30

Once, her mother had caught Amelia wearing her favourite heels in front of the mirror, pretending to be her , with one of her dresses and her lipstick on. “Don’t rush to become a woman. That day will come sooner than you think, and you’ll stay that way for the rest of your life,” the older woman had told her.

Later that day, her father had gifted her a giant teddy bear. Amelia had fallen in love with it and carried it around everywhere… Until she’d turned thirteen years old and the bear was dumped in a corner because her heart no longer belonged to it. Amelia had given it to Anton, the boy next door. When she’d caught him holding hands with another girl mere weeks later, her heart had ached. For two hours.

When Amelia had broken her mother’s favourite perfume into a million small pieces and thrown the blame on her two-year-old brother, she had been proud of her trickery. But the moment her mother had scolded the innocent Sammy, Amelia’s guilt had eaten her up. She had confessed, ashamed of herself and, when her wrongdoings had been forgiven, it had been like true bliss.

After the loss of her family, she’d had nothing. As if someone had taken away the part of her brain responsible for the emotions and memories she had of them.

Now, everything was different.

She remembered .

She hadn’t realised how much this place affected her, until her encounter with Mikhail earlier. Overwhelmed by the sight of his scars, she had remained on the edge of her bed for what felt like forever.

She remembered why, in the years after her family’s death, she had started waking up at 6 a.m., running every day at the park, excelling in med school, taking double shifts at the hospital, and never allowing herself any fun. It was because of the heart-wrenching guilt that had been living inside her. Her family had died, and she had survived. So she had been obliged to prove that she was worthy of living.

Suddenly, she couldn’t sit still anymore. She needed to move – maybe even to see Mikhail.

Amelia paced into the hallway, but not a single sound hinted at the presence of anyone else around. Striding past numerous doors, she opened one after another, stumbling upon empty rooms. Some were more spacious, others had en suite bathrooms, and the rest resembled small storage spaces – but all of them smelt of desolation.

Only three rooms had hints of being lived in. One was hers. Next to it, she found a cosy study, and further down the hallway, there was a room with a king-sized bed, a wardrobe and a wooden desk. The walls were white, with no paintings, no flowers or decorations in the corners, and no personal belongings.

Amelia approached the wardrobe and opened it. Inside were clothes, shoes and underwear. She immediately closed it, as if it would bite her. This was his room. She went through a door next to the wardrobe and found herself in the bathroom she had seen him in earlier, cleaning up his wounds. The blood and dirty pieces of gauze were still scattered all over the floor and sink. She exited the bathroom through another door leading to the corridor.

Amelia headed to the lobby, which was visible under the arch at the far end of the hallway. Like all other floors of the building she had been to, this one was made up of two wings, but her access to the other one was blocked by a massive, locked door.

She neared the lift and pressed the button. Nothing happened.

Then she returned to the corridor and reached its other end. This exit was also locked.

By nightfall, she was still alone, so she decided to look around the study. Warm air crept inside through a slightly ajar window. A bureau stood by the far wall, a deserted chair right before it. The wooden surface was empty of papers and the expected clutter, but a thick line of dust covered it. On the opposite wall, a floor-to-ceiling library towered above Amelia, with ordered books filing up the shelves. Most of them had curious titles such as The Story of the Dusseldorf Witch , Memoirs of a Forgotten Vampire , and Memorials from the Immortal War in London .

Amelia pulled out a heavy book with hard black covers. The golden-etched title read, Anatomy and Physiology, Behaviour and Characteristics of the Immortal Species – Manticore. Underneath, in cursive writing, was the author’s name – Gina K. Niani, PhD.

Curious, Amelia scanned the author’s biography. ‘Gina K. Niani, PhD, spent years working as a doctor in the Hospital for Immortal Creatures, where she studied the anatomy and physiology of the immortal species. Using her experience, she crafted a textbook suitable for practising doctors, as well as those still in training, and anyone who wishes to expand their knowledge. This edition focuses on the manticore, one of the seven immortal species.’

Amelia flipped through the book, then went back to read the introduction. ‘A manticore is an immortal species that exists in two alternative forms. The so-called human form, due to its great similarity to the mortal species, is preferred by most manticores. A manticore is practically undistinguishable from a human in this form. The secondary, so-called supernatural form, carries the distinct features of the species – a muscular body covered with fur, wide paws with black nails, a thick tail ending with a spike, and a pair of solid dark wings (span of six feet and six inches). A turned manticore resembles an extra-large lion with wings. The manticore’s joints are adapted for both two-legged and four-legged movement, allowing it to stand upright or run on all fours, though the latter is only possible for shorter distances. Despite the wide wingspan, a manticore cannot fly. The wings are used predominantly to help break their fall when jumping from great heights…’

The introduction was followed by a few very interesting chapters such as ‘Feeding,’ ‘Social Activity,’ and ‘Reproduction. ’ Amelia jumped ahead to the last one. ‘The manticore can reach sexual maturity upon the advent of immortality. Female manticores can reproduce once every one to three years. Male manticores are fertile throughout most of their life. Intraspecies reproduction is possible, although not recommended, since it can lead to a loss of characteristics and the creation of the so-called hybrids.’

Amelia pondered over the last paragraph. The thought of Mikhail reproducing sparked her imagination. She pictured him naked, his scarred muscles tense with arousal and exertion, as he satisfied his lover. Her belly warmed at the image. What would it feel like to be the woman, inside whose body he chose to find relief? As much as she didn’t want anything to do with him and his world, she caught herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

She sighed, expulsing the absurd notion. This place had a strange impact on her. He had a strange impact on her.

Amelia had no idea if Mikhail had a woman by his side. In her dream, she’d seen the woman who had left him the four scars, but if her dreams matched reality, that woman was no longer alive. He had killed her.

A knot tightened in her stomach. If the scars were real, then everything else must also be true. None of this was a game or an illusion, and she was both terrified and torn by curiosity.

For the first time, she wished to dream.

She found herself in a picturesque garden surrounding a luxurious house. She had been wandering around for hours, peering into the huge windows, expecting to see something but not remembering what it was. A horrible feeling was rising in her chest and if she failed to calm it, it would suffocate her.

Amelia ignored her desire to cry and marched forward as the smell of death welcomed her home.

“Don’t stop!” The order was issued in her head, but it wasn’t in her voice.

She finally reached the front door and caressed the door handle with her fingertips. She didn’t dare grab it, because once she crossed the threshold, there was no coming back. Everything would become real.

“Go!” The voice demanded once again and she obeyed.

She walked through the front door, a movement occupying her peripheral vision. Turning to her left, she faced a dusty mirror. Her reflection stared back. No, not her reflection. Mikhail’s. She had become him, sharing his thoughts and emotions.

Mikhail headed down a narrow hallway. His pulse quickened. Every step was getting harder and harder, his legs becoming like lead. He knew what awaited him, and Amelia did, too, perceiving the world through his vision.

At the end of the corridor, another closed door tempted them. Mikhail – or Amelia, for she didn’t know where he ended and she began any longer – flung it open without hesitation and marched into the room.

What he found was far more devastating than anything he had ever expected or imagined.

Amelia wanted to scream, but Mikhail proceeded with his quiet survey of the surroundings, as if taking in every detail, so he could remember it forever.

His younger brother, Stephan. His corpse was lying helpless in a pool of dried-up blood. The bullet through his temple had disfigured his face. His entire body was marked by bullet holes, and a deep wound gaped across his neck.

Next to him lay the head of Mikhail’s older brother, Ivan, his body a few feet to the side, also peppered by bullets.

In the middle of the room, a man and a woman’s lifeless bodies curled against each other on a couch. Mikhail’s parents.

He took in the entire scene once more. The family he no longer had.

And yet, he was alive, doomed to continue existing – alone.

The image changed.

Amelia was gazing through a car window, enjoying the pleasant warmth of sunrays on a winter day. The weekend could not have been more perfect. Very soon, she would get to hold her daughter in her hands. They would all be together. Something so small, and what happiness it brought her…

Daughter?

Amelia lifted a hand and inspected it. On her ring finger glinted the most exquisite piece of jewellery she had ever seen in her life. The fine diamond was not just a rock, it was a symbol of love and devotion. Eternity. Her mother’s ring.

“What are you thinking about, darling?” A male voice asked.

Amelia glanced at her father’s smiling face as he steered the wheel.

Behind him, through the window, she spotted the truck that was heading their way.

And then she knew.

The hit was inevitable.

Her mother’s last thought had been about her daughter.

Amelia was clenching her jaw, teeth scraping, when she woke up.

The muscles in her body were stiff, unable to move for a while. Then, the realisation dawned on her – it had been a dream. And with that, the dam burst. Tears she had been repressing for months flooded her eyes. The sobs that followed were raw and anguished, a painful release of all the emotions she had been stifling.

She wailed as if she were the only person in the world. As if it didn’t matter any more that her strength waned, and she was letting her sorrow engulf her.

Waking up at 6 a.m. wouldn’t bring back her family. Draining her muscles by running every day wouldn’t bring back her family. Surrendering her life to medicine wouldn’t bring back her family. Depriving herself of joy wouldn’t make her more valuable as a person, because her family wasn’t there to appreciate her value.

She had always known it, and yet she had struggled for so long to convince herself of the opposite.

Amelia sat in bed, wiping sweat from her forehead with her palm. She remembered the vision before the one of her family’s death. Just like her, Mikhail had survived and his loved ones had died.

Had he shaped the guilt of his own survival into a motivation to save others?

If so – this was something they had in common.

She sighed with a new resolution. It was time to talk to Mikhail – about everything. She would tell him all about her dream and the Oracle’s voice in her head. The constant nausea and the flood of memories and emotions connected with her family, she’d keep to herself.

Mikhail didn’t want her here. She didn’t want to be here. They needed to figure out why they had been brought together, and then go their separate ways.

Maybe helping the immortal creatures was her opportunity to prove her right to live.