Out of the few that remained, Caleb could be the least temperamental. Someone like him was needed if they wanted to do this well.

“Perfect,” she said.

She went to leave, but then hesitated as she reached the door.

“Allen?”

He turned from the door and met her gaze. “Yes?”

“This is the chance of a lifetime,” she said. “Don't keep wearing yourself down to the point of exhaustion. You won't be able to think straight, and we need you at your full potential.”

She softly shut the door as she exited.

His gaze dropped down to his hand—the magic surging in his veins for the briefest of moments, threatening to blossom into life at his fingertips—before he looked up at the screen once more.

Maximus was immortal, too.

As he sat alone at a table full of several people, he tried his best to comprehend his new reality. He absentmindedly swished his water around in its glass—he could still taste the wine Maximus had given him, unfamiliar after so many years of avoiding the alcoholic beverage. It just wasn't him anymore. Even his name—his first name, the name Salvia and Maximus had given him years ago, back when they found him near the temple—felt wrong. He wasn't Caius anymore.

He fingered the cross hanging around his neck.

He wished Margaret was here. He wished that often, but he especially wished that now. After his conversation with Maximus, he had desperately scanned the crowds for her familiar face. He knew it was a stupid fantasy, but he missed her even though centuries had passed. He wanted to hear her suddenly go “John!” in the way she always did, and wanted to feel her arms wrap around him. He wanted to stop thinking of her crying face as they led him up to the noose, stop thinking of her screaming his name out, stop thinking of her begging them to reconsider and him feeling terrified when he knew they'd mark her as witch, stop thinking of how their perfect friendship—disguised as a marriage her parents had never approved of—was coming to end-

“Matt?”

He snapped back to the present, staring at the man in front of him. Oz watched him with a concerned look to his face; it was surprising to see how much a stranger cared about him.

“You look a little pale,” Oz noted. He slid into the empty seat beside him. His gaze traveled over to Maximus. After studying him for a moment, he said, “You know John?”

“John?” Matt repeated. Was that Maximus' name now? He had been too flustered by their earlier conversation—and the sight of a man he had thought was dead—to pay much attention to any of the conversations that had preceded theirs. “Uh, yeah. I do.”

Oz looked back over at him. “I wasn't expecting for so many reunions,” he admitted, grinning. “I'm glad they haven't gone horribly—if I met anyone from my past, they'd probably kill me right on the spot!”

Matt stared.

“That was supposed to be a joke,” Oz added.

“...Oh.”

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, the smile faltering for the briefest of moments. “Yeah, that wasn't my best one. But I really am surprised by it. I knew about some of the more modern ones—like you working in Kathryn's store, which must be really awkward right now—but you and John honestly took me by surprise.”

Oz leaned forward and rested his head in his cupped hand, watching Matt as he drank his water. Matt wanted to ask why Oz was paying so much attention to him, but Oz was already bouncing back into the conversation.

“It must be strange,” he said. He glanced at the people are around them. “Like seeing a ghost, I think. But I think it's good that there's so many people who know each other from different points in their lives. We're immortal. Normal people have regrets, but they don't have countless lifetimes to relieve them. Maybe...Maybe us all meeting is a second chance. An opportunity for us to finally do the right thing.”

Matt didn't know what he was supposed to say to that.

Oz clapped his hands together and hopped back up to his feet.

“Well!” he exclaimed. “I guess I should get this show on the road, shouldn't I?”

Oz walked up to the front of the room. Though everyone had been involved in conversations of their own—or were focused on other things in the room—a silence fell upon the abandoned warehouse. Still, Oz seemed to have a liking for theatrics, and the lights suddenly flickered for the briefest of moments after he uttered something underneath his breath.

“Hello, everyone!” he said. His voice easily filled the room. Maybe this was thanks to the magic he apparently possessed, or maybe it was because he was meant to be a public speaker. Whatever the case was, it did its job—everyone's eyes were glued onto him now. “I'm happy so many of you showed up so quickly. If I've done my math right—which is questionable, because math and I are not good friends—then all of you are here. So I guess that means it's time for us to start thinking about why we're all immortal. Anyone have any theories?”

The room was silent.

“Don't be shy. I don't bite,” Oz reassured them, flashing them all a warm smile.

Matt glanced around the room.

“I do,” he said, his voice louder than he had anticipated. Heads turned to face him. He felt like the right thing to do was get out of his chair, but he was glued to his seat. He was so used to blending in and avoiding attention that it felt strange to be at the center of it. “I think it might be some sort of a curse.”

Some whispers were shared between the group gathered.

“Go on,” Oz said. He was still smiling, and still seemed as amicable as before, but there was something about his tone that made Matt think that Oz had a similar view.

He took a deep breath and got to his feet.

“It just...It just doesn't seem like it could be anything else,” he said. He glanced around at the others in the room. “I've had to watch the people I care about grow old and die before me, and I've had to run away because of my immortality. That...That can't possibly be a good thing, can it?”

Another silence fell among the group assembled. Face red, Matt hurried to sit back down in his seat. He had made his point; while he was sure he had just led the conversation in the right direction, he greatly regretted his decision to speak up.

But then a woman—who looked almost like an older teenager—got to her feet. She surveyed the room before her gaze landed on him for only a moment. Then she was looking at everyone assembled once more, and he gratefully returned to anonymity.

“It could be the gods,” she assumed, her voice far more confident than his own had been. “I don't know how long you've all been around, but I've been around since Ancient Rome. A god could have cursed us with our immortality.”

Even after she spoke, she remained standing.

Oz rested his hand on his chin. “It might be a good idea to figure out when we were all born-” He faltered. “This might sound a bit crazy, but, now that I think about it, I can't really talk about that. I wasn't born. I woke up near a temple dedicated to Mars one day, already an adult.”

Looks were exchanged.

A tall man stood up.

“I awoke on the sea floor,” he said. “But, like you, I was already an adult. And there was a temple near the shore—it was to the water god Volturnus.”

Another tall, yet lean, man got to his feet. His gaze swept across the room. In a confident, surprisingly beautiful voice, he added, “I woke up near a shrine to Apollo.”

“I woke up near one for Victoria,” the woman already standing said.

Soon people were standing up throughout the room, each reciting their own first moments—and their stories were nearly identical. The only two that stood out were a man who bore a striking resemblance to Maximus and Kathryn, and a man with a buzz cut. The latter had woken up several centuries after Rome's glory, but it had been near a shrine dedicated to Orcus. The first man did break the pattern, but he was apparently Kathryn and Maximus' child.

And then Matt was the only one left.

“I woke up near a shrine dedicated to Mercury,” he said. It wasn't as hard to get to his feet now that others were standing; it didn't make him feel so alone and vulnerable. But it wasn't the only thing he had to say, and it was the second part that made him grow even more nervous than before.

He took a deep breath. He could see it on all of their faces, but Oz's especially—the man who had brought them all together had gotten increasingly pale the more everyone spoke. They all had come to the same conclusion, even though none of them wanted to voice the theory.

“I don't think we've been cursed by the gods,” he said. “I think we are the gods.” He took another deep breath, letting the magic flow through his body and out of his fingertips. A gust of warm wind spread throughout the room—it was a magic he hadn't used in quite some time, but was a power that suddenly made sense after years of questions.

Everyone could feel the wind. It rustled tablecloths, blew a napkin or two off of a table, and made hair sway in the breeze. The source of the wind was clear: it was his.

“I'm Mercury,” he said. For once in his life, the name he gave felt right. It felt like him, more than Caius or John or even Matt did. More than ever before, he wished Margaret was here to see him finally understand—it was a joy that he should have been sharing with her.

Oz—Mars—let out a long sigh.

“I think you're right, even though I don't know if I'm ready to accept being a war god,” he finally said. A look briefly flickered across his face, but it was gone before Mercury could figure out what it meant. “Well, it looks like our pasts are finally catching up to us.”