Sidetracked: Part 1 Page 11

  Parts of the agreement are...sketchy at best—I mean, modifying my personal information without permission?—but I’m dealing with a secret government document issued by a secret government organization. I’m not supposed to know about any of this, anyway, so it’s only fair I sign an NDA, right?

  Right?

  The strict guidelines laid out also explain why Ice didn’t want to say much the other day. I hadn’t signed anything yet. He had to take my word that I wouldn’t talk to anyone else. It was risky on his part, so I hope he didn’t get into trouble for telling me without this paperwork on hand.

  The bottom of the page has space for three sets of signatures. It asks for today’s date as well as my name, signature, and Social Security number. Below that are the same four lines, blank and meant for the applicant’s sponsor.

  My sponsor? That would be Ice, right?

  The last set of lines at the very bottom of the contract have already been filled out by someone else. Both the printed name and Social Security number of this mystery individual are blacked out, and the signature is illegible. But it was signed yesterday.

  “Who signed this?” I ask, glancing at Ice over my shoulder.

  “Who?”

  He looks up from his clipboard, so I turn, hold the Secrecy Agreement up, and point to the blacked-out name. Understanding quickly replaces his passive curiosity.

  “Some bureaucrat from Human-Immortal Affairs, I’m sure,” he says.

  “What is Human-Immortal Affairs, exactly? What do they do?”

  He shrugs. “It’s your standard government agency. Mediators, I suppose, between the human and immortal aspects of society. They regulate contact between the two groups, protect the secret of our existence, and oversee humans with knowledge of immortals.”

  “Oh, wow.” I turn back to the desk. “I had no idea.”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t. Few humans know about us. But that doesn’t make for less paperwork.”

  The U.S. Department of Human-Immortal Affairs...

  This is standard procedure, after all?

  I skim the Secrecy Agreement once more to ensure I haven’t missed anything especially unsavory before I resolve to sign it. I scribble my name, copy my Social Security number onto the appropriate line, and stare at my handwriting.

  Is this okay?

  Does it matter?

  I already signed. It’s too late to change my mind.

  With a sigh, I flip to the last page. It’s a double-sided personal questionnaire—the type of form you’d fill out when applying for an apartment or a loan. Whatever it is, it asks for a lot of personal info: legal name, address, date of birth, Social Security number, income bracket, etcetera, etcetera. It’s fairly straightforward, and the information is easy to provide. For the most part. I do not have my bank account number memorized, but I guess that’s what the voided check is for.

  Ice is still hard at work on his packet when I finish. I’m not convinced he literally has to write an essay, though his portion is clearly more involved than the two forms I filled out. He doesn’t look particularly thrilled about it either, but he is nice enough to suggest I take a break when I say I’m done.

  “Have Night fix something for you to eat,” he says. “I’ll finish up here and make copies of everything they need.”

  Discomfort nags at me, but I’ve resigned myself to go with the flow today, so I agree and stand to stretch. Ice leaves the bed, takes my place at his desk, and continues filling out the paperwork. He seems a bit irritated—by the tedious nature of completing government forms, probably.

  I pause in the doorway.

  “Want me to get anything for you?” I ask.

  He nods slowly. “I’ll have a glass of water.”

  fourteen

  I FIND NIGHT READING in the breakfast nook, and she glances up from her paperback novel as I approach. Without taking her eyes off me, she slips a bookmark between the pages.

  “Need something?” she asks, her voice soft and pleasant.

  “Something to eat, if that’s alright.”

  She studies me for a moment. Then she nods and leaves the table. I follow her into the kitchen, maintaining some distance between us. She’s been kind since Ice formally introduced us, but their argument involved me, didn’t it?

  “What would you like?” she asks.

  I don’t know what you have...

  “Just a snack,” I say. “I’m not too picky.”

  With a delicate laugh, she retrieves a small plate from a cabinet above the counter. “If you’re here, I assume you took Ice up on his offer.”

  “Yeah, I did. After watching him turn into a cat with my own eyes, I wasn’t sure what else I could do.”

  “I can imagine.”

  She fans several table crackers around the edge of the plate and drifts over to the large three-door refrigerator. I watch her, keeping close to the counter at the other end of the kitchen.

  “We’re filling out the paperwork right now, so I hope I can learn more about immortals soon.”

  Her expression is pensive, but she remains quiet even as we return to the breakfast nook. She offers me the plate of crackers, grapes, and sliced cheese, and we sit across from each other.

  “What kind of paperwork?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure, honestly, but I guess it’s from Human-Immortal Affairs.”

  She glances away. I make a tiny sandwich using two crackers and a slice of cheese.

  “You want to know more about us?” she asks. My mouth is full, but I nod with vigor, and she rests her elbows on the table. “Well, what do you know so far?”

  “I know that...you guys can turn into cats.”

  “That’s all?”

  She sounds genuinely surprised—meaning I was right. There is more to immortals than the shapeshifting ability. I nod, and she glances around. When her attention lands on me again, she smiles.

  “If you’ve already filled out the paperwork, I see no harm in telling you,” she reasons, smoothing the tablecloth with her hands.

  “Really?” That was easy.

  She glances out the window. “I bet Ice intends to keep you in the dark until the paperwork goes through, but it’s not right, especially if he wants you to stay here in the meantime.”

  “I swear I won’t tell anyone about immortals. I mean, I already signed the Secrecy Agreement, so—”

  “You signed something like that?” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “But, yes, feel free to ask me anything you’d like to know. I’ll do my best to answer.”

  “Thank you! I have a few theories, but—” I mess with my hair, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know anything. I mean, when Ice first told me he was an immortal, I asked if he could die.”

  “That’s a fair misunderstanding,” she agrees with a short laugh, “but I assume he was quick to correct you.”

  “He was, but he also said it’s harder for immortals to die. What do you think he meant by that?”

  “Harder to die?” she mouths, but she quickly clears her throat and nods. “He told the truth, in a roundabout way, as immortals are quite resilient, and we do recover from injury and exhaustion faster than humans.”

  “So, you’re saying immortals aren’t literally immortal, but they are...superhuman?”

  She hits me with a blank stare and laughs again. “I’ve honestly never thought about it like that, but I suppose you have a point. Immortals tend to be stronger physically and have better reflexes because our brains process information slightly faster. It’s one of the feline features that carry over into our human forms—along with little things like heightened vision and hearing.”

  She takes a drink from the mug in front of her, giving me time to absorb the new information. If what she says is true, immortals are more than human on basically every level. They’re tougher, stronger, faster...

  She smiles, an obvious attempt to clear the strange air between us. “We can see in the dark too. It’s rather useless, but it’s a neat gimmick.”


  “Wow. That’s...a lot, actually.”

  And Ice made it sound like the main difference between humans and immortals was the whole turning into a cat thing.

  She shakes her head but continues smiling. “Immortals are complex—like humans are in their own right. I am curious, though; you mentioned having your own theories?”

  “Oh, that?” My face warms. “I hope you don’t mind, but I went through your friend list on FaceSpace the other day. I figure most of your friends are immortals, so...”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “I noticed they all have the same few eye colors, so I thought those specific colors might have something to do with it. Blue, green, yellow, and purple, right?”

  Her smile grows wide, her eyes alight. “Oh, I’m impressed.”

  Nice! Maybe I wasn’t completely wasting my time the past couple days, even if I could have just waited.

  “There are no real underlying differences between us, but it’s commonly accepted that there are four different types—or groups, rather—of immortals. They’re separated by eye color and named after the four elements of ancient alchemy: water, air, earth, and fire.”

  This is what I was waiting for.

  “Water immortals, like my family, have blue eyes. Air immortals have lavender eyes. Earth immortals have green eyes—though their eye color is more vivid than your own. And fire immortals have golden eyes. As I said, though, there’s not much separating the groups besides eye color and common social class.”

  “If all immortals are the same, why separate them at all?”

  She frowns and glances out the window. “I don’t know, but it’s been this way as long as anyone can remember.”

  Moving on...

  “How many immortals are there—in the world, I mean?”

  “Oh, there are lots,” she says, perking up. “I’d say there’s only one immortal for every four or five humans, but we tend to concentrate our population in certain areas. If I recall correctly, immortals make up about half the population of Riverview.”

  My jaw drops. “Seriously? Half of Riverview? You’re kidding. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I never knew.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she agrees with a nod. “Secrecy is deeply stressed in our society from a young age, so we try to separate ourselves from humans as much as possible. Our existence is subtle. It works out best for everyone that way.”

  “Do you know why Ice told me?”

  “No. I don’t.” Glancing away, her pleasant expression falters. “I’ve asked several times, but he brushes it off or changes the subject. I haven’t managed to get a straight answer out of him in weeks.”

  Well, it was worth a shot.

  She stares at the tabletop as her manicured nails click against the smooth surface. She appears deep in thought until her eyes widen slightly, and she meets my gaze.

  “You called immortals superhuman, right?” she asks. When I nod, she grins. “It flew well over my head when you first said it, but immortals do have unique abilities. Humans would consider much of it fantastical. That’s rather superhuman as well, isn’t it?”

  “Unique abilities...”

  “Immortals are usually born with one or more of these abilities. They range from mental or psychological quirks like telepathy and ESP to enhanced physical capabilities. There are even elemental abilities—like the ability to control fire or water. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of different abilities and variations. Some run in the family, while others are random happenstance. I’ve even read a few studies that aimed to rate the rarity of certain abilities. It’s truly fascinating.”

  I already came to terms with the existence of people that can transform into talking house cats, so the addition of magic powers isn’t much of a stretch. Though, I’m surprised she didn’t mention the abilities earlier if she’s so interested in them.

  “What ability do you have?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’m a psychic of sorts,” she says with a sheepish smile. “It isn’t a frequent occurrence by any means, but I sometimes see things—visions of the future, most often in dreams. Smoke and I share a telepathic connection with each other too.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  She tells me a bit more—it seems her mother also has some psychic ability. Then, between eating the last of the grapes, I ask if Ice has any abilities besides the clothing swap thing.

  Her smile fades, and she glances out the window. “I can’t say. I know there’s more to that little parlor trick—it’s not as simple as he makes it out to be, at least—but he’s never told me exactly how it works.”

  “Even though you’re siblings?”

  “Ice has his secrets.” Her voice is cool as her frown deepens. “Though, I am surprised he never told you he’s adopted.”

  “No.” That’s news to me! “But it explains a lot.”

  Like how he looks nothing like the rest of his family, for one.

  “I’m sure it does,” she replies dryly.

  Is the Secrecy Agreement the only reason he never explained any of this earlier? I mean, immortals are magical, superhuman beings. Surely, he planned on telling me this eventually, right?

  Well, I hope he doesn’t mind I heard it from Night first.

  She collects my empty plate and loads it into the dishwasher. Then she returns to the table with a glass of water.

  “For Ice,” she says.

  I never mentioned that he wanted water, but alright...

  I take the glass and thank her.

  “And tell him—” Her eyes flick away for an instant. “Tell him that I apologize.”

  “For what?”

  She smiles. “He’ll know.”

  Something to do with their tense...conversation? It’s none of my business either way, so I agree without prying.

  She sits and picks up her book. “Thanks. And...good luck.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I probably need it.

  When I return to the bedroom, Ice announces that he finished his paperwork while I was gone.

  I set the water glass on the desk, and he has me sign a few pages within his packet. Then he signs the bottom of my Secrecy Agreement, and everything goes into a manila folder.

  Right. Before I forget...

  “Night wanted to apologize for something. She asked me to tell you.”

  “Is that so?” After a pause, he smiles. “Very well. I accept her apology. For now.”

  Right...

  He clears his throat. “Now then, I’ll run this up to the regional office first thing in the morning. Do your best to remain here while I’m away.”

  I hear him fall back onto his bed, and I turn from the window.

  He lounges casually atop the grey bedspread. At some point while I wasn’t looking, he switched out of his button-up and slacks into a t-shirt and sweatpants. Strands of hair that were once neatly pushed up now fall into his face.

  He’s being unintentionally gorgeous, and we are alone in his bedroom.

  When he glances in my direction, I avert my eyes and mess with my hair. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with me here, but I’m out of my element. I may be an adult, but Rose had a point—I have never done anything like this before.

  Oh, no. I am a squirrelly virgin.

  “How long will you be gone?” I ask.

  I’m not missing out on anything at home by being here, but I’m not sure how I feel about staying at someone else’s house when the one who initially invited me isn’t around.

  He sighs. “Forty-eight hours if I’m lucky, but it’s safe to assume it will take longer. I believe I mentioned it earlier, but the closest Human-Immortal Affairs regional office is in Seattle.”

  “That sucks.”

  He meets my gaze with impassive eyes and an obviously forced smile. “I returned from my first trip to Seattle earlier today, you know.”

  “Oh—”

  “It’s nothing,” he says, looking away.

  How is he function
ing?

  Seattle is easily a ten-hour drive from Riverview even if you don’t stop or run into any traffic, which is surely impossible on the interstate as you pass through Portland and the Puget Sound. Yet he expects me to believe he drove down from Seattle today and arrived in Riverview early enough to pick me up at four in the afternoon?

  He must have left Seattle around five or six in the morning at the latest. Just to fill out paperwork for an hour when he got home? I would be dead tagging along on such a long trip as a passenger, but he honestly strikes me as more bored than tired.

  “Feel free to use my bedroom while I’m away,” he says.

  What?

  “Sleep in here?” I stammer.

  He stares at me for a long moment before rolling his eyes.

  “It’s a courtesy, Jayde. I can sleep in the den tonight.”

  Glancing away, I wring my hands uneasily. “That’s fine, I guess. I’ll grab my bag.”

  THE MAIN CHARACTERS, both tired, ragged, and covered in soot, turn to face each other and reach for the other’s hand. Their fingers intertwine. The camera pans out. The music swells with cautious optimism. The scene fades to black. Then the end credits roll, and the movie is over.

  It was a Netflix-original sci-fi drama about the apocalypse. Parts of the film were sad and foreboding—since it was a warning against the dangers of apathy and social intolerance—but it was good and emotional.

  Night yawns from her spot on the second couch. “It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” Ice asks.

  Warm light streams into the den through the uncovered slice of sliding glass door. It can’t be any later than 7:30PM.

  “Well, I’m going to get ready for bed,” she says, unbothered by our incredulity as she stands from the couch. “Have a nice evening. Do try to get some sleep before you head out.”

  She passes the remote to Ice before walking down the hall. He backs out of the film credits, silencing the sentimental pop music, and scrolls down rows of movies and TV shows. His bright eyes flick right to left, scanning the titles as he clicks through the menu.

  Get some sleep...